(10) Air traffic control (2/7).

How it was done over the territory of Slovakia.

The Area Air Traffic Control office was located in an inconspicuous looking room on one side of the first hangar at the airport of Ivanka in Bratislava. During a typical day shift there were two air traffic controllers on duty, and two female telephone operators. In the neighbouring office one or two females were keeping contacts with air taxis and operating radiotelephones, in the next office there were several teletype machines, and in an office farther there sat a telegraph operator. And at the end of the corridor was the office of two ATC managers. Shown below are some of the personnel of the Area ATC in 1959 (Tibor was at the Tower, Jano at the Area ATC, Sida, Vlasta, Valika and the two ?? were teletype operators); this is the only photograph from those faraway days that I managed to find:

Essential responsibility of the Area ATC is to ensure that all airplanes in the air over Slovakia are moving in mutually safe distances, both horizontally and vertically.

The need to create such service became obvious when both the number of airplanes in the air over Slovakia and their speed began to increase shortly after the second World War. Initially, the service was provided by a network of ground telegraph and radio signal transmitting stations (gonio, Adcock). The density of air traffic, accompanied by the increasing speed of airplanes in the air, required re-organisation of such system by creating air traffic control centres. The centres initially relied on the existing communication and ranging networks, that is that telegraphy was still being used for communication with the airplanes; likewise, the geographical locations of airplanes were often determined by acquiring various bearings using adjustable antennas of ground telegraphic stations. The system began to lag behind the requirements of modern-day air traffic, and in the 19-fifties ground-to-air communication began to use radiotelephones; locations of airplanes began to be determined by means of ground-based transmitters, be they standard commercial radio stations transmitters, or radio beacons built in specific locations; radars were also becoming available.

At the Area Control Centre, a sheet of paper about 800 x 100mm was used for graphic recording of aircraft movements. The paper was divided vertically into two halves, where the left half represented one day from 00 hours to 1200 hours, the right half from 1200 to midnight. The halves were further divided into 12 parts, each part representing one hour; distance was read horizontally, where each square represented 5 kilometres (each square vertically represented 5 minutes, I think). It would be nice to have just one piece of such paper to jolt the memory... Here’s my attempt at re-creating such paper:

 The system was fairly ingenious, and an experienced operator was able to evaluate air traffic over the territory of Slovakia at a glance, both in the past, present, and in the near future.

Referring to the diagram, for example, an operator starts his shift at 1100 o’clock. At the first glance he finds out that three airplanes left the area under his control by flying over Štúrovo into Hungary at 1030 and 1037 resp., and also over Brno at 1042; one airplane is in his area by entering it over Štúrovo at 1058 from Hungary, and, finally, one airplane would enter his area at 1113.
From those days I have but one photograph with the typical day shift personnel. Marek stands behind the desk with the sheet of paper described above. Behind Marek hangs drapery hiding radar screen. The radio telephone operator Luba sits on the left, two telephone operators on the right:

 Messages about actual, or future, locations of airplanes, and various other snippets of information, were received by the air traffic controller from various sources: from telegraph operators, from telephone operators, later directly from airplanes by means of radio telephone, also from neighbouring Area ATCs, or airport towers via telephone, from teletype operators, or from colleagues, who intercepted messages by various means. All of these messages were handed to the Controller on various bits of paper, which were on official forms from teletype operators, or sundry little pieces of papers from cut-to-pieces office stationery.
The Controller’s main task was to record on the ruled sheet of paper in front of him the expected or actual times of airplanes above the numerous radio navigational points in his area (on the diagram above they are Brno, Nitra and Štúrovo). From the information recorded in front of him he would allocate flight levels to the airplanes so that minimum prescribed separation between all flights is ensured.
For clarity diagram and the description in the paragraph above are both severely simplified. Missing are details of airplanes (call sign, airline, from-and-to, flight level, etc.), and many radio navigational and other points (Sliač, Jelšava, Košice, Poprad, Dubové, Jablonka, etc.). Many radio-navigational points were known by their Morse code call signs: for instance, Štúrovo was known as OKI, i.e. ---/-.-/.., Nitra as NIT, etc.
The graphic system based on the diagram above was used up to the year (about) 1965, when it was superseded by the so-called Strip system. In this system the information about airplanes was written on pre-printed strips of hard paper, inserted into holders and laid according to the time on a slanting board in front of the Controller (thank you, Marek Sibik):

And how the Office looks today (thank you, Pavel B.):

(9) Air traffic control (1/7).

Beginnings.

I started as an air traffic controller at the international airport Bratislava-Ivanka in October 1960. For a few months I worked at the tower, and in January 1961, I joined the group of budding air traffic controllers in Prague, who were there in the course that started back in August 1960. After the course I was placed to the Area Air Traffic Control Centre in Bratislava. The airport towers were responsible for the air traffic around the airports (Bratislava, Piešt'any, Sliač, Poprad and Košice) to about 30 kilometres diameter, and to 3000 metres height. The Area ATC was responsible for the air traffic over the entire territory of Slovakia, with the exception of the airport areas.

