Burnaston airfield: Working at "Derby" Airport was a labour of love

Barrie Slatter former worker at Burnaston Airport, and painter of many pictures

BURNASTON airfield or Derby Airport, as we always called it, was properly called Burnaston Airport. Every time I drive along the A38 today, I picture Burnaston with Dakotas all lined up, the early morning light brightening up their white tops, ready for departure.

I started at Burnaston just as the marathon airliner, EW, had flown its last flight in 1960. I had just finished with the National Coal Board after serving six years as an apprentice mechanical engineer.

I met a friend whom I hadn’t seen for a number of years and we started to get together, as families do. His name was Fred Franklin and he had been at Burnaston quite a few years. He asked me if I would like a job there, working on the Dakotas.

I was overawed. Fred arranged an interview for me with the hangar manager. I was accepted and told to start a week later. I’ve never looked back.

I had a magnificent job as an engine fitter for the Dakotas. I always enjoyed being there and looked forward to going to work every day. It was like home from home; everybody knew one another from the management to the engineers on the hangar floor.

We had other work besides the Dakotas. I remember working on aircraft that people today have never heard of, such as the Miles Gemini, Chipmonk Trainer, Dragon Rapide, Dove Aircraft and even a Leopard Moth. This was the company hack.

Summertime was fabulous, but winter was very different. The airport was so open. The icy wind would blow through and under the hangar doors. The only heating we had were portable gas burners. Occasionally, we had to go to the engine shop to thaw out.

Winter was our busiest time. Dakotas would come in for major checks. These were almost a complete strip down of the aircraft. The fuel tanks had to come out for pressure and corrosion checks. Even the oil tanks had to be removed and all the control cables taken off and checked for wear and corrosion.

Besides the major checks, we had to do smaller checks on the Dakotas, so there was plenty of work to do all year round.

It wasn’t all plain sailing. Sometimes, we had an engine fail and I usually went out to most of them. On one memorable occasion, at Birmingham Airport, we had to change the engine using Sherr Legs. These are three poles tied together with ratchet lifting gear.

We worked off the back of the lorry I had driven to Birmingham, carrying the new engine and propeller on the back. We spent many hours changing the engine; then the pilot flew the aircraft back to Burnaston.

Driving back along the A38, we spotted a Dakota in the cornfield off the end of the runway. It was the one we had been working on at Birmingham. Lorries from the local gravel pit were called in to fill in the ditches on each side of the road, so the Dakota could be towed back onto the airfield.

One foggy night, one of our Dakotas landed and turned the wrong way off the runway at the Burton end. He shot over the lane and into a bog on the opposite side, ending up half buried in sludge. The following morning the aircraft had to be carefully lifted out of the bog, using two cranes, and then carried across the airfield, slung between the cranes, to the hangar where it was given a good wash-down. Inspectors carried out their checks and it was soon back in the air again.

One summer, we had just finished a check on a Dakota around 4pm, “clocking off time”, and all the lads were about to go home when Fred asked if I would stay behind while he did engine checks. This meant taking the aircraft to the far side of the airfield, near the A38, away from all steelwork such as hangars etc as it had been known to affect the compasses.

I had never been on engine runs before, so Fred sat in the pilot seat and I sat in the first officer’s seat.

The only way to taxi the Dakota, as it had a tricycle undercarriage and the tail wheel was to the rear of the aircraft, was by foot brakes and rudder control. We were taxi-ing along in a straight line when Fred asked me if I would like a go.

“OK,” I said.

I was doing my best to keep in a straight line when he asked, jokingly, what I was doing waltzing the aircraft up the taxi track. I found it very difficult to keep it in a straight line. Fred took over, saying I hadn’t done badly for my first attempt.

The aircraft was a Dakota G/AOGZ which, during the war, was Field Marshall Montgomery’s personal aircraft.

Weekends were worked as overtime. The first task of the duty crews on Saturday or Sunday morning was to make sure the aircraft were okay for the first flight of the day. Checks were made for water in the fuel tanks and the fuel tanker.

We would then fill the fuel tanks according to the Dakotas’ destinations. They could be going to Jersey, Guernsey, the Isle of Man, Belfast, Glasgow etc. At the weekend, most flights were for holiday passengers.

It was a small airport and the engineers would load each aircraft with luggage, making sure each suitcase was firmly stowed. The passengers would then board the appropriate Dakota and we would shut the main aircraft doors, check for security, then run round to the front of the aircraft and signal the pilot clear to start the engines.

