Ned Byrne has Panadol for breakfast during a skydiving
course in the CZECH REPUBLIC. I was not to be included
in the skydiving class. "Too old", they said.
The instructor would get seven years in the slammer if
any harm came to a student - particularly an elderly,
demented foreigner who knew only five words of the Czech
language.
Despite all my requests through my Czech/Australian interpreter,
Karel Kolar, the answer was a flat "ne"! In
the unlikely event of the instructor serving seven years,
I offered to take full care of his wife and his girlfriend.
I pleaded that since the fall of the Berlin Wall and
the Velvet Revolution shortly after, that the people of
the Czech Republic had tasted the democratic freedoms
and were free to have a go. All I wanted was a "fair
go". I wanted to try. Karel suggested I keep my mouth
shut for a day or so. When the classes began, he said,
I should just line up with the other students and do what
they did. He would quietly interpret for me and he was
fairly sure that the instructors would let me begin. The
Czechs are stubborn people and they admire that quality
in others.
So I stood in a line of eight fit young men and one
energetic young woman. I didn't look directly at any of
the three instructors because I had no wish to appear
aggressive. If they had told me to leave I would have
done so with as much humility as I could muster - but
they didn't. Karel interpreted quietly for me and all
was well, for the first few lessons.
We lined up for jumping practice. The first recognition
of my presence occurred when an instructor snapped at
Karel to tell me sharply - feet and legs locked together,
flex the knees, hands above the head and roll on the hip
into the sandpit. It was surely the hardest sandpit in
the Northern Hemisphere.
The first six jumps from four feet were jarringly difficult
and the next six from five feet were much more so. I was
pleased to see several other students sweating as painfully
as I was.
The next exercise was similar. Run up a short steep ramp,
jump off, turn in the air, feet firmly together, land,
flex the knees and roll on the hip. Then I stood up and
spat out the sand. The instructor grunted "dobry".
I swelled with pride. He had described my jump as "good".
I scored two "dobry's" in six bone jarring jumps.
Hanka, the beautiful female instructor, smiled at me and
my cup ranneth over. For a few minutes the pain in my
left hip was nothing to me and my football-damaged shoulder
felt almost as it had been at sixteen years of age.
After a classroom session it was 30 minutes for a meal,
a film in the lecture room and finish at 9.30 p.m., my
body ached. I knew it was an 8.00 a.m. start next morning
and I dreaded it. I had Panadol for breakfast. I felt
quite guilty about it but my painful body demanded a drug
stronger than the usual black coffee.
Day two was more of the same with a written test as
well. Karel converted the Czech questions to English while
an instructor listened attentively but courteously. No
cheating here mate! The Inspector - the "Big Wheel"
in the skydiving business was due at 11 a.m. to assess
the suitability of every student to be allowed to jump
from the four-seat 300 hp Brigadyr aircraft.
The Inspector had obviously been made aware that there
was a mad seventy-year-old Australian in the class. He
tested me sternly and thoroughly - more bone cracking
jumps into the pit, much swinging from the harness with
safety and emergency practices and a veiled threat to
Karel that I had better not mess up or somebody's head
would be on the block.
At 1530 hours I donned harness and helmet, climbed aboard
the Brigadyr and five minutes after take-off an instructor
gave me a helping push through the open door. I floated
down with legs and boots locked together, knees flexed,
rolled on my hip and accepted the huge adrenalin rush
as my reward.
I gathered the chute together and walked on air as I rejoined
the other students. My body was tall and strong as a jarrah
tree. Class members shook my hand and Hanka kissed me.
