FLYING ADVENTURE

CYMRU CULTURE

Martin Ferid takes a sojourn in Haverfordwest, Pembrokeshire, to check out what is on offer in Wales…

Hopefully, the aircraft were all still usable, everyone managed to get airborne, and those first few flights weren’t as traumatic as they could have been. The skies should be a little safer now than a few weeks ago, as pilots gradually get back into the swing of things. After not having flown for so long and due to the backlog, most instructors have been rushed off their feet, inundated with currency checks and instructional flights.

Personally speaking, I must have flown from half the airfields in the South East and done enough circuits to get dizzy – no complaints though, it’s better to be doing lumps and bumps with rusty pilots with seemingly suicidal tendencies than not flying at all. Last month’s highlight for me was the Vintage Fly-in at

Compton Abbas, one of the few events that hadn’t been cancelled. Understandably, many were put off by the forecast and, generally speaking, the thought of showerdodging for three hours would not hold a great appeal, but under the circumstances, it proved to be a good day out.

As an event, it was low key, but as a chance for a bit of normality, it was a great start. Covid precautions were in place, food was served outside, but unfortunately the public were not allowed airside. However, it was an indication of things to come, the start of a return to life as we knew it. Above Pembrokeshire has a magnificent coast with secluded beaches and the 186-mile Coastal Path for the more adventurous. In last month’s magazine excursion, we travelled to the eastern coast of Britain and the last stop before the North Sea and Holland, Beccles. In an attempt to maintain a Parnassian balance, it seems reasonable to head for the western coast in this issue, and one of the last bastions before the Emerald Isle, Haverfordwest.

Generally speaking, Haverfordwest, or Hwlffordd in Welsh, has been a stepping-off point en route to and from Ireland. My partner Sian’s name is Welsh, the equivalent of Jane in English, Siobhán in Irish and Sheena in Scottish, so she feels a connection with the friendly nature of the people and the country in general. My first landing at EGFE was at a time when things were new and full of wonderment. To describe things as exciting, thrilling and downright scary all at once is an understatement and doesn’t do justice to the mix of high-octane emotions. Articles such as these would fire the soul and stir the spirit but the reality appeared, to a neophyte like me, that they were the preserve of real aviators, an elite group to which access was ostensibly denied. Apart from a few club trips that served as a great introduction, this was the first real foray as a ‘big boy’ with a group of experienced pilots. With no instructor or mentor to hold your hand, anxiety levels were high, although the guys surrounding me displayed an enviable equanimity. In seeking advice from the most seasoned aviator within the

Left Haverfordwest Airport has had a deal of investment over the last 25 years.

group, his answers were aphoristic and casually dismissed as he held the belief that experience was something to be earned and a baptism of fire was the best learning tool. Simply rubbing shoulders with these gurus made me feel much like the young ‘wanna be’ gunslinger that trailed Yul Brynner, Steve McQueen and the other gunfighters in The Magnificent Seven.

Having traversed the UK horizontally and on reaching this far-flung outpost of the British Isles felt an achievement for a pilot with around 100 hours P1, and the call for a drink, a meal and bed beckoned. My compatriots, however, had already made the decision to continue before an approaching front, so without time to lose, on we went. We managed to cross the Irish Sea before the first diversion and, without realising it yet, the experience building exercise had begun. It is said that ignorance is bliss and for the time being, at least, I was in awe of these masters of the sky! The result was a few soggy days in Ireland, followed by a return to Haverfordwest and a night in a damp, disused caravan on the airfield courtesy of the owner, there being no ‘room at the inn’. After this first taste of the ‘forbidden fruit’, instead of it being off-putting, the addiction grew to eventually become a way of life, similar in some respects to the fervour I imagine is felt by some religious zealots. Oddly enough, each time I visited this particular airfield, there was a calamity or unexpected occurrence of some kind. On one occasion, the trimmer stuck fully aft on departing Kilkenny and the Irish Sea was flown pushing forward for dear life. Landing back to sort out the issue wasn’t an option. On another occasion, the gascolator bowl developed a leak dispensing fuel over the cowl, not exactly the best situation before a sea crossing. Amazingly, the farmer found another from an old aircraft at the back of a hangar, and off I went. My next encounter with Haverfordwest, or with pilots based there at least, was at an RV fly-in at Nuits St Georges. The Jodel and I managed to slip into the gathering in stealth mode as these RV pilots aren’t as canny as they think. We negotiated their lines and it appeared that no one had noticed the bent wings, lack of speed and, I must say, the rather elegant design. The evening was spent holding the ‘wood and fabric’ end-up with friendly banter while debating the epicurean merits of Burgundian food and wines. The contention of words continued well into the night and, although vastly outnumbered, I don’t recall a clear winner and the invitation to visit my new pals was accepted. If you’ve never been to a fly-in dinner at some far-off destination, you owe it to yourself to go, if only once. You’ll find a group of people who may or may not have met before, who just seem to gel with what can only be described as convivial camaraderie. They can chew the fat to rival even the best chatterbox, although the subject matter is somewhat limited to food, wine, flying and, naturally, aviation in general.

