Wednesday 27th to Thursday 28th June

Wednesday 27th.  Rain in the morning with a light and variable wind eventually cleared to a W’ly with broken cloud, the conditions being warm and humid.  The clearence came too late for any flying to take place.

Thursday 28th.   It remained warm and humid and with the pressure dropping, it was another day of rain in the morning, showers during the middle of  the day and a thunderstorm in the evening although the site missed the worst of the storms, a supercell over the Midlands  and a line of thunderstorms over Newcastle causing extensive flooding with golf ball sized hail.  A planned evening visit by employees of Quorn at Stokesley became a simulator based flying experience due to the weather, but Brian’s supper and the Germany/Italy football match on the TV added to an evening enjoyed by the visitors who have already planned a further visit in September.

Northern’s Post Script.   Jane Knight, one of the visitors at the Northerns, has penned a poem of the week which is reproduced below, plus some photos showing a typical evening of DIY entertainment in the bar.  The last four photos, showing Sue Ahern’s sampling of the male attendees before finding Mike Aherne,  is, I am sure, only another example of the friendly nature to be found at the YGC.


THE BALLAD OF THE NORTHERNS 2012 by Jane Knights ©            


In days of old when knights were bold   

There was a knave called Andy,

Known in the parish of Sutton Bank

For being rather - handy.



For with his group of merry men

He set the tasks for flying

A thankless task for anyone,

There’s surely no denying.


His weather man was on the ball

 - well, nearly all the time

But weather’s unpredictable –

To get it wrong is not a crime!


Now Andy’s fair accomplice Sue,

Was serious in her role

And when giving out instructions

She was truly in control.


Part of the clan was husband Mike,   

He and Andy did the scoring

A job not liked by many men

It can be really boring.


In the bar were Jen and Charlotte,

Never with an unkind word

And Matt the Wiltshire troubadour

Who always struck a chord.




In the kitchen trooper Brian,

Served his pies and chips and peas,

Whilst his low-slung-breeched lad

Wore his crotch down to his knees!


Nay, forget not treasure Sarah

Who is such a jolly lass;

She did wait on us with pleasure

Whilst her ‘Little John’ mowed the grass.


To greet us when we first arrived

At this fine northern scene

Were Vicky and her dogs, with Anne,

Then Lady Josephine!


So here there came ten pilots bold, 

And fearless – on the whole,

All different shapes and sizes

There is no set pilot mould.


Now Old King Cole was a merry old soul

And his brother grim, but taller

Plus Graham – maybe a Morris man?

Even though he was much smaller!


Knaves John and Lemmy were worth a bob

- or half, as they kept winning,

And Wilko, Knight of Pocklington

Was rarely seen not grinning.




And then of course came Mr Bond;

Calm, unshaken, never stirred;

Older and wiser, possibly

Than Barry our r r r r racing bird!


Yes, Barry, sometimes unprepared (?!)

So is Peter – much the same

Between the two of them, they’d be,

To Colin – quite a pain!


But calm and patient is the man   

Sir Colin of the Troise,

All are grateful to this knight,

So rare to raise his voice.


‘What’s on’ said Reg, always so keen

And rarely had a rant,

‘Not sure – methinks I’ll take my time’

Said tuggy master Plant.


In fairness it was quite a week

High winds and driving rain,

Kept merry pilots on their toes

Whilst Andy went insane!




As we bade farewell to Sutton Bank

We shed a happy tear,

And we hope the weather’s better,

When we come again next year!











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