MR8 Sextant Wind Up
By Mel Robson
After an intense period of local panic, the day of the Royal Visit was upon us - as if we didn’t already know. No.1 uniform tunics were not allowed due to electrical hazards from medals (didn’t have any then) and brass buttons, swords and other assorted ephemera. Thus new white coats for us to use in the Instrument Bay miraculously appeared from nowhere and lots of puerile Ice Cream Men jokes circulated. Clothing stores had indeed done us proud, as none of us was 4ft 6ins tall or had a 48ins waistline. Paradoxically, we were not supplied with buttons either and so could not fasten the voluminous garments. One was supposed to use the previous buttons issued. I gamely volunteered to fashion something from heat-shrink tubing; Chiefs could have Red, Sgts could have Blue and Cpls Green. Sad to relate that my constructive thought was thwarted before it was even attempted, as we could only find black and that would have spoiled the look.
I was to man the Smiths Mk2 Periscopic Sextant servicing area, with one mounted on its concrete plinth. I was told to describe all about it and why it had clockwork averaging, if requested by the visiting Royal because no one else alive at the time could remember how it worked. This was obviously why, as the highly skilled (not) LEng Tech temporarily assigned to the Instrument Bay, I had previously been given the task of fixing them; usually when they came in from the 4 Squadrons on the base for calibration after being dropped - a cardinal offence which incurred the wrath of the Station Navigation Officer because they were no longer being manufactured! This marvel of the clockmakers art had a red rubber eye protector to soften the blow if the aircraft should hit turbulence or anything else whilst star sighting was under way.
The brave, wily Vulcan navigator had to unpack the sextant from it’s WW2 carrying case and then poke the thing out of the rear cabin’s topside orifice, whilst standing in a precarious position with one eye glued to the viewing window, locating stars millions of light years away. Then do lots of sums after deciphering the celestial star chart to determine the current position of the aircraft as it cruised serenely along at a steady 420 kts (7 nautical miles per minute). A good navigator could then determine a position to a spot the size of Yorkshire if he was lucky and he had the right star, the right chart and a pencil and ruler, in the dark.
Where was I? Oh yes. I practiced my stumbling repertoire over the last couple of days and I conscripted an SAC to view the eyepiece through its protector while I rambled on about how it all worked. Boring stuff indeed. To spice things up a little I had dusted the inside of the rubber eye protector with a red felt tip marker pen and as the unsuspecting SAC guinea pig retreated from acting as the Royal he had unknowingly decorated his viewing eye with a neat red circle - a source of childish tittering and comment for the rest of the day.
10:30 sharp our savage and stressed Warrant Officer burst in to the bay announcing the Royal was en route and expected anytime. “Have you got the sextant display ready?” “Yes, Mr. ******, all good to go”. Removing his thick spectacles he quickly stuffed one eye into the eye protector and realising he could see nothing much, looked again through his good eye. Stepping back I noticed something which will forever haunt me. Our WO in his very best uniform moving to greet Royalty with two red-circled eyes and the Royal looking very quizzically at the escorting Officer I/C and asking how the WO’s terrible accident had happened and was his condition improving? ….. My office Robson, hat on, no coffee.