With a population of a little over 12,000, Haverfordwest’s name originates from the Old English word ‘hæfer’, and means ‘ford used by heifers’ or ‘ford used by goats’ depending on which expert you’re talking to. The ‘west’ part was added later, in the 15th century, to differentiate it from the town of Hereford and appears on a 1578 parish map of Pembrokeshire as Herfordwest. The Norman castle was built by Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Pembroke and sits high up in the town. Before the arrival of the Normans, putative opinion is that a Danish settlement existed on the site. Many Flemish mercenaries that accompanied the Norman invaders found something appealing and chose to settle in the area, an unusual decision for these soldiers of fortune.

Centuries later, it had become a Royalist stronghold and letters discovered as recently as 1986 from Oliver Cromwell to its inhabitants threatening annihilation, saw the castle’s destruction. In 1779 it changed use to become a prison, and these days it houses the town’s museum.

A bite to eat…

The Propellor Café: At the airfield, serving typical café food. 07580 533673 https://tinyurl.com/v8v5bwpf. Ell’s Kitchen: A simple lay-by caravan, serving tea, coffee

and the usual roadside fare, with a good reputation. A 15-minute walk away, turn left out of the airfield. The Green Shed Café: Is a 20-minute walk from the centre of town out towards the south-west and recommended for a good hearty meal. Old Hakin Road, Merlins Bridge, SA61 1XF, 01437 700350 facebook.com/TheGreenShedCafe/

There are plenty of restaurants to be found around the river, but don’t expect fine cuisine. In general, you’ll be served pub grub, large portions, with a rustic take on things.

Below The picturesque Old Bridge in town crosses the River Cleddau and was built in 1726.

Bottom The ruins of an Augustinian priory contain Britain’s only mediaeval ecclesiastical gardens.

So to sleep…

Premier Inn: Haverfordwest (North/A40). A 20-minute walk towards the town, near the roundabout along the A40. It says from £36 per night, although I’m not sure how to get that price, as I’ve not been able to. Expect to pay around £65. premierinn.com LLamedos: This is a self-catering apartment, approximately a 40-minute walk away. Once you pass Ell’s Kitchen, turn left past the industrial estate to duck and dive rather than taking the main road. Best let Google maps do the work: Crundale SA62 4DH. Around £70 per night. The County Hotel: Is in the centre of town and has just been refurbished. It costs around £95 per night if you want the ability to cancel, if not it will be a little cheaper. All you can eat breakfast at £5 per person is popular and worth the price. Salutation Square SA61 2NB. https://tinyurl.com/yakmj2yb Newgale Campsite: For a camping holiday by the beach. It takes about 30 minutes by train from the station, T11 TrawsCymru Connect, or 20 minutes by taxi from the airfield. Tel: 07539 906611 newgalecampsite.co.uk Otherwise, there are plenty of hotels and Airbnb’s to suit most budgets.

Out and about…

Getting into town on foot takes the best part of an hour, but it’s only a 10-minute taxi ride. Castle Tour and Museum: Wherever you are in town, it is dominated by the castle, making a tour of the grounds and museum almost mandatory. https://tinyurl.com/yf5c6srw Picton Castle and Gardens: Was built by Sir John de Wogan in 1280 and taken over by the Phillips family during the 1490s. Sir John Phillips purchased a baronetcy for £1,095, when they were created by King James I in 1611 to finance his campaigns in Ireland. This gave him a rank above all Knights, apart from the Knights of the Garter and became a valued hereditary title. pictoncastle.co.uk/ Spitfire Museum: Is a bit of a misnomer really, as it’s a charity shop with part of Spitfire JG 668’s fuselage in the back. But it’s free to view and you may pick up something of interest while you’re there, which goes to a good cause. 16, Bridge St SA61 2AD, 01437 762 512. welshspitfire.org/history Haverfordwest Priory: Founded in 1200, the Augustinian priory suffered under the dissolution by Henry VIII. Excavations between 1983 and 1996 uncovered Britain’s only surviving ecclesiastical garden from the medieval period. Little Haven Beach: There are many natural beaches and coves to choose from, I picked this one as it’s simple to get to. The 311 bus goes there, takes about 30minutes, and you’ll find the bus stop near the library. Farmers’ market: For a sample of real local produce. Takes place on Friday mornings by the river. Pembrokeshire Coastal Path: Also close by is the 186 miles of pathway, 14 harbours and 58 beaches, providing the stunning views and rugged scenery which Wales is known for. Some brave souls undertake the whole of the nature trail in one go, taking from 10-15 days, although for most of us, a day or so exercising those leg muscles is quite enough. If you have the time, try a leaf out of my book and pick up some Brownie points in the process. I ask Sian to pack a picnic and a bottle of wine and we walk for a while until we find a nice scenic spot to enjoy the impressive sights. The sound of the crashing waves and pollution-free Atlantic air do wonders for the auditory and olfactory senses. For the not so energetic, or if pressed for time, the alternative is a pleasant amble along the riverside in town, passing through the deciduous woodland towards the Old Mill Grounds Nature Reserve.

