STILL IMPROVING CHAPER 7

The narrator describes his experience as a junior First Officer at British Airways. He talks about being demoted from captain to First Officer and being assigned less desirable flights. He also discusses the disrespectful behavior of some of the older captains and the tension between direct-entry pilots like himself and those trained by British Airways. The narrator recounts a particularly unpleasant experience with a captain who refused to acknowledge him and made him exit and re-enter a van through the back door. This incident leads the narrator to decide to resign from British Airways and return to his previous job. He describes the relief he feels after making this decision and reflects on his love for flying despite the negative experiences. The chapter ends with the narrator waiting in the offices of British Airways headquarters, contemplating his decision, when he is approached by a friendly stranger who asks about his situation. CHAPTER VII UNHAPPY TIMES I was now flying from London Heathrow as a very junior First Officer. My four gold shiny stripes, which had indicated my status as a captain, had now been replaced by a mere two silver bars. Neighbours, no doubt, must have wondered what terrible crime I had committed to justify this demotion. The destinations I had enjoyed during my training were now only distant memories. The seniority system made sure of that. The senior co-pilots enjoyed the sunshine whilst I picked up destinations that nobody else wanted to go to. I became a regular to visitors to such places as Lagos in Nigeria and Riyadh in the Middle East. The east coast of the United States also became my playground. The flights were difficult due to the complexity of the American air traffic control system and also the unpredictable nature of the weather on the east coast of the United States. Some of the east coast snowstorms had to be seen to be believed. On one memorable flight to Chicago in late autumn we landed on a warm, sunny afternoon. The temperature was so mild that I walked to the local bar in shorts and a T-shirt. I even had my Caribbean flip-flops on. Two hours later I stepped out into a snowstorm. A cold front had swept down from Canada and across the Great Lakes. This resulted in the infamous lake-effect snow as the cold air picked up moisture from the lake. A twenty-minute walk back to the hotel was the coldest and the most embarrassing walk of my life. Despite the destinations and the weather I very happily accepted all of this. The sheer pleasure of flying this remarkable aircraft more than made up for the not-so-enticing route structure. The main problem I had was that I was simply not enjoying my new career. The attitude and behaviour of some of the crew I flew with was starting to make me feel uncomfortable. For the first time in my flying career I found myself not looking forward to going to work. Some of the older captains treated me with disdain as if I had only just learnt to fly. One captain would only communicate with me through the flight engineer. Not only was this extremely irritating but I also thought it was totally unprofessional. I had been flying for six months on the 747 and each trip seemed to deliver a new humiliation for me. I began to dread sitting in that windowless room waiting to meet my next captain. To be fair to the crews, British Airways had not actively recruited for many years. As direct-entry pilots we were the first pilots employed that British Airways had not trained themselves. Understandably there was a certain apprehension felt at the arrival of these new and unknown pilots. Invariably the first question a captain would ask me as he studied my two stripes would be, �Are you a DEP?� meaning a direct-entry pilot. It was more like an accusation than a question. I could feel the tension rising as this typically meant I was in for a tough time on that trip. I was often tempted to reply that it was better to be a DEP than a hamster, the term used for those pilots trained by British Airways at Hamble. I never did work up the courage. Some things are best left unsaid. Things finally came to a head on a flight to New York. The trip started as usual, with the three of us meeting as we left that dreaded windowless room. I tried to introduce myself to the captain on the bus, only to be ignored as he struck up a conversation with the flight engineer. At the briefing he ignored me as he discussed the route with the engineer and the flight planners. During the entire flight to New York I was only addressed through the flight engineer. Not a word was ever spoken directly to me. He flew the aircraft, the flight engineer moved the switches, and I simply moved the landing gear and the flaps when instructed to do so. �Oh, well,� I thought, �it�s his aircraft, and if he wants to play it that way I really don�t care. I probably would never fly with him again anyway.� After clearing customs we made our way to find our transport to the hotel. In those days the flight crew usually stayed in different hotels to the cabin crew, and as such we had our own vehicle. In New York we had a minivan with a sliding door on the side to gain access to the passenger seats. As I was the first to reach the van I placed my bag in the rear compartment and used the side door to make my way to the seats at the very back of the vehicle. It was very hierarchical. The junior sat at the back and the captain always sat at the front. As I made myself as comfortable as possible the engineer popped his head into the van. He informed me that the captain wanted me to exit the van and enter again through the back door. Laughing, I told the engineer that I was not that gullible. He looked at me and reiterated the side door was for the captain and junior ranks were expected to use the back door. It slowly dawned on me that he was being serious. I was expected to get out, go to the back, climb over the suitcases and get back to the seat I was currently occupying. Of course I refused, and the engineer went to inform the captain. He quickly returned with the captain who was now standing beside the van. I was tersely told that we were not going anywhere until I got out and re-entered by the correct door. It was a cold, wet day and I was sitting comfortably inside the warm van while the captain was standing in the wind and rain. I told the flight engineer that was fine with me. This ridiculous scene went on until I was finally told that the captain would refuse to talk to me for the remainder of the trip if I did not get out and get back in by the correct door. Well, that just made me laugh. He had not spoken one word to me since we had left London. At this point I think he realised that this co-pilot was not for moving, and so a very wet and