n WICKED WITCH

In witch it’s not a man’s job

I WAS standing at the kitchen sink, staring vacantly out of the window, listening to the dirty dishwater gurgling down the drain. The house was empty and I was enjoying the silence. There is something delicious about having alone time, peaceful bliss, apart from the ticking clock, the glugging plughole and the snoring dog. I sighed a happy sigh. Then my eye was caught by a river of bubbles slowly meandering down the garden path. I frowned, that was not good. I opened the back door and peered at the overflowing drain, grey, smelly and very blocked.

Normally I would pretend that I hadn’t noticed this blockage and wait for Himself to sort it out because this is obviously a man’s job but I remembered what had happened when my car needed some screen wash. “I’ll do it for you

Witchy” he nobly offered. What a sweetheart. He popped up the bonnet, unscrewed the cap nearest the windscreen then proceeded to pour said wash down the funnel. I looked at the cap he had given me to hold, ‘brake fluid’ it read. A slight panic ensued but luckily there appeared to be a valve in the reservoir and no harm was done, apart from a soapy engine and a very sheepish husband – I kept giggling at the memory of it which didn’t go down well.

Anyway, this is 2023, there is no such thing as a man’s job. With great reluctance, I pulled on my wellies and Himself’s huge muchloved overcoat (it was raining) dragged out the jetwash and got to work.

This drain is accessed by a hole approximately a foot wide which is covered by a loose paving slab. It opens up under the backdoor step into a three foot oblong pit, with a round hole in the furthest corner connecting to a pipe which disappears under the garden to, who knows where.

Shifting the paving slab and using a jam-jar I emptied the pit of dirty water into a bucket, it was painstaking. Then I reached the stinky sludge, there was loads of it, slimy grey silt and stones, I even plucked out a large cockle shell which was odd. It was nearly clear but to reach the last handfuls of nasty stuff I had to lie with my head on the step so I could stretch my arm deep into the pipe hole. I must admit I did have a little cry and wondered about my life choices, but I got most of the sludge out and finally gave the drain a blast with the jetwash. To my utter relief, with a strangely satisfying glug and gurgle, the drain cleared and the water ran away as it should. I felt rather pleased with myself.

Not really knowing what to do with the collected sludge I poured it onto the flowerbeds and went inside for a well-earned shower.

All refreshed, I came back into the kitchen and looked out over the garden where I noticed Scrappy Little Dog munching on something. I went to investigate. Calling her name sharply, she looked up, face covered in drain slop, licking her lips. Marvellous.

n LOCAL HISTORY

Gerry Davis began work at RAF Lulsgate Bottom on 1 June 1971 as a member of the duty crew after he left the RAF. By the time he retired on 1 June 1998, the site had become known as Bristol International Airport and Gerry had become the Airport Duty Manager. Gerry has written about his experiences in his book ‘Flying From the Ground’, and shares some of his story with South Bristol Voice readers here.

LET me tell you the story of the very beginnings of flying at what was originally called RAF Broadfield Down, and then changed to RAF Lulsgate Bottom.

Flying started here before the Wimpy bulldozers had finished laying down the 3,900 foot (1,200 metre) main runway. Which, with all the buildings, cost £309,000 in 1941. Work started on the laying down of the runway on June 11, 1941 and the completed airfield was declared operational on January 15, 1942.

But at 6.10am, on July 24, 1941, the wartime workers had just started work and at this time of year it was light, although quite misty. When out of the blue, to their astonishment, an aircraft landed on the unfinished runway coming to a stop near to where they were.

One of the construction gang recognised that it wasn’t an RAF plane but a German one! He quickly realised that he had better do something and drove his tractor in front of the now stationary twin engine bomber. Shouting to his mates: “Call out the Home Guard!”

In fact, the airplane was a Luftwaffe JU88 A4 of 3/KG 30.