There are several strands to this picture, for it brings together happy personal memories, sad farewells and the end of an icon. Taken at Heathrow Airport, shortly after arriving from New York, it pictures the two pilots who have just flown me (and close to 100 others) across the Atlantic on Concorde.
Firstly, there are the personal memories.
I had long been fascinated by this very different plane, something triggered by Concorde’s appearance on the cover of a Ladybird book that I cherished as a child growing up in distant Australia. It was obvious from its appearance that this was something very new and quite unique – and rather fast. Much later, once I found myself living in London, this manifested itself in many a skyward gaze as the unique delta wing twisted overhead on it’s approach to Heathrow. By this time I appreciated the plane for it’s elite, luxury status as much as for its sleek, clean lines and mach two speed.
Along the way, this inspiration generated an aspiration to fly Concorde
For years such an opportunity seemed beyond reach, however as life changed and opportunities broadened, a supersonic journey became feasible. In 2000, I had a Concorde booking in place only for the aeroplane to suffer its first fatal accident, not far from Paris. Grainy video footage of the plane’s burning fuselage trying to gain altitude in the moment before it’s crash haunted me until Concorde’s flight safety certificate was revoked. My supersonic seat was downgraded to a business class 747; some comedown.
Fortunately, Concorde rose from those ashes, only for economics to lead to the announcement of the termination of its service. And so in October 2003 I finally found myself on Concorde, joined by my girlfriend, for a flight from New York back to London.
It was everything I had hoped for, starting in the lounge at JFK. Thereafter there was an incredibly powerful acceleration to take-off, very fine food and drink, a super high and fast journey that was as smooth as any I’d encountered, all delivered with excellent service. (Faster, higher, stronger – citius, altius, fortius – briefly, I was living the Olympic motto.)
From the thrill of taking flight, through the near endless eating and drinking, the mandatory visit to the bathroom (small), the photo in front of the mach speed indicator, and the final grab for souvenirs (somewhere at home I have a “Safety on board Concorde” card), the experience, well, it flew by, finishing far too quickly. Those few hours remain some of the happiest of my life. The saying “the destination not the journey” never rang truer.
On the way out, there was one final treat, a chance to look in on the Concorde cockpit, all lights and dials. Still in their seats were the two pilots, waiting to fulfil their post-flight paperwork, compliantly allowing passengers such as myself to peer in at their world.
And here’s the second thing that comes to mind. In the course of our approach to Heathrow, it had been announced that this journey was the last as a Concorde pilot for captain Ron Weidner, on the left. Looking at the picture I think it’s clear to see the sadness in his eyes, that this is a farewell that he doesn’t want. His co-pilot looks towards Weidner, understanding the meaning of these moments, the last in the driver’s seat of a supersonic airliner. His own turn was not far off, too, with just three weeks left of service.
While I had dreamt of Concorde for many years, and experienced it on this one beautiful occasion, the flight crew had lived the supersonic life for much longer. From everything I have read, there was almost universal love from the BA staff that flew the plane. Shutting down the service must have felt heart breaking for those that operated her with pride.
In these moments of reflection, it must have been something of an ignominy to have a line up of well oiled passengers poking their heads into this unique space – some taking photos, too!
I was pleased to discover that the BBC also liked my image, including it in a series of Concorde tributes, which you can still see here.
Of course, the feelings of both myself and pilot Weidner derive from the same place: this was the end of an era for an icon.
Most things will have their own lifespan of usefulness, a value that is usually superseded by a newer, improved replacement. I’ve lived and thrived on new technology, and am happy that the application of it drives human progress. But this was different. Although Concorde was, after 30 years of flying, in some ways outdated with its analog controls and environment-abusing gas guzzling, perhaps even it’s “greed is good” elite ethos, it was not being replaced by something superior – instead flight would literally slow to less than half the speed with any of its alternatives, including the 747 which was similarly aged.
The vast challenges of supersonic passenger flight had been met in the co-operation that yielded Concorde’s iconic design. It felt regressive to turn back the clock on such an achievement. And that quite simply leaves me feeling a little sad every time my eyes pass across this image.
However, the overwhelming feeling this picture brings me is joy. I am immensely pleased that I had the opportunity to fly Concorde, and will always recall the thrill it brought me.