And so, what had provisionally looked like being a five-manned attack actually ended up being three or, perhaps more correctly, two and a half, as Gareth Stringer (who had stayed over the night before and who had failed miserably to get any significant sleep in the four preceding hours), my 8-year old son, Sammy, and I loaded our gear into the car in the pitch black. We were booked on to the 0620 Channel Tunnel crossing from Folkestone and, while I sang along to Radio 1 trying desperately to keep awake, the sound of snoring could be heard resonating from my left - much to Sammy's great amusement!
While it was the second time that I'd used the Chunnel it was the first time I'd done so as the driver, but the whole process really is immensely straight-forward and void of all of the stresses and hassles I associate with commercial air travel. Pulling up to the barrier with plenty of time to spare, the vehicle registration plate recognition software automatically led to my details being displayed on the screen alongside me, and I was asked to confirm which crossing I wanted to take. A quick tap on the touch-sensitive screen and our boarding card soon appeared out of one of the slots a little further down, and, as per the instructions, was then hung from the car's rear-view mirror.
Our 'letter' - the way crossings are grouped - hadn't yet been called, so we took the opportunity to head into the terminal building for a quick breakfast bap, which was surprisingly tasty and not unreasonably priced. It wasn't long before we were invited to return to our vehicle and, having passed through Passport Control, and winded our way through the maze of lanes and waiting areas, we eventually arrived at the ramp leading down to our train and boarded. It was a new experience for both of my travelling companions and I'm not sure either knew quite what to expect.
After being guided into position, engaging the hand-brake, leaving the car in first gear, winding the windows down half-way and switching off the engine there was nothing else expected of us until we reached the other end, a mere 35 minutes later.
It wasn't even 0800 French time and already we were in Calais and starting what felt like our journey proper. I'd not driven on the right in a right-hand-drive vehicle before and this was perhaps the thing causing me more concern than anything else about the trip, but the roads in France - particularly the motorways - are so big and sparsely populated that it seemed like second nature. We were only a few kilometres into our drive towards Cambrai when we began to appreciate exactly why the roads are so quiet - the word 'Péage', or toll roads to you or I! By the end of day five I reckon these tolls must have cost us something like 50 Euros, and that was in the process of only covering somewhere in the region of 700 miles - not all of which was tolled. I don't know if the French pay a road tax as well, but if they do, driving must cost them an absolute fortune!
Despite Gareth's TomTom, complete with freshly downloaded French maps, insisting that we were still some 50 miles from our destination, the signposts suggested otherwise and, having exited the motorway, we soon found ourselves at the gates to Base Aérienne 103, Cambrai-Epinoy, home to the Mirage 2000Cs of EC01.012, at least until 2012 when the base will be closed. Within six hours of waking up we'd found ourselves sat outside a base in an entirely different country!
As we drove around the perimeter trying to get our bearings we heard and then saw an aircraft getting airborne and assumed we might be in for a decent day. How wrong we were! We'd parked up in the perfect position on the approach and waited, and waited, and waited. Nothing. To add insult to injury, conditions were ideal, with barely a cloud in the sky.
We were almost pleased to see the Gendarmerie stop, pull up next to us and get out. What we'd failed to realise was the sign that was no more than ten metres away from us - admittedly facing in the opposite direction - was actually a no stopping sign! Our French was very limited, as was their English, but with lots of arm waving, pointing and gesticulating we each finally got our point across and we were told that we could park our cars further away and walk back to the same location. I did semi-jokingly enquire "Ou est l'Avion?" but sadly it didn't prompt a response, or rather, if it did neither Gareth nor I understood it!
As per their suggestion we did indeed park up further away from the base, but rather than walking back, we decided we'd stay where we were until we saw or heard some sign of life. It never came, and at 1300 we decided we needed a change of scenery and so visited the British World War I cemetery at Haynecourt, literally located on the southern perimeter of the base and, seemingly at one time or other, falling within said perimeter. While it might bear the title of 'British Cemetery', the vast majority of the 250 or so brave young souls for whom Haynecourt marks their final resting place are Canadian.
The sole Royal Air Force headstone present carries the inscription: "Second Lieutenant W. J. Densham, Royal Air Force, 2nd October 1918, Age 19. In ever loving memory my darling son, sadly missed by his devoted mother." Walter John Densham, it seems, served with 54 Sqn and flew Sopwith Pups in the day-fighter role, escorting bombers and attacking observation balloons.
The cemetery was immaculate and incredibly serene; a far cry from how it and the surrounding area must have been some 92 years earlier. It was almost impossible to imagine, though not as difficult to comprehend as the numbers of those who lost their lives in this most bloody of conflicts.
Returning to the car we decided to take one last drive past the base and if nothing was outside we'd head towards Reims, location of our overnight accommodation and venue for our next day's action.
Sure enough, there wasn't an aircraft to be seen, but as we made our way towards the approach that we'd been parked up next to earlier in the day, a pair of green camouflaged Mirage 2000s (so either 'D' or 'N' models) flew down the runway from the opposite direction, keeping low and waggling their wings as they disappeared into the distance… Talk about having our noses rubbed in it…
Reims is about 90 miles south-east of Cambrai and it was about 1500 by the time we arrived in the town. With the sun still shining we headed to Reims-Champagne, initially just with the intention of scoping it out for the next day but, as we drove around - again somewhat lost due to the inaccuracies of Mr TomTom - a three-ship of Mirage F1s broke into the circuit and, while they were on the ground by the time we had finally tracked down the road we needed, it did give us hope for the remaining few hours of decent light.