People in the course were “from the streets”, i.e. without any experience in aviation. The personnel at the Area Control Centre were similar; a few of them used to work previously as telegraph operators.

Pictured below are the students at the air traffic control course at the airport Prague-Ruzyně in 1960-61:

Front row l-r: Janáč (standing with briefcase), Hajdin, Šibík, Chlán, Múdry, Vadovič, Hurtík.

Rear row l-r: Mieszczak (with briefcase), Krigler, ??, Mikuš, Verner, Štefáček, ??, ??, Košan, Chudomel, ??, Hatvani (hidden behind the cap), ??, Zeman, ??, Komínek, ??, ??

Missing from this picture, as far as I remember: Drgo, Horňák, Šimurka a Vechter, all from Slovakia.

About half of us were from Slovakia (apart from one the entire front row, plus a few in the rear). The lecturers in the course were Czechs, and I was able to observe certain communication problem. The Slovakians from along the border with the Czech part of the country, or those who spent some time in the Czech environment were familiar with the Czech language. As to me, Czech language was my mother’s tongue. The remainder of Slovakians, especially those from central and eastern Slovakia, understood Czech language but scantily. All the textbooks and literature provided to us were written in the Czech language. The Slovaks were lagging in discussions, where they were viewed as somewhat backward, especially because they were trying to speak slowly and distinctly to make their Czech brethren to understand better.

At the time the country received new president, Antonín Novotný, until then secretary of the ruling communist party. Being Czech he was not kindly received by the Slovakians in our course, who were expecting the Slovakian prime minister, Viliam Široký, to receive the (largely ceremonial) post. Knowing about Široký enough to be sceptical about his ability I kept my cool. When working as a land surveyor I spent half a day in the villa of Široký family in Bratislava, where I heard many an unpleasant thing about this black sheep of the family (and also from Gustl, my aide at the time); therefore, Novotný was to me more acceptable than Široký, although these communist apparatchiks were all tarred by the same brush.

In the following years I heard similar complaints about the Czech language from the new graduates of the courses in Prague, and I began to promote the idea of organising such courses in Slovakia, and in Slovakian language. I was experienced enough, for I was running similar courses for pilots at the aero club of Vajnory, and in similar subjects: in about 1966 we ran one such course at the airport of Ivanka, where I lectured in about five subjects.

I realised almost immediately that the task was a bit beyond our ability, both professionally and organisationally – for instance, in those days it was almost impossible to copy any written material. I tried to ask for help elsewhere.

I tried to enlist help from my former Alma Mater: in 1961-63 I studied briefly part-time at the Transport university in Žilina. The course was called Economy and Management of Air Transport (or similar). As it consisted of studying Soviet methods of such management, I ceased attending; it was worthless and waste of time. I wrote a letter to the Dean of my old faculty, outlining our efforts and our problems, with a plea for help. Two weeks after posting the letter I asked his secretary for an audience with him.

I did not get very far, for he chased me away from his doorstep with loud abuses: such a poor student had the temerity to annoy Him with something so outrageous!

As well, in my humble opinion at the time, I thought that air traffic controllers should possess some practical experience of flying. When I settled down in the office, I began talking some pilots from my aero club to apply for the positions of air traffic controllers. We gained for the ATC (and for the Ivanka Tower as well, I think) some 12 powered airplanes pilots. I honestly tried to evaluate each and every of them for their aptitude for the job, but some of them eventually turned out not to be up to the task, and either dropped out, or toiled valiantly at something that was a little beyond their ability. It seemed to me that an air traffic controller needs to be in possession of something more, and that “something” was for me difficult to define. After the first ten I refrained from trying to rope a few more in.

Here are some of those from the first “batch”, whom I managed to get to my office at the Area Control Centre Bratislava. They were excellent pilots, and they turned out to be excellent air traffic controllers as well:

They are the third, fourth and fifth from the left:  Laco Žemla, Karolko Žilinský and Ivan Weiss. First from the left is Švancar, a glider pilot, on the extreme right is Groh; second from left is Ivan Pucher, a gifted and quality pilot. I was thinking of getting him as well, but for some reasons it did not happen.

Ivan Weiss is retired after many years as professional pilot, and still flies on occasions with his son, a captain on B737 with the Czech Airlines. Laco and Karolko are dead: Lacko was killed during aerobatic at Očová, Karolko during landing his air taxi L-200 at Sliač in difficult weather conditions – may the Heaven of Airmen be kind to you, friends!

In the next article I'll make an attempt to explain the ins and outs of the air traffic control at the time.

(8) Aero club.

, 

Note.

Abbreviated version appeared in the Czech aviation server planes.cz 

I became member of the aero club in Nitra in 1954, where at the time I was studying at the local Agricultural University. After some three months of theory, I flew for the first time in February 1955, with the instructor called Lacko Bartosiewicz, on an all-wooden replica of Buecker Bestmann, officially called C-106, registration OK-BJG. 