Two bridges cross the River Cleddau and are aptly named the Old Bridge and the New Bridge. When Harri Tudur (Henry VII) arrived with his army in 1485, there was no bridge at all, just a ford for the river crossing. The construction of the Old Bridge was eventually financed by the Phillips family in 1726, with the New Bridge built by architect William Owen, over a century later in 1836.

At one time, a weekend in Wales would have

incorporated some amazing riding as the country has an abundance of equestrian centres, and considering the campestral nature of the land, it lends itself to a full gallop across the countryside. I must say though, at times, I felt more like a passenger atop 17.2 hands of a refractory, spirited animal, rather than fully in control. If you’re not a rider but like the outdoors, there is an inexhaustible supply of things to do, see and experience.

I hope you see there is no reason to settle for another local flight simply because there are more than three clouds in the sky, and then complain about the price of beans. It’s time to make that transition and join that actually not at all elite group yourself! I am, for one, still filled with the wonderment of flight, especially when I go away with a pilot for a few days and watch a fully grown adult become just like a child at Christmas.

Postscript…

About 25 miles south east of Haverfordwest is the airport of Pembrey (EGFP) and, to round off this month's adventure, I thought I'd share an interesting story about a Luftwaffe pilot who ended up landing at the wrong airfield during the war. On 23 June 1942, Oberleutnant Armin Fabar of the 7th Staffel, flying a Focke-Wulf 190 (FW-190) took part in a fierce dogfight over the English Channel. A total of seven Spitfires were shot down in the fire-fight, with a loss of two FW-190s. Faber found himself hotly pursued by Czech pilot Sergeant František Trejtnar of 310 Squadron. In a moxie move, Faber managed a nifty Immelmann Turn, emerging out of the sun to shoot Trejtnar down near the village of Black Dog in Devon. Now totally disorientated, he somehow mistakenly confused the Bristol Channel as the English Channel and, on spotting an airfield, waggled his wings to denote his victory to the waiting groundcrew. On landing, he discovered that instead of being in France, his host was RAF Pembrey and he was promptly arrested by a Sergeant Mathews armed only with a flare gun. His capture and interrogation were significant, as this was the first intact FW-190 to fall into allied hands and could be studied for weaknesses. Faber was eventually sent to Canada as a POW, returning to Shoreham Aircraft Museum 49 years later, where parts of both his aircraft and the Spitfire he shot down were kept on display. He, in turn, presented them with his pilot’s badge and officer’s dagger as a humble addition to their collection. A question I’m often asked is, where is your favourite airfield? Or how do I decide on which airfields to visit? Sometimes, it is the direct result of a fly-in or a diversion. At times, it's due to an invitation extended by an airport manager in an attempt to promote their facilities. But the majority of the time, a tiny spark ignites curiosity and, much as I am aware of the oft used saying that ‘curiosity killed the cat’, I firmly believe that ‘satisfaction brought it back’! ■

Below Haverfordwest Castle dominates the town and is now the site of the Town Museum.

Go touring with the author…

Martin Ferid is a Class Rating Instructor / Revalidation Examiner and specialises in taking qualified pilots for confidence-building flights in their aircraft throughout Europe and the UK. These amazing experience flights are there for taking day trips or for a few days at a time. A browse through over 150 ‘favourite destinations’ on the website below must provide inspiration for the experienced pilot and the newbie. For amusement, try the ‘bit of fun’ section on the ‘contacts’ tab. Whether it’s a simple confidence boost, a biennial flight, or just to do some distance flying. Email: lightaircrafttraining@yahoo.com Tel: 07598 880178 Website: http://www.lightaircrafttraining.co.uk