The year was 1969. ‘Eggie’ was a fellow trainee commercial pilot at the Flying Training School at Ratmalana. At first we thought that Eggie got his nickname because he liked eggs. But it was later discovered that it was derived from his frequent visits to the home of his uncle Egerton, who had a beautiful daughter. He was trained to fly the flying school’s Tiger Moth by veteran aviator Capt. Susantha (‘Sus’) Jayasekara. The de Havilland D.H.82 Tiger Moth, designed in 1936, made its mark as a reliable training aircraft during World War II. Powered by a 135hp in-line inverted Gypsy Major engine, it was an open-cockpit, ‘fabric-and-string’ biplane.

Before we were taught to fly this aeroplane, we had to obtain a custom-tailored cloth helmet, manufactured by a Captain George who lived on Havelock Road near the Thimbirigasyaya junction. The helmet was capable of being fitted with two Gosport tube earpieces. Because the Tiger Moth’s two occupants sat in tandem in two separate cockpits, one behind the other, the hollow Gosport tube-not unlike a doctor’s stethoscope, with a mouthpiece at one end-provided the means of communication between flight instructor and trainee. The system was quite effective, and pilots could hear each other loud and clear above the roar of the engine and sound of the wind in the wires that braced and held the wings together. Another vital piece of equipment was a pair of motor cycle goggles.

The aircraft, registered 4R-AAB, was the only Tiger Moth in the Flying Training School (and in Sri Lanka). This particular example was actually a combination of two Tiger Moths, one of which had been ‘cannibalised’ for parts to keep the other airworthy.

A few months after doing his first solo and subsequent flying within the confines of the training area south of Ratmalana, Eggie planned to carry out a cross-country flight, which involved flying a triangular course using two other distinct landmarks as turning points. It was necessary for trainee pilots to clock up a few cross-country hours as a pre-requisite for obtaining a Private Pilot’s Licence (PPL), before progressing toward a Commercial Pilot’s Licence (CPL), if the latter’s ambition was to become a commercial or airline pilot.

So just after dawn one day, Eggie-wearing his helmet and goggles-took off from Ratmalana Airport, intending to head for Kurunegala, then Kandy, and back-all without landing anywhere until he reached Ratmalana. As a past pupil of Trinity College, Kandy, Eggie decided to include Kandy on the return leg of his triangular flight. This was the first time that the Tiger Moth was leaving the circuit area after a long lapse. Karu, the chief mechanic, wasn’t too happy as no proper endurance check had been done; and because the engine was old, no-one knew the proper fuel consumption. Trainee pilots were told that it was approximately five gallons per hour, and all Tiger Moth pilots were aware of that.

Unlike their air force counterparts, local civil pilots did not wear multi-pocketed overalls. And without a parachute, which the pilot would sit on during flight, a cushion was used instead. For quick reference, Eggie had to store his flight plan and map somewhere easily accessible in the cockpit. After flying for about half an hour he decided to get his map out to try ‘fixing’ his position, and to monitor his progress. For instance, a good place to watch out for was Alawwa, which had a river, railway track, and road running parallel to each other. Besides that there was the new Thulhiriya textile factory with a white roof, four acres in extent, which could be spotted from miles away. Our navigation instructor Roy de Niese used to call such objects ‘man made relief’.

Map reading in an open cockpit was not an easy affair. You had to hold the control column (or joystick) between your legs while opening the map, then look for ground features to correspond with the map in front of you. However, as Eggie took the map out, it caught the slipstream, flew out of his hand, and was blown out of the cockpit. Without a map as a navigation aid, he remembered what his instructor had taught him-if ever unsure of your position, just turn west and head for the coast. There he could follow the coastline south to Colombo and Ratmalana. After a few moments of concern and confusion, that is what Eggie did.

But his next worry was whether his new route back to base was going to be a longer triangle than the original route to Kurunegala, Kandy, and return. There was no way of knowing because he had lost the map. It was quite sometime before he reached the coast. Observing the parched terrain, he guessed that he was between Puttalam and Chilaw. He had drifted too far north. Obedient to his instructor’s advice, he now turned south and began to follow the coast. But in the back of his mind he was still concerned about the quantity of fuel remaining. His worry was not helped by the fact that there was no fuel gauge in the Tiger Moth. During flight, the only way to estimate the fuel level was by looking at a ‘stand pipe’ on top of the fuel tank on the upper wing. But engine and wind vibrations, and having to peer through goggles, made the pipe difficult to see. After some time, which felt like hours, right in front of the nose of the aircraft Eggie spotted the Bandaranaike International Airport (BIA) at Katunayake. It was now decision time. Should he land at Katunayake or continue to Ratmalana, unsure of how much fuel he had? Indeed, for how much longer could he safely remain airborne? In pilot jargon this is known as ‘endurance’. The small training aircraft was not radio-equipped, and would not generally be tolerated in the vicinity of a busy airport used by big jetliners. But Eggie had a problem. Deciding that prudence is the better part of valour, he chose the safer option-land at Katunayake, ASAP.

Taking his chances, Eggie flew over the airport and joined the downwind leg of the circuit pattern. Knowing that the Tiger Moth didn’t have a radio, the control tower gave him a steady green light signal. That meant he was cleared to land. All pilots must know how to interpret light signals which are used in case of radio failure. The Aldis lamp used in such instances usually hangs from the ceiling of the control tower. Using an attached handle, it could be pulled down as it was counter-balanced by a weight at the end of a system of cable and pulleys. The handle could also be rotated to give the controller a choice of three colours, red, green, and white, which were used appropriately. On top of the lamp was a telescopic sight, crosshairs and all. This was aimed at the aircraft and ‘fired’.

Further complicating matters for Eggie, the Tiger Moth had neither mechanical brakes nor a tailwheel. In lieu of the latter it had only a tail skid with a metal shoe, which was only effective on grass, and of only minimal use on a concrete runway. Somehow, after touching down on the concrete Eggie was able to slow down and, after a long landing roll, he turned off onto the parking apron to stop beside a BOAC VC10 jetliner. Beside what was then one of the world’s biggest and most modern passenger airplanes, the tiny, fragile-looking Tiger Moth would have looked like a small fly-probably to the amusement of the VC10’s pilots!

After securing the aircraft, Eggie was marched to the control tower by security personnel, to do some explaining. His explanation was accepted and presently, after refuelling the Tiger Moth with 70-octane Avgas, he was ready to depart. Because the aircraft didn’t have a starter motor, someone had to swing the propeller. Fortunately for Eggie, Neil Hewapathirana was one of the meteorological officers on duty at Katunayake. As he too was a trainee pilot at the Ratmalana Flying School, Neil had experience in swinging the Tiger Moth propeller for start up.

The subsequent departure from Katunayake and landing at Ratmalana were uneventful. A few days later, because Eggie’s first attempt at a cross-country flight had been aborted, the authorities cleared him to repeat the exercise, but with Kandy as his first turning point followed by Kurunegala.

Incredibly, this time the same thing happened, and again Eggie was forced to land at BIA. When the news of Eggie’s second unplanned detour to Katunayake trickled back to his fellow-trainees at Ratmalana Airport, they hid behind a parapet wall when he was about turn on his final approach to land. After landing safely, Eggie parked the airplane, and got out, relieved that there was no one around-only for his trainee pals to leap out from behind the wall and greet him like someone at a surprise birthday party. They promptly and bodily picked up Eggie (still wearing his flying helmet and goggles), then cheering loudly carried him to the Airport Club where he had to buy them all a round of beer.