They are the masters now

I was on a plane once that malfunctioned as it was trying to take off from JFK Airport in New York. There was a horrible screeching noise and some smoke and the thing skidded to a halt with its nose poking out over Long Island sound. Trucks pulled up alongside us and sprayed stuff. I don’t think anyone had been particularly scared because the plane was still on the ground. The only thing that worries people about planes is when they fall out of the sky; if they blow up on the runway, that’s sort of OK. It was a scheduled KLM flight bound for London and the Dutch cabin crew told us we all had to stay where we were while somebody tried to sort the plane out. Presently, through my porthole, I saw an elderly man in dungarees hitting one of the engines with a spanner. He had a hopeful look on his face.

The cabin crew handed out free non-alcoholic drinks and peanuts and told us we’d be going soon, not to worry. There were murmurings of disquiet from among the passengers which grew until several of us, including me, demanded we leave the plane this very second and get on a better one, one that worked. In truth, all I wanted was a cigarette — those were the days when you could smoke on aeroplanes, but only when they were up in the air, and certainly not with gallons of aviation fuel sloshing around beside you. The trolley dollies tried briefly to persuade us not to go, but without much conviction; they backed down in the face of our irritation. Eventually the cabin doors were opened and those who wished to leave were allowed to do so, on a bus which took us back to the terminal buildings.