Reims-Champagne - Base Aérienne 112 - is home to the Mirage F1s of ER01.033 and ER02.033, though the latter will disband later this month and the remaining unit will depart to Mont de Marsan in 2011, with the military facility at the base then due to close.
Parking up amongst a handful of other enthusiasts' vehicles it became eminently apparent that we weren't in the right location for pictures as a pair - a single seat and a twin - took to the skies, the former pulling high on departure, while the latter stayed much lower. The wind was favouring approaches from the west, which meant we'd get take-off shots and taxying shots of anything rolling long. We spotted a car further on and much closer to the fence, but parked within an area marked with a big red sign with a white line through it. We assumed, as it was next to a farm, that it was simply an attempt by the farmer to prevent masses of traffic from passing by his property, so we went back out on to the main road and set about accessing it from the other direction, which we did, successfully. Pulling up next to the other car, we soon found ourselves in conversation with a thoroughly nice French photographer and contributor to netmarine.net by the name of Alexandre Gannier who gave us the low-down on the day's action (which had seen flying start at 1000, though they'd not flown at all the previous day) and primed us with the news that he'd been told a NOTAM was in place for the following day which would likely mean that activity would be minimal. After blanking at Cambrai this was not what we needed to hear!
While we were chatting and Sammy was receiving a lesson in his French pronunciation, another pair taxied out - again a single and a twin - and performed the same departure profile as the earlier ones, with the first aircraft going high and the second staying low. These were my first passable Mirage F1B images, and as these were the main targets for this part of the trip I became considerably happier!
Alexandre informed us that there were now six aircraft airborne and it wasn't long before the first pair recovered. The lead aircraft was an F1B and sadly turned off early. Disappointment returned! His wingman did roll long, however, but what looked good through the viewfinder was less than impressive zoomed in on the back of the camera, with the prevalent wind direction pushing the efflux across the aircraft and leaving the images nowhere near as sharp as I'd hoped. Lesson learnt; notch the ISO up a bit and shoot on a faster shutter speed so as to try to 'freeze' it.
The Belgian gent who had told Alexandre about the NOTAM returned soon after and confirmed that what he'd seen the day before stated that the airfield would be closed until 1230 the next day, so we revised our plans and came to the conclusion that the morning would be better spent at the nearby civil airfield at Reims-Prunay, where we were told a few interesting bits and pieces resided.
By 1700 all of the aircraft that were out had recovered and, feeling somewhat bushed, decided to call it a day and head to the hotel, which again proved rather more difficult than we'd hoped thanks to the centre of Reims being completely redeveloped with the ensuing chaos caused by closed lanes, routes and not helped by the fact that we were trying to navigate through it in rush hour! What had, according to TomTom, been a journey taking 34 minutes ended up taking closer to three times that!
While sat outside our hotel later that the evening a four-ship of Mirage F1s flew over on their way back in to Champagne… This was yet another kick in our already battered and bruised nether regions!!
For the duration of the trip we shared a triple room, with Sammy and I sharing the double bed and Gareth above us in the bunk. I think it's fair to say that the only person to get a decent night's sleep that night was the very angry sounding grizzly bear up top!!
After breakfast the next morning we bimbled our way towards the airfield at Prunay and, once parked up, headed towards the local flying club, which just happened to have a few tables outside looking out over the airfield. As pleasant as it was, there wasn't a massive amount going on, and we never did see any of those 'interesting bits and pieces'…
With 1200 rapidly approaching we made our way towards Champagne, but not without stopping off at a delightful patisserie en-route, from where we purchased some wonderful filled baguettes. What is it about French bread that makes it taste so much better than our own?!
In situ by the perimeter, the chairs came out, followed swiftly by lunch. It was noticeable that, unlike the previous afternoon, no other cars were present. Now this could have been due to the fact that everyone was aware that the airfield was closed until 1230, or it could have been worse than that! The reputed opening time came and went, and so did one other enthusiast who literally gave it 15 minutes before giving up his quest. In a brief moment of excitement a desert camo Mirage was spotted on tow, way off in the distance on the north-side of the base. The pictures are so heat-hazed it's very hard to tell what it was, but if I were a gambling man, my money would be on a Mirage III. Regardless, it soon disappeared from view and that was the last we saw of it.
Things did start to look a little more promising a short time later when a pair of young French photographers arrived, and they looked even better still when one of the cars driving around inside the perimeter stopped, with the driver - a pilot and allegedly a friend of theirs - getting out to tell them that it was going to be quiet but that there would be four or five aircraft flying from 1600. This did at least give us hope, and, just a handful of minutes later, one of them received a message saying that a pair was coming now. They never materialised, though a couple of aircraft were towed out and engine run in front of the woods opposite us.
A short time later another pilot stopped and told Gareth and myself that the only flying that would take place would be the recovery of the jets that had relocated to St Dizier that morning - doh! - but that wouldn't be until early evening. We gave it till 1700, but with a couple of hours on the roads ahead of us, we didn't feel we could hang around any longer.
Feeling rather frustrated and a tad dejected, our journey now took us south-west to our base for the next three nights, Evry, just to the south of Paris and about half an hour from La Ferte-Alais, and, once again, TomTom let us down, this time causing us to overshoot our destination by some 25 miles and then still failing to take us exactly to our hotel!
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