Evensong
First published in the mid 80s in the Australian Ultralight Magazine

Sunday summer evening, placidly settling upon the broad expanse of the airfield and the flat, surrounding countryside.

An occasional insect buzzes quietly in the background as it makes the final evening search for food and succour. Rooks circle slowly down to roost in the tall beech trees fringing the wood that lies between two of the long-abandoned military dispersal points.

From the nearby village, the clear chimes of the calling bell reaches across the parish, summoning the faithful to Evensong, in which they may make their personal peace.

The gliders are wing-down in quiet repose, awaiting their final flight of the day, or a tow back to the hangar over a mile distant.

Within the calm and tranquillity of the impending evening, you should also be at peace, gathering in the experiences and satisfactions of the day’s endeavours and moving back, fulfilled to your own personal situation from which you are enabled to give time instructing for this club.

Inner calmness does not seem possible, for you are frustrated by lack of achievement and by irritation. Despite the surrounding gentleness, there is turmoil within - the day has not been good.

The warm conditions, fostering plump cumulus, were a false promise of soaring conditions for single and two seaters alike, yet never happened in terms of contact.

The big high pressure system has brought with it a frivolous wind which has spilled around, undecided, or simply mischievous - causing three changes of runway direction, each requiring considerable organisation, labour and the consequent complaints from members that the club is unable to get its act together for their enjoyment.

The light and indifferent wind has occasioned continual overshoots and much requirement for the pushing of gliders back to the launch point. The members present sank early into lassitude and indolence, despite entreaties to keep the launch rate going so all would have a fair share.

Your students have been confused by the conditions and there was much difficulty in forming a steady basis upon which to found progress. Likewise, the solo pilots, mostly of an early experience stage, have required repeated counsel to keep their operations safe under the changing runway and circuit direction situation - itself made more difficult by areas of strongly sinking air whilst lift remained elusive.

Members have left early during the day, claiming pressing appointments, leaving only a few to put away the fleet at close of flying.

You stand aside from the others, weighing up the efforts required, the injustice of nature, the needs of the club and the needs and required justifications of your own compared to the effort you input.

Spirits are at a low ebb. Deep down, you do not like the direction in which your thoughts are progressing - but is this sport really all worth it?

The Chief Flying Instructor ambles towards you. “How about hangar flying the ’E?” He enquires.

Your scan of the sky is automatic, clear blue in the gathering evening with one cumulus building far up and out of reach. Some of your bitterness spills out. “You meant that the fairies, butterflies, and gentlemen pilots have left their aircraft out and you want me to pay personally to fly one in from a straight winch launch?” This could rapidly become the final indignity.

”No, not quite,” he replies. “You have been in the back seat of a trainer all day and you need to be current on the single seaters. This will be a good opportunity.”

You remain silent against what could just be a sales pitch, but has a lot of sense to it. You have not flown a single seater for weeks. He responds positively to your negative silence.

“Look, there is no compulsion around here. We all do this because we said that we would, good and bad. Gliding is that kind of sport and will soon sort out those who cannot put a greater value on what they receive compared with what they must give!”

You reflect that he has worked with you over the day as well. The same labour, the same frustrations. He is still positive.

You contemplate the five weekends of sitting in the back seat of a trainer in terms of what you get out of it as you prepare the Ka6E for flight. You have not been here for a while and airmanship suppresses anger as you make the machine ready.

The winch launch is uneventful and silk smooth as anticipated. 1400 feet (425 m) above the airfield and nowhere to go except down. A general wander around at minimum sinking speed and enjoy the view seems to be the thing to do.

The ’E, as always, becomes a willing partner and extension of yourself - following the slightest control movement instantly, giving you wings that become your own. Slowly, you unwind and tension begins to ease.

You drift over toward the wood on the airfield perimeter, watching the final rook circling slowly down for the day’s final landing and think it apt, for that is an exercise in which you will also shortly be engaged.

Over the wood, you become aware that circumstances have changed. Difference has stolen upon you with no fanfare, not even a small announcement. You are climbing, slowly but steadily.

You circle, perhaps by reflex, and a little aimlessly - still with your mind engaged upon the hassles of a gliding operation and tough day. Meantime, a more positive approach to why you fly may have reminded you that woods act as heat storage reservoirs during the day. In certain conditions, they release their stored energy, producing evening thermal currents.

The ground falls steadily away as you climb from a simple hangar flight task into the realms of soaring.

The thermal is smooth with no sharp edge to the lift, nor with a turbulent core. You automatically centre, smoothing your flight circle for steady lift. The aircraft’s electric systems are discarded and left switched off. You are content to take on the quiet challenge of the air with just yourself and basic machine, the flying controls feeding human senses. Simple relaxations slips almost unnoticed into gentle enjoyment.

You look upwards to where you are bound. To the dark base of what had been a solitary struggling cumulus and now has become a transient monarch of the surrounding sky.

Above that cloud base, out of your sight, you know there will be a towering bastion lit gold by the sun setting through the murk of the city, miles to the west. Down, the cloud’s side will be shadowed canyons, ever changing and beyond exploration save to that of a passing observer at a particular time.

The ’E is sure beneath your hands, but her abilities in fighting the turbulence of the sky are not needed here. She is simply a compliment to your own small actions and a consort to the most peaceful of soaring flight.