A few weeks later, after I clocked up some 9 hours with instructor, I was sent to my first solo flight. The airfield was between a hill called Kalvária, and the Nitra castle. To this day I can see that castle under my left wing during the first turn on the circuit, and the Kalvária during the third turn. Immediately before the edge of the airfield were the remnants of the factory popularly called Mrázovka where, during the WW2, manufacture of various airplanes was taking place, Fieseler Storch (I think), Kranich, and maybe some others.

The instructors at Nitra Aero club were names well known in the Slovakian aviation: Major Róbert Vesperín, Lacko Bartosiewicz, Mikulec, Varečka, Jano Smatana, Miloš Mičík, and many others. From my family I was not the first person in Nitra, for my uncle Štefan was a flight mechanic there during his military service in 1927-28. And and a few life-long friends: Lacko Krivda, Jozef „Joppi“ Legeň, Bohuš „Saroško“ Mésároš, z atletiky Miško Suláni a Jozef Šulgan, etc.

Aero clubs at the time belonged to the Air Force under the umbrella of Society for Cooperation With the Army (acronym SVAZARM), and all flying was conducted in accordance with the air force rules. After a few hours in the air with an instructor it was time for some aerobatics: I will never forget the first loop, followed by a roll, in a Z-26 registration OK-EXL, somewhere above Koliňany, with Major Róbert Vesperín at the controls.

After some 50 flying hours I decided to devote my life to aviation. The Soviet methods of agriculture and animal husbandry, as taught at the time, were never appealing to me anyway, and in the autumn 1955 I enrolled into the (for non-students) compulsory military service. I was lucky to become an aircraft licenced engineer at the air force base at Bechyně, later at Čáslav. I spent more than two years working on the then newish jet fighters MiG-15. The National Service soldiers at the time were not allowed to fly in aero clubs, and during those two years I only looked on with envy…

After the service, early in 1958, I joined aero club in Vajnory. During that year I clocked more than 100 flying hours on powered airplanes, gained flight instructor and tug pilot rating, and also multi-engine airplanes endorsement. 

In winter courses for budding pilots I began lecturing on various subjects.

The First World Aerobatic Championship.

In 1958 I flew Meta-Sokol to Choceň for its periodical inspection. There, behind their hangar, was the wreckage of airplane Sokol, in which the then well-known pilot Luboš Št'astný was killed somewhere in Africa. Several Czech pilots-acrobats were standing around the wreckage as well; some of them recently took part in some aerobatic competitions abroad (Lockheed Trophy in Coventry, I think). I mentioned that we should try and organise some similar competition in our country, Czechoslovakia. As far as I remember I heard but peals of laughter at such suggestion, for aviation, airfields, airplanes, all belonging to the Air Force, were at the time highly secret subjects (and for that reason I have from those time only a very few photographs, all taken more or less clandestinely, including the picture above). On the same day I was at the offices of the central Committee of SVAZARM in Prague, together with Captain Viliam Kuna and Comrade Otokar Zajko, who were in Slovakia heads of powered flying and gliding respectively. Still in high spirits after the discussion in Choceň only a few hours previously, to the President of SVAZARM, a Colonel, if not a General, I mentioned the need for some aerobatic competition in Czechoslovakia. I have no exact recollection of his reaction, maybe something like “write to me about it”, which I certainly have done!

Back at home in Vajnory I received a severe dressing down for my temerity of mentioning such outrageous thing. Undeterred, I started writing letters, certainly to the SVAZARM, and certainly to any other organisation I could think of having potential interest in such a competition – and I do not remember all the details. And I received a huge number of put-downs from all quarters for my efforts, and I do not remember anybody who would come to me with a word of encouragement, let alone support. Suffice to say, that at the end of summer, 1960, we, at the Aero Club of Vajnory, hosted the first World's Aerobatic Championship.

The Championship took two weeks, the first week was allocated to training flights, and the competition itself lasted for nearly entire second week. One member of the Spanish team, short, swarthy, was interested in the squiggles we, the Czechoslovak pilots, had affixed to the instrument panels of our airplanes. The squiggles were graphic descriptions of the aerobatic sequences, and with the Spanish guy I spent a few hours studying them. The language was a problem, for at the time I spoke only Slovak, Czech and Russian, all these languages being entirely foreign to him, but we managed to get by. Many years later I discovered “my” squiggles – more elegant and comprehensive by far – in the form of the so-called Aresti system, which is being used world-wide ever since.

By the way, I was not one of the competitors in that Championship. In the recent Championship of Slovakia in Aerobatics I finished fifth, and only the first four advanced to the Czechoslovakian round, from which only top ten (I think) were nominated for the World Championship. A few pictures from that first World Championship can be seen here  https://plus.google.com/photos/116518737615500613214/albums

l-r: Hatvani, Barták, Kuchta, Cerný, Trebatický, Selnekovic, Boroš, Doktor, Šouc.

