I have always and often dreamed of vampire jets. In my dreams the vintage twin boomed jet aircraft flies at low level down over the place where I live.
As a small child I was fascinated by and able to identify and name “Gloucester Meteor” and “De Haviland Vampire” jets more easily than the gliders or twin engine towing aircraft which were frequently to be seen in the skies above Didcot.
My parents took me to air displays at Benson and Abingdon. I remember their heavy black ‘Hercules’ bicycles each with a seat on the back, and I remember my first proper bicycle. But I am now amazed by how they got me to those air displays in 1949. Surely at six years old I would have been too heavy to be carried all the from Didcot to Benson. And I find it equally impossible to believe I could have independently cycled that distance at that age.
But I loved those days. I asked if I could have a go on every bit of apparatus in the parachutist training school. I wanted to go up in every tethered balloon. I sat in every seat of the anti aircraft guns. I would have loved to be able to jump from aircraft like the grown up parachutists.
The noise of Spitfires, Proctors and Provosts taking of drew attention, but for me it was nothing to the thrilling whine of the Vampires and Meteors.
When I was 13 years old I built my own flying model of a vampire jet. A Keil Kraft kit, powered by a Jetex 50 engine. Probably about 18 inches wingspan, it was doped silver with transfers of RAF roundels and black identification letters. On a calm day it was able to fly a hundred yards or more across Kikenny Common on Odd Down in Bath. In those days none of my model aircraft lasted long. I seem to remember this one catching fire.
As with all of my common thoughts and dreams there seem to be associated disturbing memories. More about these at some other time.