GROWING WITH THE AIRPORT

When a noisy jet goes over our homes on a Sunday morning, we hate it.

Personally, I don't mind the jets mainly because I've grown up with the airport.

When I was a teenager only the rich and famous would fly from Manchester Airport.

I would stand and watch in awe as a plane flew over, trying to imagine where in the world it was travelling to - and wondering if I would ever fly anywhere.

I married and had a son.

When he was five we decided to holiday in the Isle of Man.

The flight lasted probably three quarters of an hour, but it was sheer bliss.

My next encounter with the airport was to last almost 30 years.

I was widowed, remarried and moved to Mobberley to live a mile from the end of the runway.

The Dan Air 1-11 were the most disturbing planes at that time.

If you were on the phone, you had to ask the caller 'to hold the line'. It was impossible to hear.

My young son slept peacefully in his pram during the day at the bottom of the garden, with planes flying in and out over him.

They never woke him.

As for pollution, I never even thought about it.

We had some interesting times.

When Concorde flew from Manchester for the first time my neighbours and I watched from the field.

As it flew over it cracked the window and the neighbours' cows stampeded down the lane.

When the Red Arrows appeared at Woodford Air Show and flew from Manchester the next day, my sons, again standing in the field waving, were treated to the leader dipping his wings in salute.

We never grew tired of watching the huge graceful Guppy (it looked like a friendly dolphin) fly in and out after collecting completed wing sections of the Airbus.

But my memories are not without tragedy.

In 1985 when I was working on the south side of the airport, I could not understand why people would not let me pass.

They were standing on the tops of cars, fighting for a better view with cameras and binoculars.

It was only on arriving at the airport that I found out that a Boeing 737, a flight to Corfu, had crashed on the runway.

I hope I never witness such scenes again.

Our children grew up, married and moved away, so we moved back to Knutsford.

We now have a second runway at the airport.

Maybe because I lived at the end of the runway for so long, I do not find the planes and the noise of the planes too unacceptable.

I can live with them, but that's not to say I do appreciate that some must find them very distressing.

What I have found distressing is to see what is left of Wood Lane and the loss of the beautiful old Hill House and Hanson House.

Gone too are the trees where we collected conkers and the fields where we picnicked.

Farmhouses, where friends once lived, now stand empty.

At the moment the land nearby, right at the end of the new runway, looks like scrubland.

There are bogs and deep ruts in the fields. I am sure that the airport will plant trees and grassland to regenerate the area. I certainly hope so.

VOLUNTARY work can be a godsend.

But I would not have realised it, had it not been for my GP.

My family suffered an unexpected bereavement during a time when counsellors were not part of our everyday life.

My GP, who was also a family friend, suggested I should work at his surgery where I would soon learn there were people far worse off than me.

How right he was.

I spent 25 years working in local surgeries and always remembered his words.

Some time later I was diagnosed with breast cancer and a year later I was found to have secondaries.

At that time I thought, do I feel sorry for myself or do I do something positive.

I decided to do voluntary work at the Cancer Research Campaign shop in Knutsford.

Later I became a volunteer at a hospice in Macclesfield.

I work on reception

There are more than 300 volunteers working at the hospice covering many jobs including reception, voluntary ward assistants, flower-arranging, counselling and support groups.

The trainers are also volunteers.

My time spent at the hospice is very satisfying.

To be a friendly face to greet relatives and visitors is worthwhile.

Another volunteer told me he had worked at the hospice since he retired about 13 years ago.

He works every other Sunday afternoon.

Before retirement he had worked in the pathology department of a large hospital in Manchester when the wards were the Florence Nightingale-type - large, with beds down each side.

If you have never considered voluntary work then do so.

Your life can become more positive and meaningful.

Just pick up the telephone and make a call.

FOOTNOTE: IF I'd known grandchildren were so much fun, I'd have had them first.

Will we ever be satisfied.IT WAS probably the early 1940's when I first became aware of Ringway Airport, this was at a time when Britain's parachute troops were being trained.

It became quite normal to see barrage balloons with baskets suspended underneath from which instructors jumped and it was normal to hear the constant drone of Whitley bombers flying over Tatton Park and I watched fascinated as soldier after soldier jumped.

I also witnessed a couple of serious incidents when a soldier's parachute failed to open.

My teenage years, it was only the rich and famous who would fly from Manchester Airport.