A bit of a personal memory.
When the last competitor landed late in the afternoon, we, several Bratislava residents, sat on the grass and waited for the results to be announced. There were five competitors in the group (Trebatický, Selnekovič, Boroš, Doktor and Hatvani) and I guess a few mechanics and helpers. Suddenly, comrade Maňka, also from Bratislava, one of the referees at this championship and at the same time the chairman of the referee committee, ran to us from the distant refereeing table. He came to tell us the results of the mandatory competition, which were to be officially announced soon. Out of breath, he told us that all five of us placed out of about thirty in the upper half and by far the most points were scored by – this swine! - and with a theatrical gesture he pointed at me! The choice of his word (maybe some attempt at a joke), a swine, was so unexpected that no one said a word, smiled, congratulated, and there was an air of uneasy silence. Maňka left, and I don't remember what we were talking about afterwards.
Many years later, I told a young lawyer about this incident, and he gave me the following analysis:
"In a tense situation, in the middle of a national competition, such a word from the chairman of the referee committee, in the presence of other competitors, such a word towards one of the competitors was a clear expression of bias on the part of the referee and the chairman of the referee committee, and also a gross insult to personality. You should have stood up right away, marked the word as an insult, brought the person in front of the organizers of the competition and asked for his withdrawal from the referee committee on the spot."
I was 23 years old at the time, and of course such a legal pirouette did not come to my mind. Like everyone else in that group, I was taken aback and couldn't even say a word, not even a triumphant smile.
Needless to say, on the second day of the competition, in the free acrobatic competition, when each competitor had the opportunity to show what he can do, I got so few points that I ended up in fifth place – and only the first four had enough points to advance to the national competition.

My haggling with the Spaniard did not go unnoticed by the State Security (ŠtB), for one young man came to me asking if I am aware of the ban on speaking with foreigners (if such thing can be imagined in 2011). Well, aware I was and the young man led me to the exit with the words "not to come near the airfield again". As result I saw the Championship from a respectable 1 kilometre distance at Rendez. One day there I met with a group of parachutists from the same aero club, some of whom held world records in parachute jumping at the time (Šaňo Nagy, Gabo Kiš, maybe Hindický, Méheš, and others), who enquired as to how us, the pilots, were able to wangle such thing as this Championship. I told them about my activities, and to my surprise, the next year the Aero Club of Vajnory was hosting World Championship in parachute jumping. With this, apart from that initial discussion, I had nothing to do whatsoever, for I was mostly away and busy with my new job as.... 

.... an air traffic controller.

It just happened that shortly after the Aerobatic Championship I chanced on an advertisement in the local paper calling for “people interested in despatching airplanes”. At the time I was working as a shoveler in the nearby chemical factory, “despatching” seemed attractive to me, etc., etc. – and I got the job, and was required to start in October 1960.

The new job took me away from the aero club activities. I had to learn a lot of new things, I was working shifts – the aero club faded into the background a little. On the rare occasions I went there was to stand in for some flight instructor, or a tug pilot, even a courier on occasions, mainly flying some dignitaries around the country; I did not cease my lecturing in winter courses for budding pilots. Initially, these were held at the airfield, but transport in wintertime was not always reliable and we ended up in the SVAZARM building in the City, just next to Reduta. And at the same time, I was nominated to the position on the... 

...Board of the aero club.

It was a strange institution. The aero club belonged to the Army, and each and every of them was run along military lines: all equipment, including the airplanes, was supplied by the Army, flying was conducted according to the Air Force manuals, officers ranking from captains up to colonels were in charge of every aero club. And, of course, they had the first and the last word in everything. And alongside all that there was this Board…

In Vajnory, the Board consisted of about eight members, and each of them was “in charge” of some of the club’s activity. I ended up with powered flying. At Vajnory at the time we had about 15 powered airplanes, namely Z-126, Z-226, L-60, Ae-45, L200, L-40, C-11, An-2. I beg for forgiveness from those airplanes I forgot to mention, it’s been a long time since...

The Board's Chairman at the time was Comrade Tomáš Maňka, an exceptionally intelligent man, and a pilot par excellence.

One of the first things I chanced upon in my field of activity, which was powered airplanes, were discrepancies in statistics. Keeping tabs on the usage of airplanes is exceedingly important, for each type has strict and exact intervals of maintenance: every 10 hours must something be checked/cleaned/repaired/replaced, every 25 hours, 50, 100, 500, etc. If these intervals are broken by a mere 10 minutes, let alone one hour, the airplane is not allowed to fly without special dispensation from a technician, with details of restrictions – if any – clearly defined. In Vajnory aero club the flying hours were recorded in a cavalier fashion (the airplanes did not have automatic flying hours recorders). In local flights the take-offs and landing were recorded by the ground crew in the “Book of take-offs and landings”. The recording, where forgotten, was added by estimation at the end of the flying day; the inter-airfield flights, and flights at away-airfields, were a bit trickier. The recording of flying times depended on the pilots, whose activity was not always focused on the maintenance of good records. In summary, the keeping of statistics had a lot to be desired, to put it mildly. When raised at meetings of the Council, these matters received rather short shrift: it’s the responsibility of SVAZARM, and that’s where it ended (except that for raising it at all I tickled the Colonels against myself).

