The Wings of Pegasus by George Chatteron

One of the things that always astonished me was the calmness of these traini-glide pilots

when anything went wrong.

Most of them, at some time, during training escaped catastrophe by the skin of their teeth,

yet if anything, it spurred them on rather than discouraged them.

Here is the account of a somewhat unhappy, yet satisfying afternoon in the life of one

of them, Lieutenant Colonel John Place told in his own words.

I had only three flights to do to complete my course.

On the day in question the weather was heavily overcast with thick cloud and mist down to about

a thousand feet or less.

However, low-toe glider flying was in full swing.

I was duly authorized to take up a fully ballasted hot spur glider, and having signed the

Form 700 and the Flight Authorization book, and having given instructions to the tug pilot

for a low toe, off we went.

We had just become airborne, and had not yet reached the boundary fence when the cockpit

lid of the hot spur, which I had taken particular care to see was correctly latched, flew open.

I instinctively jammed my left elbow into the perspex just above the lower framework

of the cockpit lid and tried to slam the cover shut.

But the wind pressure was much too strong for me, and after two or three frantic attempts,

the wind was definitely not only coming into the cockpit, but was going through me vertically.

I couldn't communicate with the tug, and as we were not far off the ground, I decided

to try to sit tight with my left elbow still jammed in the left side of the lid, and hoped

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