Report - Liverpool Speke Airport (Former), Liverpool - December 2016

[WildBoyz]

History

Liverpool Speke airport owes its existence to a small private flying club that was based at Hooton Park in the Wirral. It was through the club that Sir Alan Cobham, an English aviation pioneer, visited the area, as part of a wider tour to promote flying and educate the public about the benefits of flying. Liverpool City Council were quick to hear of his visit and immediately invited Cobham to survey possible sites for an aerodrome somewhere in the Merseyside area. Following a number of thorough surveys, Cobham settled on Speke or Hooton Park as being the most suitable sites. After receiving this news, the City Council pressed for Liverpool to have the aerodrome and, in 1928, purchased 2,000 acres of land within the grounds of Speke Hall – a manor house that was built in 1530.

Construction of Liverpool Speke Airport commenced in 1929. An existing chapel and farm buildings were used as terminal buildings and a control centre, and a large metal hanger was built opposite the main farm house. This hanger, along with two of the farm buildings, are said to still exist today. Once completed, the new airport was issued a licence in July 1930. Imperial Airways were the first company to offer a service from the airport, between Liverpool-Manchester-Birmingham-Croydon; however, the service was abandoned after three months, meaning the aerodrome continued all further operations on a flying club basis.

The airport was officially opened once again on 1st July 1933, after the Liverpool Corporation appointed an airport manager. Following the new opening, the airport gained a number of airlines that operated regular services, such as Blackpool and West Coast Air Services, Aer Lingus, Hillman Airways and British Airways. By 1935 the air traffic was building up to the extent that an expansion was required. The City Council purchased new equipment, facilities and two new hangers to cope with the demand. The present control tower was completed in 1937, and the terminal building attached was added later in 1939.

By the end of 1939, however, the atmosphere at Liverpool Speke changed significantly. With the onset of WW2, the Royal Air Force (RAF) requisitioned the airport and two new hangers were constructed, along with other hutted accommodation. Armed forces connections were then introduced as No. 611 Squadron moved onto the site with their Avro Tutor aircraft and Hawker Hart bombers. In the weeks that followed, more Squadrons arrived in Liverpool and set up base at the airport. A number of factories were later constructed within the vicinity, to provide a continuous supply of fighters and bombers to the war effort. By the early 1940s, Liverpool Speke was overloaded with over 200 hundred military aircraft, and hundreds of incomplete machines. The vast majority of the commercial airlines were also appropriated by the RAF and pressed into service. The airport became even more crowded during 1941 and 1942, when Liverpool had to defend itself against the Luftwaffe. A large force of Spitfires and Hurricanes were required to protect the city. All in all, the home based No. 611 Squadron destroyed over 240 enemy aircraft throughout the war. Normal commercial services resumed operations in 1945 after VE-day.

Following the war, expansion work was carried out and the runways were lengthened as the number of passengers had risen from 50,000 at the end of the war to 78,000 in 1948. As with most airports across England, Liverpool Speke continued to expand to meet increasing numbers of travellers and the ever-changing demands of newer and more sophisticated technologies. The original Grade II listed terminus building was closed in 1986 after the completion of a much more modern passenger terminal which was situated next to the new, larger, 7,500ft runway which had been built in 1966. The old terminal building remained abandoned for a number of years, until it was converted into an Art Deco hotel in 2001. The former apron of the terminal is also listed and retained in its original condition; although, it is no longer connected to the airport or subject to airside access control. In fact, it is now used as a car park and to house an old Liverpool Airport vehicle and several aircraft. Some of these include: a Bae Jetstream 41, a prototype G-JMAC (the fourth one built), a Bristol Britannia G-ANCF and a Percival P-50 Prince 6E.

 

[WildBoyz]

Our Version of Events

*Before you continue with the Our Version of Events section, we recommend that you click the links that have been included; they take you to various youtube videos which will play music to complement the story.

With the sound of Kenny Loggins’ classic Danger Zone blasting in the cars, we arrived at Speke Airport just before 9am and set about trying to find a way around the back of the historic terminal building and tower. A large crowd was gathered around the front door, waiting to go inside by the look of things; they were a little unusual-looking and all had big hair. The most popular do seemed to be the brush cut style. Each of them were wearing aviator sunglasses too, despite the traditional English overcast weather. What was even more strange, though, was that there was also a Wrigley’s Chewing Gum vendor parked up nearby. We couldn’t work out why.