There were huge discrepancies in the airplanes’ fuel and oil consumption, where I could not help noticing that the fuel was used for everything, apart from its proper purpose: the mechanics used it to wash the airplane components; many people used it in their cars and motorcycles… Again – don’t worry, it’s SVAZARM’S responsibility!

At around the same time my character received a “political” blot. It happened thus…

We, the pilots of powered airplanes, had but little to do with our gliding brothers (with the exception of those few who flew in both types of airplanes). From my position on the Board, I was aware of one new member, who joined after having been refused membership in an aero club somewhere in the Czech part of the country. That was all I knew.

One lovely gliding day it was my turn to man the tug airplane. There were almost a dozen of gliders of all types getting ready, and, as it was customary, they all wanted to be in the air at the same time the moment the weather conditions became conducive for gliding. I was pulling them up one after another, and all of them were releasing themselves from my tug after reaching 400 – 500 metres height. After the first few flights I knew locations of best updrafts, and some of the gliders were releasing themselves at as low as 300 metres. Suddenly I noticed one of the gliders coming to land: conditions being so good something must have happened to him, I thought. After having pulled them all in the air I landed and switched the engine off. After a while one of the ground crew came to me saying that Kinský would like to get to air again (Kinský was the name of the new member). Fine, I started the engine, the glider was hitched behind me and off we went! I found the best updraft, started circling and waited for him to release himself: 300 metres, 400, 500 … 700, nothing. I indicated to him by gently rocking my wings that perhaps…. He just hand-gestured to me to continue climbing. As you like, I thought; he released himself at about 1500 metres. I landed and promptly forgot about the whole episode. A day or two later I was summoned to the office of the local StB (State Security): what do I know about the case - what case???!!! It transpired that on that day the glider pilots, when they were storing the gliders in their fairly tight hangar, discovered some unusual extra space, and it was only then that they realised that one glider was missing… Later on, after ‘phone calls from Austria, it was discovered that the glider with Kinský on board landed in Austria. Such unauthorised excursions from the “communist” paradise were regarded highly criminal. I was the last person to be in contact with this “criminal”, albeit by means of a tug rope only – I was under suspicion of aiding and abetting.

Being member of the Board was less and less to my liking, and I began to think of resigning. The final straw came from the comrade Chairman, who on several occasions placed emphasis on things leading to preferential treatment of one group of people – his friends. It occurred especially at the birth of the famous aerobatic group.

I was responsible for the powered flying (on paper, at least), but the proposal to form an aerobatic group was presented to me in its final form. I had no objections and supported the idea wherever such support was needed – it was an interesting and, given the political atmosphere we lived in, a big thing. I merely remarked to the Comrade Maňka that perhaps a club competition should be held to select the best pilots. At the time we had in our aero club at least a dozen of excellent pilots, with all of them skilled in formation flying. How to select the best one for aerobatic formation flying I had no idea; I was certain that nobody else had such an idea either! Comrade Maňka bristled just-so-gently, for, albeit indirectly, I cast doubts on his selection of pilots. The group became famous, successful and popular at air shows at home at in the near abroad. I admired their skills and courage, but the method of selection of their members went against my hair. I had enough of the Board and resigned my membership after some two years.

And here I feel the need for an apology to the Comrade Maňka for something that he could construe as some kind of revenge. I am not lusting for revenge, nor do I know what for – but still…

A year or two after my resignation Comrade Maňka turned up at Ivanka airport, where I worked as an area air traffic controller. He asked me that, since I must be certainly aware, that the Manager of the airport is on the way out, whether I would be able to push some buttons and pull some ropes for him, Comrade Maňka, to get his position. I was not aware of anything around the airport manager. Of the situation I informed my friend Ondro Hudoba from Žilina, who promptly submitted his application. He had suitable qualifications, gained at the Transport University in his hometown, he was an excellent pilot, and he was a member of the ruling Communist party – he had all necessary qualifications in abundance. Unfortunately, the position of the airport Manager went to the local storeman, a comrade Želinský; my Ondro ended up as Manager at Košice airport, a consolation prize…

I have fond memories of my 10 years at Vajnory, some of them stand out more than others: escorting groups of “western” airplanes from Bratislava to Košice; aerobatics with captain Kuna; debating colonel Šoška… Maybe I’ll write them down all, when I feel like it one day.

Escorting foreign airplanes.

Under some ruling foreign airplanes were not allowed to fly over Czechoslovakian territory unaccompanied.

Around 1964 I was asked by the aero club’s manager, colonel Mäsiar, to escort several groups of foreign airplanes from Bratislava to Košice, a distance of some 300 kilometres. Among the groups were airplanes from West Germany, Switzerland, Austria, and maybe some other countries (the name of Neil Williams whom I met once is buzzing somewhere in the background; maybe the British group was among them as well). They were on their way to the World Aerobatic Championship taking place somewhere in the Soviet Union. From Košice they were to be escorted by a Soviet airplane.