Cloud base approaches swiftly now. You have no wish to meet the clammy embrace of the ragged edged dome which is portal to the higher, inner heart of the cloud. You reject the tangible upper limit of clear air as much as you have begun to reject some of the practical realities which reside upon the ground below.

At 5000 feet (1,500 m) you roll out of the gentle turn, moving into an otherwise cloudless sky of sensuous smoothness. The remoteness and personal isolation are almost complete, sufficiently so for you to adjust the controls a little, seeking response, accepting that even in much needed solitude there has to be a sharing and this must be with the mute machine, your present partner and friend.

Below, the flat countryside is beginning to show its real depth and perspective. Shadows from approaching sunset soften contours into relief. Each stream, fence around a meadow, isolated farmhouse - all are etched clearly.

To the east, ten miles away, is the country town. The medieval cathedral that gives the status of city, stands upon the only hill in the district, casting a benign dominance over the flock living at its foot.

The twin towers reflect a sundown glow from ashlar facings. They become a beacon which you are drawn toward. This flight shall be more than a spiral down. It is late but there is yet time, you have your turning point.

There is no competitive intensity and striving within the decision, merely realisation that you must stretch your wings. There is not even uncertainty, for the air is predictable and windless, the machine and distance defined.. Above all, there is need to be gone for a while, and consider. The ’E whispers away with you.

The outskirts of the town begin to expand beneath. You look down upon highways and backstreets, public areas and industrial backwaters, alleys and a dirty river given silver grace by evening.

With dusk also comes a spangled and random pattern of light. Broad splashes of illumination from stores in the main street are enticing passers-by into becoming window shoppers and tomorrow’s trade. Inns and taverns are gaudy with welcome, heralding an evening of potential revelry; surrounding all the small single lights of individual dwellings indicate preparation for evening meals and family togetherness.

A quarter of a million people are oblivious to your silent presence above. Your vantage is lofty. The minor triumphs and frustrations of those below are not visible from this altitude. Instead, you see progression and order in the overall flow of life’s circumstance.

The seeming importance of your own recent personal frustrations fade against the broader backdrop of ongoing life.

You realise that you have the answer to that most difficult of questions - why you fly!

You may never be able to express this adequately to another, even though it is tangible here and now. The answer is simply perspective.

The third dimension brings with it both a remoteness that distances you from the intricacy of your own affairs, whilst enabling broader and more general endeavours to be taken in at a glance. You are more aware that the positives you work for will contribute to the complex pattern spread below. The negatives lose relevance and importance.

You circle round the cathedral. The candle lights within glimmer faintly through the great eastern stained glass windows - seeing out the final part of the evening service. Beyond, the first twinkles of light from the farmhouses and dwelling in the countryside beckon you home.

The aircraft’s nose settles, pointing down the centuries old Roman road that is now an arrow-straight ribbon of light, illuminated by prudent early evening drivers going about their affairs. Beside this ancient highway, lies the perimeter track of the airfield which is both destination for yourself and roost for the ’E.

This final glide of the day is also the final unification of thought - so different now from when you climbed to this sky in frustration and anger.

You slip into a tidy circuit aimed at completion on the expanse of grass bordering the taxiway near the hangar.

On landing approach, you note the group of club members awaiting your return. You feel they will be incensed by this further delay on top of a day of delays. You steel yourself for their reaction, but hold firm to the inner peace that you have gained.

The unmown grass patters against the aircraft’s belly at the point of landing hold-off. The ’E sinks softly onto the landing area with a pleasant rumble of the mainwheel behind you. The so-quiet flight now translates to total quiet, and stillness.

The first member to reach you is a student. During the day, he has been sharp with his comments, driving, wanting to achieve and intolerant of an operation that apparently could not perform. As he approaches, you see the same intensity on his face.

“That was magnificent!” he states with the intensity burning. “You have to fly with me and show me how you do it. That is what it is all about. That is what I want to do!” The positives he is expressing are interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the members.

Two are solo pilots who earlier had ‘pressing appointments’ but have now returned to assist the club in closing down for the day. Their arrival at the cockpit is equally enthusiastic.

You still have not yet got off the clear plastic canopy and they are already reminding you that this is only Sunday. It is a long weekend and, okay, today was not so great, but how about some dual instruction and an insight into this ‘out of hours’ soaring tomorrow - please!” Besides, there are home made chicken and mushroom pies plus cool pints of ale to be had at the local inn. A hostelry wherein you may relax as you explain to them the keys to the mystery.

They lift the cockpit canopy from you and lay it on the grass, allowing you to rise. You reflect that there is no mystery, no especial skill, just gliding - being there and being aware.

In the background, the Chief Flying Instructor wears an enigmatic expression. Your gazes meet and he smiles quietly, then turns away to his own final duties.

The glider is taken from you and wheeled away to the hangar, leaving you standing alone on the airfield. The last vestige of sunset paints the Western sky whilst behind you the solitary Goddess that is the early rising moon replaces her fiery counterpart, shedding a different light.

Dew is forming, beginning to soak your boots and trouser cuffs. Across the darkening airfield comes a single caw from a sleepy rook.

Evensong has ended and now the bell ringers practice. The cadence is not one of calling, nor the clamour that the big bells sometimes produce. The tune is melodic with elements of solemnity and joy - in keeping with both the evening and your mood.

You have participated in your own Evensong within that greatest of all cathedrals - the vaulted sky above our world.

You turn for the hangar and your fellow members - renewed.


- Helix