Barkston Heath 1965. The a/c is probably a JP Mk 3. We all wanted to get our hands on the JP Mk 4 which was slightly more powerful - someone had found that its time to height was identical to an early Hurricane, so it made us feel really important. We were 19 years old and some of us went solo in jets before we learnt to drive.
We were enroute to McCoy AFB in Florida when one of the four Vulcans lost its IFF. The cousins wanted to send us back to Goose Bay, as it was illegal to fly US airways without it. The airways went up to 45,000ft, so we went up to 47,000 ft and flew direct. A Boeing 707 bound for Chicago came out of its way by two hundred miles just to watch us as we flew by as the only other things that high in those days were experimental and secret. Apart from the amazing F104. And the U2. The Lightning... Make that 'the only other big things'.
The bombing competition we went for was not a success. Of the thirty aircraft taking part (Vulcans, B52s and F111s) we came 25th, 27th, 28th and 29th. But, oh boy, did we have a good time!
Two steely-aces of 208 Sqn! Chas Wrighton (left) died in the Shackleton that crashed into Skye in the late eighties. He was a good bloke and is missed. We really fancied ourselves with our Midgets - his has since been restored and is very nice. Mine, JOK 100E, is running very well after a mega-restoration -- it's now worth all our other vehicles put together and has changed to red, the colour all small sportscars should be. The new registration is JFL100D. I feel a bit of a dork driving with that on the car but the number came up at the MG garage and I couldn't resist. Anyway, it was cheap -- there's a pretty limited supply of J Floods to sell it to.
Maybe I should put up a bit of info about the Bucc. It was not the prettiest of aircraft, but "'ansom is as 'ansom does my 'ansom" and the old girl generated a great deal of affection from those who flew her. I once nearly rammed the USS California in one - sometimes wonder which would have come off worse.
We wore flying kit that left very little of our Adonis-like forms to impress a passing photographer. Pants, long johns, flying suit, G-suit, inner and outer harness were all between a call of nature and our physiques. Better to cross your legs and wait, even on a transatlantic crossing. My record was 6hrs 45 minutes - the tanker took a run at the Atlantic via the North Sea - and at Goose Bay, Labrador, I hold some sort of record for getting out of a Buccaneer and finding the head.

You can just see the puff of fuel as we pull back from the plug.
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