I presented myself to those groups at Ivanka airport, where they landed one after another, and outlined to them details of the trip. One of the groups asked me to ensure that my airplane should fly at speed of at least 200kmh, for some of their aerobatic airplanes’ engines tend to overheat at lower speeds.

Back at Vajnory, with the assistance of our local mechanics, I prepared the twin-engine L-200, which was able to fly at the speed of close to 300kmh. As well, I signed for keys from the hangar, for I had to fly the airplane from Vajnory to Ivanka (3 kilometres apart) at 7 in the morning.

Next day, before 7 a.m., I dragged the airplane out of the hangar, checked, prepared, started – it would not! After a while I discovered that the fuel filter had been removed, favourite trick of the colonel Mäsiar, aero club manager. I was unable to find the part and so back to the hangar with the L-200, and I pulled out the much slower L-40 Meta Sokol. I flew it to Ivanka and informed the disappointed visitors about the predicament. The airplane (KZ-7, I think) that was unable to fly slower than 200kmh for prolonged period of time, each time the engine temperature climbed past red mark began to perform aerobatic manoeuvres around us, and somehow we managed to get to Košice, 300 kilometres away.

After landing in Košice I discovered that the way back to Bratislava was barred by a strong cold front, and we slept at the airport. Next morning we landed at Vajnory, after an eventful flight during which we had to dodge various remnants of the front. To my surprise, at Vajnory there waited for us (I had a passenger, a glider pilot from Vajnory, who hitched a ride with me) two members of the secret security service (ŠtB). One of them, Zat'ko, was known to me from my work at Ivanka airport. They immediately barged into us with questions, like “what were you talking about with those westerners?”, “where are the contraband cigarettes and other articles?” that we were allegedly given by those westerners. My denials – “look into my pockets, check the airplane over there” – were to no avail. One of them actually went to the airplane and checked every cranny and nook – “Nothing, fuck all!”, was his elegant verdict on return. We were being abused by them for a while and eventually they left with ominous words “don’t you dare to come to this airfield until investigation is over!”. Facetiously I asked “and can I go to Ivanka airport to my work?”, to which they replied “just you keep toying with us…”.

I kept coming to work at Ivanka, though and, one morning, after my night shift, I stopped at the Central market for some breakfast and a glass of redcurrant wine. I chanced there upon the secret service agent, known to me from Vajnory and Ivanka as well. I treated him to a glass of wine, maybe even two, and asked him what stage is “my” investigation at. The answer was that there never was any investigation, for he knows what sort of dubious person I was! Can I then continue with my aero club activities, can I go to the Vajnory airfield? Well, if you insist so much, was his answer… That’s how the things were solved in those days.

The real cause for the presence of the two secret agents at Vajnory airfield was different, though!

On the day of my departure from Vajnory airfield to Ivanka early in the morning something happened. I was aware that on that day an airplane was scheduled to land at Ivanka from Austria or West Germany. Indeed, on our departure from Ivanka, myself in Meta-Sokol, accompanied by a flock of foreign airplanes, I heard on the radio the scheduled airplane calling Ivanka tower. Their connection was not without fault, for either the tower could not hear the airplane, or vice versa. According to the Air Navigation Rules I interposed and tried to mediate between the two, also unsuccessfully. Later, when I was past Nitra, some 60-70 km away, I was unable to hear either the airplane, or the tower, and the episode thus ended for me. In the meantime, however, the airplane landed at Vajnory airfield, a group of East Germans hopped on board, the airplane took off and disappeared westward beyond the Austrian border. An East German registered passenger vehicle remained abandoned on the outskirt of the airfield.

I was summoned to, and interrogated at, the Security Service headquarters: did I see the East German vehicle? What did I know about the whole affair? Why was it exactly me selected to accompany the “western” airplanes? After several sessions by different agents the whole affair died down and I never heard of it again.

Aviation-themed photographs in Slovakian Picasa.

In the communist SVAZARM era the aero clubs belonged to the army, and taking of photographs was prohibited. From my 15-years of activity in aero clubs and at various air force bases I saw but very few cameras, and pictures from those times are not easy to come by. Those that exist are often of poor quality, attesting to the fact they were taken clandestinely. And woefully few are of the people who were in charge of aero clubs for the simple reason that the same people were in charge of enforcing the bans.

Noteworthy from among those who were photographed but seldom, mostly air force officers, are the following: Róbert Vesperín, manager of Nitra aero club, Anton Mäsiar, ditto at Vajnory, Viliam Kuna, head of powered flying in Slovakia, Otakar Zajko, head of gliding in Slovakia, Anton Šoška, manager of Slovakian aero clubs, Vinco Draganovský, something around parachute jumping,etc. From nonsoldiers men like Fero Havran and Ivan Kubán, both flying instructors at Vajnory, are nowhere to be seen. And from ordinary aero club members, missing are Zdeněk Bruthans, Zdenka Morovjanová, Jozef Smolka, Tonda Sokol, and scores of others. And, of course, not everyone was photogenic…

Captain Kuna.