cold captain finally entered the van and we set off for the hotel. Although this was probably the worst experience I had had with a captain, it was sadly not unusual to be treated in such a derisory fashion. It would probably take me another twenty years to achieve my own command. Could I suffer this sort of treatment for such a period? I decided on that trip that this was not the way I wanted to spend my work. Dignity at work, or anywhere else for that matter, is a human right and I was simply not prepared to be treated like this. Decision made, I made an appointment to see the chief pilot when I returned to London. I decided that I was going to leave British Airways and return to my previous job. I was going to resign. The moment I made that decision I could literally feel a great weight lift off of my shoulders. I would be free to enjoy my flying once more. I hated the idea of leaving the 747. However, I hated the idea of being treated in this manner even more. I was happy with my decision. The flight home went precisely as expected. I didn't refuse to talk or acknowledge me in any way. Well, no change there, I thought to myself. We flew silently through the night. The only break was when I gave the regular progress reports as we made our way across the Atlantic. Those far-off days we had to use the high-frequency or HF long-wave radio, which always involved a bit of shouting. It was a very old-fashioned and unreliable way to talk to air traffic control. It was also a very welcome break from the otherwise stonely silence on the flight deck. After landing, the captain merely collected his bags and walked away, the flight engineer following in his wake. I simply sat in my seat and looked around the flight deck. I would seriously miss this aircraft. It was, however, a price I was prepared to pay to avoid another miserable trip like this one. My appointment with management was not until nine o'clock that morning. We landed at six in the morning, and therefore I had three hours' spare, and maybe changed my mind. My bags off at the luggage-storage room, and made my way to the myriad of offices hidden in a rabbit-run of corridors. I had never been in this part of the building before, and having seen it once, I immediately had no desire ever to return. The corridors were long and dark, just the occasional bare light-bulb lit my way. There was no natural light anywhere to be seen. The whole area there resembled a Second World War government bunker, rather than the headquarters of a national airline. I felt very sorry for the people who had to work in a place like this. Maybe I was not so badly off after all. With time to kill, I decided to explore this world a little more closely. The offices were set above the multi-storey car park we used when at work. I had barely given them any thought. There were literally hundreds of people hidden away in these dark labyrinths. As I made my way around, a few people stopped to stare at me. Obviously pilots rarely made an appearance. Eventually I found a small area with a coffee-machine and made myself at home. I now had just over an hour before my appointment. As it was so early and with few people around, the main offices would not open until nine, so I was by myself. I now had an hour to make what was probably one of the most important decisions of my life. If I did resign, which I fully intended to do so, I would be returning to an uncertain future. Although I was still running the Cessna Conquest operation, I could not imagine doing that or anything similar for the next thirty years or so. On the other hand, I could not bear to think of spending the next few decades flying with people who refused to speak to me. As these thoughts were making their way around my head, I suddenly heard a cheery, Morning! Looking up, I was met by a friendly face looking down on me. I returned his greeting as he sat next to me and began inquiring about why I had been and why I was there. We eventually started to discuss why I was waiting in the offices after being up all night. Hesitant to give too much away, I had no idea who this pleasant chap was, and so I mumbled something about wanting to change fleets. I informed him that I was currently flying the 747. He looked at me with astonishment. "'Why would anyone want to fly anything else?' he inquired, alas, of course. It was Concorde." "'Oh, now that's a good idea,' I thought to myself. However, you cannot change aircraft types until you have completed three years on your current aircraft. Anyway, the chance of a flying Concorde was beyond the bounds of possibility for a junior pilot like myself. We continued to chat, and he gave me his name, although sadly I have long forgotten it. I would love to have thanked him personally all these years later. He explained why he was here. It was to finalise a new base at Gatwick. He cheerily informed me that British Airways were starting a base with initially just one Boeing 747 flying exclusively to the Caribbean. The company was going to be operated by the charter-arm British Air Tours. Why not apply to fly from Gatwick?' were his parting words as he set off for his meeting. Realising the time, I hurried off to find the chief pilot's office, this time with a new plan formulating in my head. I bumped into streams of office workers leaving the bright sunlight outside to disappear into this dark and unwelcoming place for the next eight to ten hours. Finally, working out the numbering system, I found myself in the waiting area of the great man's office. I was not offered tea or any biscuits, and I could tell from his expression that I was an unwelcome intruder. I remained standing for the next twenty minutes until I was finally called through into the main office. I thought this would be a quick meeting. I would simply say that I had made a mistake joining the company and that I would like to hand in my resignation, which had taken no more than a few minutes. However, as I entered the room, the chief pilot looked up at me. He remained seated and abruptly asked what I wanted. My brain was about to make my resignation speech. Instead, my mouth asked if I could possibly be transferred to Gatwick and fly for British Air Tours. Luckily for me, my mouth won the day. He inquired that how did I know about the upcoming operation at Gatwick? Apparently it was a well-guarded secret. I gave a very noncommittal reply, which seemed to satisfy him. My request was granted, and with that I was abruptly dismissed. So, instead of resigning, I had applied for and got a new job with a subsidiary company. As I made my way back to the car park, I really did not know whether to celebrate or commiserate. Fortunately I had plenty of time to ponder this, as it took me nearly an hour to find my car again.