Lifeboat! by Margaret Dickinson

but Mike preferred it to any other sailplane and he wanted it today.
    â€˜Could you lend me your barograph again, Toby mate?’ he shouted from the back of the huge box-like trailer housing the Blanik.
    â€˜I suppose so,’ Toby agreed reluctantly. Mike was accepted by the other club members and admired by them, though perhaps a little grudgingly, for the awards he earned and the subsequent kudos for their club, but they resented his unwillingness to take his turn at the less interesting ground jobs.
    â€˜It’s a perfect day for cloud-flying.’ Mike’s enthusiasm was infectious and Toby could not help responding.
    â€˜It forecasts thunderstorms, you know.’
    Mike shrugged. ‘All the better.’
    Toby capitulated. ‘I’ll stay by the radio for you if you like, but keep in touch, mind.’
    Mike grinned and Toby was won over completely, almost as keen now for him to get the coveted diamond height as Mike was himself. Two more club members, one a girl, joined Toby and Mike to help rig the Blanik and then they hooked the glider on to Toby’s car and he towed it across the grass to the east side of the airfield, whilst Mike and the girl walked one at the end of each wing to keep the sailplane level. As on the previous day they were launching from north-east to south-west into the wind.
    Twenty minutes later, Mike was completing the daily inspection of the glider as it stood tipped sideways into the wind, one wing resting on the grass and weighted down.
    Mike checked that all the pins were in place, he looked over the seat-belts, the cushions and the seat in the cockpit for tears or splits and then he ran his hand the full length of the fuselage and around the outer edge of both wings checking that there was no damage to the metal skin of the glider. He checked the controls and lastly synchronised his own wrist-watch with the clock in the glider. Then he went towards the ‘box’ to make the necessary arrangements for his flight. The office was where every flight must be recorded and certain badge attempts declared before take-off, and logs completed; where visiting members must complete a form and pay their fees; where even the club members must pay a launching fee each time. From here, too, Toby would keep in contact with Mike by radio.
    The blackboard listing the order of flights for the day had been set up and Toby was writing up the names. Mike Harland was listed as having the third launch of the day in the Blanik. He glanced at his watch. Good, with a bit of luck he’d be airborne before eleven.
    Toby set and sealed the barograph, which after Mike’s flight would have to be returned to Toby unopened for him to verify whether Mike had succeeded or failed. But possible failure did not even enter Mike Harland’s mind as he eased his unusually rotund form into the cockpit to begin the more detailed cockpit check. He was wearing two thick sweaters—for with the height came the cold—and the parachute, a must for cloud flying, strapped to his shoulders weighed about twenty pounds.
    With Toby’s help Mike carried out the cockpit check. He paused a moment bringing to mind the aide mémoire CB SIFT CB.
    â€˜Controls,’ he said, for the first C. ‘Full and free movement and working in the correct sense.’
    â€˜Check,’ responded Toby.
    â€˜Ballast—yes, I’m within the limits for the Blanik. Straps,’ he wriggled to ensure that he was securely fastened in, so solidly that he almost felt as if he became part of the sailplane.
    â€˜Instruments—no broken glass and all working correctly and all clearly visible.’ With particular care Mike checked the turn-and-slip indicator which was essential for cloud-flying.
    â€˜Flaps—set for take off. Trim, yes, operating correctly and set for take off.’
    â€˜Check,’ came Toby’s voice.
    â€˜Canopy closed and locked,’ Mike murmured, but he opened