Viliam Kuna was in charge of powered flying in Slovakian aero clubs, and he held that position already at the time of my joining the Vajnory aero club in 1958; he left some time in 1962-63 and became captain on Il-14, flying for the Interior ministry air wing. In that position, and myself as an air traffic controller, we communicated once when he was on the way to Poland. I flew with him many times, and it was always something memorable.

First time it was when he was testing my navigation skills during flight from Vajnory to Prague, and landing at Choceň on the way, to deliver the L-40 Meta-Sokol airplane for a major service. From Choceň I piloted the Ae-45, which was flown to Choceň by Mr Zajko.

Take-off from Vajnory was uneventful, but from Trstín the mountains were covered by fairly common early-morning clouds. I flew above them, but after a while they seem to be stretching forever in front of us, instead of the usual 8 or 10 kilometres. Having no endorsement for flying in the clouds I decided to turn back a little and find some way of flying below them; I was ordered by captain Kuna to proceed above the clouds. Mr Zajko, flying in a loose formation with us, came closer and asked by gesticulation if it is o.k. (we had no radios in those days); assured in the positive we kept on flying. I was using only map, compass and the on-board clock. The cloud cover was continuous with no “hole” to enable ground visibility until we were near Choceň, according to my reckoning. Only then we saw a pin-prick size hole, through which we were able to glimpse the ground. With the Captain’s approval I dove into it and had to put the airplane into a fairly sharp spiral to avoid entering the clouds. I could catch a glimpse of the Ae-45 behind and above us, spiralling in laborious fashion, for Mr Zajko’s airplane, being twin-engine, and larger and heavier than our Meta-Sokol, was less nimble.

We dropped from the cloud-cover some 200 metres above the ground. Being in those parts of the country for the first time I did not recognise anything on the ground. The captain asked me for my position, which I indicated to him on the map: about 5-8 km east from Choceň. He nodded and pointed with his chin towards some road on the ground, which I was to follow. And, indeed, after a few minutes I saw in the distance the railway station, and an airfield with hangars to the left of it: Choceň! I joined the circuit and landed, with the Ae-45 in tight formation next to us. I asked captain Kuna whether that road was just his lucky guess, or whether he was familiar with the area – he used to fly from an air force base nearby, was the reply.

On another occasion I flew him in an Ae-45 from Vajnory to Poprad, where he was to test some pilots who congregated there from entire Slovakia to take advantage of mountain wave conditions. During such wave at Poprad airport a very strong wind of variable intensity used to blow. I did not succeed landing on my first attempt, having been tossed by a gust of wind. The airport being fairly long I tried to land again – unsuccessful! My third attempt was also un-sucessful and I decided to abort and repeat the circuit. Kuna asked if he could try it: be my guest, I said. He grabbed the controls and landed the airplane as smoothly as if there was no wind at all!!! On the ground, however, it was impossible for us to turn the airplane back to the hangars, for the wind was forcing us to face it towards itself. I had to jump out, hold a wing and canter beside the airplane the entire length of the runway, about 2 kilometres, to the hangars…

The third episode, viewed through the rear looking mirror of memories had an aura of some strange foreboding.

In order to fly aerobatics as low as 100 metres above ground I was being tested by Kuna for “low” aerobatics, which is “high “ aerobatics flown close to the ground. We were in Z-226, which is an airplane where the pilot sits in the rear seat, the examiner in the front one. The airplane’s engine was under-powered for even one person, let alone for two; visibility from the rear seat was not perfect even without the obstruction represented by the passenger in the front. I flew every figure asked for by Kuna, both in normal flight and in the inverted one, and at the end he asked for a roll close to the ground. “Under 100 metres?”, I asked. “Yes!”, was the reply.

Along the northern edge of the airfield, in the direction from Rendez, I dropped the airplane to about 10 metres above the ground, lifted the nose a little and performed the roll. “One more, and lower!”, asked Kuna. I returned to the initial position, dropped the airplane to maybe 5 metres, and performed the roll. For the third time, he asked for another roll, but “lower still!”. This time I dropped the airplane so that the undercarriage was almost touching the grass and rolled the airplane again. “Once more, but lower still!!!”, he screamed in an unnaturally sounding voice. I throttled the engine back for a moment, so that I could be heard, and said “I AM NOT SUICIDAL!” Kuna, as if snapping from a trance, replied in an almost unnaturally calm sounding voice “It’s o.k., let’s land.” I landed the airplane, and when we stepped out Kuna on the wing penned in my Book of Flying Records his permit to fly aerobatics to 100 metres above the ground.

Some four years after this episode Kuna committed suicide.

He was the best pilot I ever had the honour to fly with. 

