A Tale of Flying, perhaps even true
TITANIC
author - Dr.Bo
At the beginning of 1988, the comrades from the State Security convinced me that I no longer wanted to fly at Vajnory. This came about through a perfect conspiracy by a certain gentleman, himself a former comrade chief, (let us call him J.Tlstý), whom, ironically, I had brought to Vajnory. Fortunately, “Perestroika” was already beginning to rage, so State Security graciously gave me a choice: either I would fly elsewhere, or nowhere. Typical police logic: as if Vajnory were the only place you could escape from by air JJ. Just as an aside: my first flight from my new home airfield was to Vajnory, where runway 04 was in use, so all I had to do was extend my “downwind” leg by two minutes JJ
But that is how the world works, and I have learned to forgive. Even the Bible says: “let those of us without sin throw a stone at him!” In the end, every cloud has a silver lining, and perhaps, if I had not gone to Nitra and Jožko Česnek had not helped me get a job at the Flying School, I would still be a locomotive driver today
Yet I never turned my back on Vajnory. How could I? I spent 16 wonderful years there among so many great aviators and made friends for life. Right, Karolko, my one and only brother?!! Statistically, there was bound to be the occasional idiot, but to some, (or many??), that idiot was me. If everyone loved one another, though, there would be no divorces or wars…..Nor the school kitchen’s revenge — potato-and-pasta stew without a cucumber JJJ
In 2006, this beautiful, vast and indeed historic airfield fell silent for good and forever. The Aeroclub members had their farewell food and drink at the new owner’s expense, (the last supper?) and Dušan from Košice made one last attempt, with a low inverted pass in a Z-142, to enter history as the last crash at this airfield. And the curtain fell. Closing tiime!! (Josef Heller)
More than six years have passed since then. The buildings are decaying; anything metal has been dismantled and taken for scrap by darker-skinned fellow citizens. All around is one enormous rubbish dump — a veritable paradise for rats. Where is the planned villa neighbourhood??? And who actually owns it now? (Gonzo’s note - Nové Vajnory project) I do not want to, and will not, argue about what might have been if….. I write only what I see and feel, and it makes me very sad
Every now and then I go back to have a look at Vajnory. I like one scene in the film TITANIC, when the footage from the miniature submarine’s camera suddenly changes and the actual ship “comes alive”, emerging from history in all its beauty. All I have to do is walk past the now merely imaginary barrier at the gatehouse, and the whole airfield comes alive for me like that Titanic, as though it were only yesterday. I do not even have to close my eyes. The tragicomic thing is that, at those moments, I am actually glad there are no grand houses standing here yet, and I am grateful even for the ruins
Guard Szimonyi is here again, in gleaming boots and a perfectly pressed grey uniform. He welcomes me while asking me to sign the arrivals book. In his hand he holds a board with a hand-painted synoptic chart, and I mentally prepare for an extensive lecture on how today’s weather will develop, beginning with a cold front somewhere over Greenland
I miss the enormous old chestnut tree in front of the gatehouse. If only that beautiful tree could talk!!! How many eager, enthusiastic aviators must have passed beneath it over the years?? Long ago — one evening, while waiting for my mates to change into “civvies” before going home, I climbed it. I do not even know why, perhaps just for the sake of it. I sat on a branch and felt good J. (My apologies to Mr Jakubisko for the slogan and the stolen copyright). Guard Dezider came out of his “office” and began walking beneath me. It was already dark and he did not notice me up there at all; he simply paced back and forth with his slow, measured steps. After a while I began to find it funny, so I dropped a little twig onto his head. He looked up and gazed at me for a moment. Not in astonishment, though, just rather thoughtfully, as if he too found it perfectly normal and I regularly sat there. Once again, his absolute professionalism on duty shone through — slowly, in his unmistakable Hungarian accent, he asked: “Comrade Vrbenský, and who has the garage key? I caaan’t hand overrr!!” …A perfectly ordinary question to ask someone sitting in a tree at night, right? JJJ
So I walk on past the gatehouse. From the changing room I hear the banging of metal lockers. The latecomers must be hurriedly changing into those indispensable dirty, torn overalls, because from the left I can already hear the familiar creak of the glider hangar doors opening…. On the apron, “Andula” is already doing an engine run. Is it Uncle Sochúrek, or Maroško Kňaze by now? Is it OK-MYB, or already OK-GHN? Actually, it does not matter — I see both men and both aircraft. One thing is certain: that wonderful parachuting crowd is here first again this morning…. Lapin, Dergnovic, Cajo, Bartfay, Bučko…. and the others…. And those beautiful girls they had there… all we could do was drool J. An amazing bunch of lunatics who accepted me among them when I was still a snotty kid, and a NON-parachutist at that!!! I see them walking cheerfully from the packing room, parachutes casually slung over their shoulders…. The packing room J How many times did we sing “Bedna od whisky” or “Kampak, trempe, kamaráde” there to the sound of guitars???
I can also hear the beautiful, unmistakable burbling sound of an L-200. Aaaa, one of the powered-flying “gentlemen” has got up early — he must be going somewhere far away. But is it even morning? In the distance, out on the field, I can see a little Blaník being winch-launched, gleaming in the setting sun. Yes, the glider pilots were always the last to finish in the evening. I even see myself, rewarded after my first solo in an L-13 by scrubbing the toilets behind the gatehouse…. I can also see the snowdrifts and feel the cold wind that blew in January 1972, when my father first brought me here to visit his friend Jaro Klinko
Thanks, Dad!!!
Familiar faces, aircraft, seasons — it all unfolds here before me like one wonderful, colourful 3D film. I could go on writing like this forever, because sometimes I feel I remember every single day spent on this patch of earth.
So that is enough!!!!