We parked up the cars close to the planes around the back. All we’d had to do was put our own sets of aviators on, hold emotionless expressions and exercise our teeth chomping skills for the guard to signal us through. Finding spaces was easy as well since there were two marked RESERVED: WILDBOYZ AVIATORS. As Box and Husky got out of the cars, they slapped each other proper high-fives: where each of them moved towards the other delivering a normal high-five, and then followed it up with another one by bringing their hands around, after passing one another, to deliver a reverse low-high-five. Box shouted loudly, clearly excited that we were about to urbex, “Husky! Husky, you are an animal!” It was at this point that the music in the cars changed as Playing with the Boys erupted from the speakers. The rest of us started to get the gear out of the car, but as we did couldn’t help wonder why there was an all-male topless volleyball match going on further down the car park. If that wasn’t odd enough, one of the topless crew wandered over to us five minutes later to ask if we happened to have any baby oil on us. Much to his disappointment, we didn’t.

With all of the gear out of the car, we started to walk over towards the old rusting aircraft. Mayhem turned to Husky, the official WildBoyz Equipment Manager (this bit is true. The role entails carrying things), and handed him his tripod. “Let’s turn and burn” he said, addressing the rest of the group. Organised in an eagle formation, we strutted our stuff as we walked across the tarmac. We got about three metres, though, before a guy came running towards us from the old terminal building. “WildBoyz, thank fuck it’s you”, he said, “we have a situation and we need your help!”
Chewing gum like a fucking boss, MKD replied, “talk to me, Goose”.
“We have several bogeys incoming, you need to get in the air ASAP. All those guys around the front, none of them actually know how to fly a plane, but you guys, I’ve heard you guys have the best skillage in the village”.
“Get to the chopper!”, shouted MKD.
“We haven’t got a chopper”, replied Goose, “you’ll have to use a couple of the planes over there”.

We raced towards the aircraft that were sitting on the tarmac. We had no time to lose! Mayhem ran towards the Bae Jetstream 41 and jumped straight inside. He twisted the key in the ignition and listened to the engine purr loudly as it roared to life. He hit the foot pedal and gave it a few revs. It sounded like a beast. Soul chose to take the prototype G-JMAC (the fourth one built) – it took him a while to get it to turn over, but he managed it eventually. With it being a prototype he had to insert a 20p coin into the dashboard, twiddle the knob on the radio a bit and jump-start the bastard. As for Rizla, he hopped into the Bristol Britannia G-ANCF. Unlike the others it was a smooth runner, so he had no problems get it started. The three valiant WildBoyz began to taxi down the runway, dodging the various parked cars that were in the way. The incredible rumble of three aircraft filled the air, stifling all other sound.

Everything was going relatively smoothly with the take-off, until three enemy planes suddenly appeared on the horizon: Nightca11er, UrbexSqu4d and CoptainCack. They were approaching fast. Switching to guns, they started to blast the Grade II listed runway with 30mm caliber bullets. Bits of tarmac exploded around the remaining Boyz who were stood on the ground, along with a souped up Citroën Saxo with insanely loud exhausts, racing seats and side skirts, and the chavy Bishop Auckland cunt who owned it.

Meanwhile, Box, who had been smoking a sly spliff on the side-lines, noticed the Percival P-50 Prince 6E was still empty. Taking note that he should probably pull a finger out and do something to help, he stubbed out the remainder of his joint and, pocketing it for later, ambled over to the aircraft. He would have run, to dodge the Saxo’s alloys that were flying towards him, but he felt too chilled for that shit right now. Fortunately, they sailed right the way over him, but it was a close one! It was at this precise moment that the sound the sound of Larry Greene’s Through the Fire erupted across the airport. With the epic tune in the background and motivation quickly dwindling, Box had to take a quick break and lie on the wing of a nearby plane for a moment. He needed to take five – things were way too intense and his mind couldn’t cope with all the detail.

Back with Mayhem, Soul and Rizla Rider, the three of them had managed to get airborne. Since they’d not been used in a wee while, though, the engines of their aircraft were rattling like a packet of tic tacs propped between two large breasts that happened to be out jogging. And then, without warning, Mayhem’s radio spoke: “Mayhem, watch out, you have one on your six”, shouted Soul through the radio.
“What the fuck is my six!?”, he responded, sounding a little anxious.
“Like, go to your right a bit, he’s sort of to your left… But, now he’s on your right. Fuck, he keeps moving. What a fucking ballache, man”.
“Right, I’ll go faster and try to lose him. I feel the need for speed! … … …
… … … Ah, fuckkkkkk, the speed, man, it’s taking my breath away!”
“Watching every motion, in my foolish lover’s game”, Berlin 1986! Great tune”, replied Soul.
“What? No, you bellend, I can’t find the fucking brake pedal. I’m going too fast”.

Unable to control the speed of his Bae Jetstream 41, Mayhem was forced to eject. He pulled the lever to the right of him, marked EJECT, and a second later he was rocketed into the air. The plane itself continued travelling forward for a moment or two before it smashed into Halfords over the road. An almighty explosion filled the air. “Great balls of fire”, yelled Rizla, “that was a close one. Right, Boyz, let’s stop fucking around and get stuck into the danger zone”. On that note, Soul and Rizla Rider engaged the enemy.

Armed with fuck all in his prototype G-JMAC, Soul put the aircraft into autopilot and opened the side door. He started to lob the only thing he could find at UrbexSqu4d: airline meals. Chicken and black bean, pork curry, beans and vegan sausages, the fucking works. Having never faced such an assault before, UrbexSqu4d shit himself. He panicked when a packet of spready cheese exploded across his windscreen and he couldn’t find his window wipers. The crackers only made it worse as they broke apart and stuck to the brie better than cum stains do to the carpet. Down to only olives in extra virgin oil, cucumber batons and gluten free pitta pockets, mind, Soul was beginning to get a little worried himself. He was running out of ammunition. Luck was on his side for the moment, however, since a stray olive found its way into UrbexSqu4d’s right engine. It burst into flames and, several seconds later, the entire plane blew up. Who knew an olive could destroy a Mikoyan MiG-35. Years of playing pigeon toss had clearly paid off for Soul.

Soul was just about to execute the classic fist-pump to celebrate, but before he even managed to clench his fist a loud BANG erupted from something that sounded important up in the main cockpit. Soul raced up the plane to find out what it was. He wrenched open the cockpit door, and found himself looking out at Liverpool; at the Wigwam, St. George’s Hall and Quiggins. To put it short, Soul shit himself. There was something warm and moist running down his left leg. He looked down. It was only the Good Bean sea salt chickpeas and chewy Swedish fish dish. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, he realised he had no time to stand around. Looking around him he searched for something useful: a Tesco carrier bag, a stack of hard-core 80s porno mags and a whisk. These were all the items he had to escape his doomed aircraft. As much as he liked the look of the mags, it would have to be the carrier bag. He grabbed it and ran to the door. He was poised, ready to make the jump, but then he had a quick thought – perhaps he should give the others a bell to let them know the crack.
“Rizla Rider. Rizla Rider, you there?”, he shouted down his mobile.
“Dude, you’re on fire”, Rizla Rider replied.
“There’s a raging fire in my plane tonight, falling lower and lower in my plane, there’s a raging fire in the sky tonight. I wanted to ride on the silver dove tonight, and now I am, far into the night…”, he yelled with a slight hint of some vocal talent.
“Why are you singing Mighty Wings? The CD is in here like, do you want me to play it?”
“… Going down! Mayday!”, screamed Soul.
“That was some of the best flying I’ve seen to date – right up to the part where you got killed”, he replied.
And then Soul jumped.

Furious that he’d just lost his wingman, Rizla Rider did a quick u-ey and hit the throttle to pursue the remaining enemy fighters. They were just ahead of him, and he was closing in. It was time for a better tune, so he whipped out the random collection of CDs that happened to be in the cockpit and sifted through them until he came across Destination Unknown. That would do the job just nicely. By now he was right on the tail of Nightca11er. But what, what the fuck was he doing? He peered out of his window, trying to get a better view. It looked like he was knocking one off in the cockpit. Clearly he was taking the idea of a cockpit a bit too literally. Rizla Rider seized the moment, he released a volley of bullets towards him, along with two Blue Steel missiles, just to be on the safe side. Needless to say, where Nightca11er had once been there was now a slight cloud of dust and three and a half pages of granny porn hovering in the air. “Nightca11er’s dead! Woo! Nightca11er’s dead!”, shouted Rizla Rider through the radio to no one in particular since both his comrades had been shot down.
...

 

[WildBoyz]

...

And then, suddenly, in the corner of his left hand side wing mirror, Rizla Rider noticed three RS-24 Yars missiles heading towards him. It was CoptainCack. He tried desperately to jam on the anchors by wrenching the hand brake into position, in the hope that the missiles would fly right by, but he made the wrong decision. All three missiles smashed into his Bristol Britannia G-ANCF. Instantly, sirens and alarms went haywire in the cockpit. Checking the AI emergency response programme, he learned that his plane was missing both wings. In response, Rizla Rider pressed a few buttons and pulled a few switches, hoping one of them might do something useful, but in the end all he discovered was the cigarette lighter. It was time to bail.

Rizla Rider raced to the back of his plane, hoping to find some sort of parachute or a carrier bag. As he ran a torrent of bullets smashed through the right side of the aircraft. CoptainCack was trying to finish him off. Somehow, though, Rizla Rider made it to the back and quickly found the release button for the rear cargo door. It opened, only to reveal a hovering Mikoyan MiG-35 and CoptainCack staring directly at him. Preparing himself for inevitable death, Rizla Rider pushed up his aviators with his middle finger and continued the gesture all the way. CoptainCack looked pretty fucked off, and flicked the little caps off his dual control sticks, in preparation to fire. Before he could, however, his cockpit exploded as a shower of 20mm rounds smashed it to pieces. CoptainCack didn’t stand a chance, the miserable fucker was blown from the sky.

Rizla Rider was dazed and unsure about what had just happened. But then he saw it, a Percival P-50 Prince 6E incoming. Almost as if it was staged, the sound of Take my Breath Away was blasting from a large speaker system. The cockpit was completely filled with smoke, to the point that it was spilling from the open side windows. It was Box! He pulled up to the open cargo door and leaned out of the window, releasing an even larger cloud of hazy smoke. “Alright, dude, want a lift?”
“Yes man, get me in on that fucking doob too”, shouted Rizla Rider.
“Yeah boy, hop on in then, man. Gotta be quick though, I forgot to ask Husky to fill her up so we’re running low on petrol”.
Without further ado, Rizla Rider hopped inside the Percival P-50 Prince 6E. Box fiddled with the gear stick for a moment, trying to get it into gear. He had to apologise and explain that it seemed to stick a little bit. But, after that they were off. Mach 3 all the way back to the airport. On the way they passed Soul. Thankfully he’d survived and was steadily floating back to the ground with his Tesco carrier bag. They both agreed to go back for him later and take him a bag of chips or something.

From the ground the rest of the WildBoyz who had basically done fuck all for the duration of this story, watched as a Percival P-50 Prince 6E approached the runway. It was flying a Jolly Roger from its tail, so they knew it was a friendly aircraft. It swooped in low just as Kenny Loggins himself rocked up. He’s a sound bloke, so offered to sing a bit of Danger Zone to welcome Rizla Rider and Box. “Revvin’ up your engine, listen to her howlin’ roar. Metal under tension, beggin’ you to touch and go”. The guitars screamed and the sound of Kenny’s voice echoed across what was left of the tarmac. Just as the Box was touching down, Kenny was getting into the best bit: “Highway to the danger zone. I’ll take you, ridin’ into the danger zone. You'll never say hello to you, until you get it on the red line overload. You'll never know what you can do, until you get it up as high as you can go”.

Explored with Ford Mayhem, Meek-Kune-Do, Rizla Rider, Box, Husky and Soul.

1:

2:

3:

4:

5:

6:

7:

8:

9:

10:

11:

12:

13:

14:

15:

16:

17:

18:

19:

20:

 

[Lavino]

Your on fuckin drugzzz lol

 

[Miss.Industrial]

wot no interiorz yo?

 

[WildBoyz]

wot no interiorz yo?

All locked up tight unfortunately.

 

[Xan_Asmodi]

it's nice to see these clowns getting a little bit of love. I am pleased to see the Cambera back in shape, if I recall correctly last time I was there four years ago it was a collection of parts.