Gliding

Flying on powered airplanes all my career I was always looking with a degree of envy at the glider pilots, with their handsome, slow and quiet machines. On occasions I flew with few friends among them: with Standa Šumpík in Blaník above Vajnory in a mountain wave conditions; with Ivan Lednár in a Kmotr above Malé Karpaty mountains. He asked me to show him how to perform a loop, but when I started the airplane began to creak something horrid, and the loop had to be aborted; and with Olda Bílek in a primitive Pionýr. I never found time to get the gliding licence.

I left Vajnory and flying in 1968 and did not fly for the next 35 years. Shortly before retiring I joined the aero club Mangalore at the Locksley airfield. My first flight took place in a Blaník. 80-years old Max Carpenter was in the instructor’s seat and was telling me what to do during the winch take-off. I managed everything allright, but it did not feel right, the long years of interruption were very palpable. Also, I was struggling with flying in thermals, and I needed perhaps 2 or 3 hours with an instructor to be able to stay up for prolonged period of time by myself. After Mangalore I joined the aero club at Benalla, and continued in my favourite airplane, two-seater IS-28. It had gliding ratio about 1:28, and on it I used to spend 2-3 memorable hours in the air on many an occasion. I had no great ambitions, either in time, or the distance flown. The small triangle of about 50 kilometres from the airfield, with its corners above Euroa, Lake Nillahcootie and Wangaratta, was entirely sufficient for me. After few hours I was promoted to a single-seater Junior, later Mosquito, both with performance superior to the two-seaters (but I always gladly came back to the IS-28, or Blaníks).

One day in 2007, in a beautiful gliding weather some 2000 metres above Wangaratta, a thought crossed my mind, out of the blue: “What do you need all this for?”, and my inner voice replied to myself “For nothing!”. I decided on the spot that after some 50 years of flying this moment is the right one for me to stop. I climbed up to the base of the cloud above me, and then began a long descent towards the airfield, some 50 kilometres distant. On the way I had to fight natural temptation to utilise upward air currents and use the downward currents instead. After landing I found that the airplane (IS-28, VH-WVV) was not needed on the day, so I hitched it behind the tractor and towed it to the hangar. There I cleaned it, bedded it down in the hangar, jumped in the car and went home. From home I emailed the aero club that I have no intention of renewing my soon-to-expire licence, and that I am resigning my membership in the club as well. From that day I feel I accomplished in flying everything I ever wanted, and I do not feel any temptation to return. Almost…

Between the years of 1955 and 2007 I clocked some 700 flying hours on gliders and powered airplanes. I had no accident, no mishaps; I never bent or scratched any airplane! During that time, I met hundreds of good people, and I am in touch with many of them to this day.

A few memorable moments.

-    Circling in a thermal in Z-226 tug, with the tow rope dangling behind, with a flock of storks above Malé Karpaty mountains;

-    Circling in a thermal in a Mosquito with three pelicans in a formation above Benalla;

-    Circling in a Z-126 around fast-growing cumulonimbus up to 4800 metres above Pezinok. As a bonus, from my height I could see Austrian Airlines Vickers Viscount deep below me slowly climbing up  on its way from Vienna to Warsaw;

-    Evading collision with a jet airliner Tu-124, about 300 metres above ground in the vicinity of Průhonice.

During this flight I flew an L-200 with 4 passengers on board from Prague-Ruzyně back to Bratislava. We were on course, at 300 metres above the ground, about 30 kilometres to the east from the Ruzyně airport when I glimpsed directly ahead a silhouette of a jet airliner, some 3-4 kilometres distant, heading straight towards me. Our airspeed was about 280 kmh, that of the airliner’s some 500-600 kmh. Before I had time to evaluate the situation the mutual distance became so small that I had to put my airplane into steep dive. The airliner zipped past about 50 metres above us; I could hear the roar of its engines and saw that he was lifting his wing in the process of initiating an evasive manoeuvre. Its captain told me later on that he saw my airplane only as a fleeting reflection against the sun as it was beginning to dive. My four passengers, having loosened their seat belts after take-off, were tossed to the roof by my dive; subsequent recovery from the dive slammed them helter-skelter back to their seats…

Some airplane types I have flown on:

My basic training took place on this Zlin Z-381 ("mine" was OK-BJG), also known as C106, popularly Biker, with about 50 hours total:

Sokol M1C. One of "mine" was OK-DHS. Also about 50 hours.

Ae-45 (OK-FHD, -HGB, -FLA, etc), some 90 hours.

The Siebel in the background was just being taken apart for scrap metal.

Meta-Sokol, L-40, here with Standa Doktor at Prague-Ruzyně airport (picture by Karolko Zilinsky). About 60-70 hours.

Zlin Akrobat. Only about 5 hours, while it was on loan at Vajnory from Otrokovice.

Zlin Z-22. About 10 hours.

Aero Ae-45, Zlin Trener Z-26, -126, -226.

Many hundred hours, especially on Treners.

L-200 Morava. Some 70-80 hours.

Antonov An-2. Second pilot only, mostly during flights with parachutists. Some 21 hours.

Z-26, -126 & -226, some 500 hours all up.

Here I am in a PZL Junior at Benalla: