What I learnt from being a pilot’s wife (1)
Over six hours we motored slowly across Switzerland and into France before we made that epic journey across the English Channel into England. A few days later we flew back home – safe and sound – much to the relief of both sets of families.
While our respective mothers worried about our safety, I tried to find ways to keep myself occupied without any inflight entertainment. So I decided to compile a list of all the things I’ve learnt from being a pilot’s wife, which I’d now like to share with you over the next few posts.
Here we go with lesson number one…
…I can be the perfect wife
There’s nothing like being a passenger in a single engine plane, piloted by your husband, to remind you of one special word in your wedding vows: obey.
And obey him you must.
Because thousands of metres in the air is no place to pick an argument with the man you married.
So as a passenger first, and then a wife, I did what I have a lot of trouble doing on terra firma: I kept my mouth shut when I got told off for accidently hitting something I shouldn’t have just after take-off.
And for the six hours after that, I surrendered total control to this man. I listened attentively to his every word and tried to help him in anyway I could. If there was ever a time when we needed to work with each other rather than against each other – this was it.
And then on the way back home, I had the pleasure of upchucking my lunch into a paper bag because of all the turbulence around us. I found myself wondering, for the first time that weekend, why I had voluntarily put myself through this exercise. After all, flying an uber light aircraft is primarily my husband’s idea of fun – not mine.
As I finally lifted my head out of the paper bag, I glanced across to see a very concerned pilot trying to make sure his wife was okay, while simultaneously communicating with an air traffic controller as he started his final descent onto the runway. So I gave him what I thought he needed to see – a thumbs-up. Because swearing down the microphone at the pilot was just such a pointless use of time.
So, what makes me the perfect wife at a few thousand metres above the ground?
It must be the air up there.