One morning, my wife told me we were to have our fourth child. She said, We havent the pounds for a new flat. So, youll just have to secure a council one. Since you havent the knack for winning favours, Ive decided Ill have a child every year: if we cant get a place on quality of father, well have to try quantity of offspring!
A little dazed, I made my way back to my department at the University. With trepidation, I eased open the door marked Administration. The office was crowded: Professor Pickering and his deputy Henley were deep in meeting.
Our reputation is at stake, declared Pickering. We must surpass the other universities in every athletic measure Ah! Theres our ace! Hed spotted me.
I felt embarrassed. Im not much of an ace Ive come about the flat
The housing will be ready in a week, Henley said with ceremony. Youre first in the line. Just a quick hop and youll be toasting your new home.
A hop? I asked, beaming, hopeful.
With a parachute, Henley grinned. Tomorrows the big event.
The smile faded. Jumping where?
To the earth, he replied.
But, why?
Professor Pickering looked at me like Id asked whether the Queen wore crowns. Havent you watched the telly? Everythings a spectacle now: actors skate, singers perform swinging from the circus trapeze Its all the rage for academics to set records Yesterday, Professor Bullock went a round in the boxing ring He pointed at Bullock, huddled on the sofa with an enlarged nose and three plasters. Dr. Crick was wrestling last Saturdayhes convalescing in the infirmary. Now, your turn. We drew lotsparachuting fell to you.
At the word fell, my knees nearly gave way. When is it? I said, barely audible.
Tomorrow. Its Bird Day, announced Henley.
I turned, searching for sympathy in Pickerings eyes. What do birds want with me risking my neck?
Pickering laid a hand on my shoulder. The council flat will be yours as a father of fourregardless. But, there are those with balconies and those looking onto the cement works. Well draw the lots taking into account your efforts for the greater good
A hush fell. I nibbled a peppermint, then inquired, If I, say miss the ground entirely or, you know, dont quite land? Will my family still get the park view?
Henley beamed. Our rule: widows and orphans are always first in the queue! And dont fret! he said, clapping my back. You neednt worry; youll have an experienced companion. He gestured at a pale fellow in the corner, wearing thick spectacles, trying to disappear into the wallpaper. Our research student, Henley explainedhes up for redundancy either way.
Since I was a babe Id had a mortal fear of heights. My knees went wobbly standing on a dining chair to hang a picture. Even the word aeroplane made me queasy. So that evening, at home, I decided to get in some practice: I leapt off the sofa onto the carpet several times.
The next day, the research fellow and I were bundled into a long, black people carrier that looked like a hearse. Professor Pickering followed in the next car, while about thirty dons, lecturers, and professors came after in the tram for moral support.
At the airfield, Henley greeted us alongside the band hed arrangedwho promptly launched into a funeral march so woeful even the pilots eyes filled up. Three musicians clambered into the aircraft with us, told to strike up something cheery as we departed mid-air.
The instructor, a kindly gentle soul, surveyed my belly and insisted I take an extra parachute. With both rigs strapped on, I looked rather like a Bactrian camel, while the research fellow did a fair imitation of a Dromedary.
Aloft, the instructor began a gentle, nervous rundown of every single thing that could prevent a parachute opening, then planted a kiss on each of us three times for luck. He opened the hatch, gave me an apologetic look, and whispered, Time.
I handed him an envelope. Give it to my wife, ifif its a boy, she must name him after me.
He tried to reassure: Everyones frightened at first, then you dont feel a thing.
Off you go, brave boys! cheered the pilot.
The band erupted with Rule BritanniaI closed my eyes and leapt. When I opened them, I was still half in the planemy waistband caught in the hatch. The instructor and the research fellow tried to force me out but I was well and truly wedged.
Grease him! the research fellow suggested.
The instructor began to panic. Youre blocking the whole event! Release the way!
How? I yelled back.
Exhale completely!
I let out a long Whooooo! and with all the air gone, slipped into oblivion. Id already yanked the ripcord, so my parachute snagged on the undercarriage and I hung on for dear life beneath the plane.
The pilot tried loop-the-loops and barrel rolls to shake me off, but I clung like a limpet.
Stop this idiocy! barked the instructor. Release the plane this instant!
I didnt.
The instructor hung half out the hatch and tried to unhook me, the research fellow clutching his legs. Just as the instructor grabbed the harness, a lurch jerked him and the research fellow both outby some miracle, the instructor caught hold of my jacket, and the research fellow wrapped around his ankles.
Flying was suddenly jollier. We must have looked a fair sightlike a tumbling troupe of acrobats.
The band below played Those magnificent men in their flying machines.
The instructor yelled that the research fellows grip was strangling his arteries, threatening him with gangrene
I offered my own legs to the research fellow to give the instructor a rest. It turned out the instructors legs were thinner and easier to graspand the research fellow wasnt for swapping.
Landing the plane with three people dangling underneath was impossible. So, the pilot swooped low for us to drop onto the grass, but we had to peel away one at a time, starting with the research fellow. The planes so low, the research fellow was dragged along the turf, still clutching the instructors legs, before we were all airborne once more at the end of the field.
The instructor cursed his legs and wished them detached, research fellow and all.
The band switched to The Dambusters March.
Fuel nearly spent, someone dangled a shepherds crook from the hatch and hauled the research fellow back in by the ankles, then the instructor, then me. I was halfway in, stuck again, head in the plane, legs outside. But by now Id stopped caring; the plane was making its final descent. I had to scuttle along the tarmac for a good half-mile in tandem with the aircrafts landing.
No one died; everyone was happily exhausted.
The band played their liveliest funeral march.
Only the instructor couldnt movea research fellows death-grip still welded round his legs. A pair of pliers was needed to pry his fingers loose.
When freed, the instructor stoodrevealing that during the ordeal his trousers had ridden up to mid-shin, making them look like very respectable long shorts. But then we realised: it wasnt the trousers, his legs had stretchedhe looked like an ostrich.
Repeat performance tomorrow! Henley announced.
At this, the instructor paled to the colour of my unopened chute and dashed for the phone on his ostrich legs. Where or whom he rang we never knew. But from then on, my efforts were marked down as victoriesthis event, the next, and every event for the coming decade. I was even credited with a running record: after all, I ran as fast as the plane. Technically, only my legs ran, while my upper half flew, so they split the results accordingly.
Still, it was a recordone for the annals!