After pulling away the chocks from the wheels, the aircraft took off. When all the aircraft had left, it was time for a cooked breakfast at Burnaston House. If we picked mushrooms for the cook, we would get a cheap breakfast, so we would jump on the tractor, drive off down to the bottom end of the airfield and pick large bags of mushrooms to take back to him.

After breakfast, we had to see to the fuel tanker to make sure it was topped up with aviation fuel for the aircraft returning. Around midday, aircraft started to arrive back, approaching from the Derby or Burton end, depending on the wind direction.

A lot of people like to come to see their families and friends off on their journeys, or watch us offloading, refuelling etc. Each weekend, they would arrive in carloads, park down Burnaston Lane and just sit and watch. Some even brought picnics.

One of the engineers, Brian Gifford, would jump on the Ferguson tractor and try to move them on. They just didn’t see the danger. If an aircraft landed short, the wheels could cause a lot of damage to people and property. An aircraft landing at the Burton end could possibly overshoot and go into the cornfield opposite the runway. When the dangers were explained, people usually moved on to the viewing area.

At dusk, we had to lay down the runway goose neck flare path. These flares were like very large watering cans. They were filled with paraffin and had a large wick coming out of the spout which were lit and placed at intervals along the grass runway. The pilots always said they were very effective at night because they would flicker in the dark, far better than electric lighting.

One fault with Bumaston was that it was quite often foggy due to the River Trent. One of our jobs was to take two flare guns to the end of the runway, where the aircraft was going to land. When we had a green light from the control tower, we would shoot the flares into the air so the pilots could see where the runway started.

There was no radar at Burnaston so we would fire the guns until we got a red light to stop. The next second, a Dakota would roar over the top of you. It was quite frightening at the time.

After the last aircraft landed, we would gather in the flare path.

The Dakotas we had there were Dove Dale, Darley Dale, Derwent Dale, Peak Dale, Fern Dale, High Dale and Miller Dale – all named after the Derbyshire Dales.

One weekend I will always remember was when I was on a duty crew with Brian Gifford. We saw off the Dakota G AMSW – Fern Dale. I closed the door after the passengers had boarded and the air hostess said goodbye to me like they always do.

As I said before, the airport was a family affair. We knew everybody virtually by first names – captains, first officers, air hostesses and ground staff. On the Sunday morning, as I was walking to the apron where the aircraft is usually parked before departure, Brian met me.

“Have you heard the news?” he said.

“What news?” I replied.

“SW has crashed in the Pyrennees, just south of France, all souls lost.”

This was a shock. All through the day everybody was down. It took me a long time to get over it and I will never forget it.

The first time a really large aircraft landed at Burnaston was in 1961. It was a big four-engined aircraft, an Argonaut G-ALHS. Everyone turned out to watch it land on such a small grass airfield.

The question was – would it end up over the lane at the end of the runway if it failed to stop in time? But it made a beautiful landing. The captain selected reverse thrust on the propellers, a short landing run was achieved and he only used half the runway.

Derby Airways, with their purchase of the Argonaut, took another leap forward in passenger flights. The only problem with the Argonaut was that it couldn’t take passengers from Burnaston due to the length of its runway. Passengers had to board at Birmingham.

In 1962, managing director Ron Payne entered the King’s Cup air race, flying a Miles Hawk Speed Six. Not many of those aircraft existed. It was a racing plane with a single engine with high compression cylinder heads.

Ron entered the race every year but he never won it; he was always placed second. But his handicap was to be one of the last to take off.

As time went on, the company decided to change the aircraft for a more modem type. It chose the Handley Page Herald, using Rolls-Royce Dart engines. This turned out to be a much cleaner engine to work on.

Over the years, we had many different types of engines to cope with, but I wouldn’t have changed my job for the world. Burnaston was an airport like no other. Burnaston House stood on a hill overlooking the airfield, with the hangars below and the grass runway just beyond. It was a sight never to be forgotten and I’m sorry it had to make way for progress.

Today, as I drive along the A38 to Derby, there is nothing to show that there was ever an airport there. Burnaston airfield was buried to make way for the new car manufacturers who built over it.

I have produced eight paintings to keep the memories of those days alive. These show the hangars and other various scenes from Burnaston’s heyday.

If anyone is interested in purchasing prints from Barrie Slatter, he can be contacted on 01283 222363.

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