Anyway after two days of listening to this gorgeous..... er this instructor chappie and being helped repeated up by him after jumping off a set of three steps that he decided adequately represented an aeroplane at 2000 feet, it was time for us to jump for real. After watching a couple of groups, each of three students, limp back to us bruised, battered and bent it was time for me, another short plumpish girl, and an ugly hulk of a guy to go get in the plane: a Cesspit, or Cockpit, or something like that it was called. I forget the model exactly, my mind must have been elsewhere that day. Entry to the plane, was easy, for the manufacturers had either forgotten to fit a driver's side door, or the pilot had had a bump in the supermarket car park and lost it. Entry was to a hovel at the back of the pilots seat, still filled with the smell of unreceded fear.
So we took off, minus door, strapped into our parachutes and attached, we hoped, by static line to the plane. At 2500 feet the pilot appeared to switch off the engine, and the little fat lady was to jump first. Can you imagine a Jumbo pilot switching off the engines and gliding? Anyway this daydream, this ex-para leaned on the back of the drivers seat and motioned the girl forward. Brave little hussy that she was, she doted on his every word and went forward, but instead of getting into the ready position, she tripped over the static line and somersaulted, clean as a whistle, out of the plane. When the handsome figure of our instructor turned round to guide her, she had gone, and as far as he was concerned, disappeared. We explained and he uttered a few words of comfort down in her direction. I am sure she appreciated his comparison of her to a mentally deficient bovine.
So number two next, the big ugly macho guy. Out he went, did everything right, and was stood as expected of him, one foot on the step just outside the aircraft door (had there been a door) the other spread out to the side in the air, and both hands on the high wing. Perfect spreadeagle position. "Right" said the airborne dreamboat "When I say push, push off backwards" but here the guy's confidence left him completely and he turned and said that he could not do it, he could not jump. The para oh so bravely crossed his arms and told the guy that he was NOT coming back into the plane....so there!!! A lively discussion then ensued as to the consequences of landing the plane with him hanging on to the wing and with a sudden flush of inspired cowardice he let go, or slipped, or had his fingers kicked. Anyway instead of pushing off backwards he fell, he fell stylishly for about 5 feet when he got his webbing caught on that step: just outside the aeroplane and was swimming below floor level and a foot or so out of the aircraft. The para, showing his strength and skill, grabbed the guy by the seat of his pants and scruff of the neck and sort of tossed him effortlessly out into the sky. Such a hero. I would not have expected quite such a delicate turn of phrase from my para as he shouted after the guy, but still, one cannot have everything.
So that was the lead up to my jump...... as it happened I had little problem. Out onto the step and the wing without so much as a prayer, a delicate push off when told, and down I went to be jerked suddenly vertical as the canopy opened. But then this stupid, ugly, officious son of a slug para shouted at me: quite viciously and so pointedly, yet wholly unnecessarily. And all I said was Geronimo! instead of 1000, 2000, 3000, check canopy! That evil, evil man quite spoiled my day. Spoiled it even more that the twisted ankle that resulted from my trying to land standing up in true Red Devils style, rather than attempting that undignified rolling over on landing as demonstrated in the training session. See! I knew jumping off those three steps was a waste of time. Bloody silly inconsiderate and horrible little ex-para man.
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