If you’re reading this expecting a story about a random feathered creature and some relative of Mr Spock, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint. The Bluebird in question (for yes, it does unquestionably have a capital letter) is the one which crashed in 1967, killing Donald Campbell during his final attempt to break (his own) speed record on Lake Coniston.
Campbell was one of those old-fashioned men – charismatic, driven, massively patriotic – who’s held speed records on both land and water at the same time. Unlike other sons, he proved entirely unintimadated by his father’s achievements. Sir Malcolm Campbell, a British racing motorist and motoring journalist, also held the world speed records on both land and water during the 1920s and 1930s. Sir Malcolm’s vehicles were called Blue Bird and, whilst Donald kept the name, he added his own twist by making it just one word. Married thrice, with just one child – Gina, herself holder of a Women’s World Water Speed record – Donald Campbell and Bluebird are the stuff of legend. Especially so as, after the crash, neither Bluebird nor Campbell’s body were recovered, simply his crash helmet and his teddy – Mr Woppit. Campbell refused to drive unless Whoppit was with him and it was his wife Tonia’s task to hand the teddy to him on entering the cockpit.
Fast-forward to 1996 and a man named Bill Smith enters the picture. Diver and engineer, Smith was inspired to search for the wreck of Bluebird in Coniston after learning that Marillion’s song “Out of this World” had been written about Campbell and Bluebird. Another man of drive and determination, it was five years before Smith and his team were able to locate and recover Bluebird’s wreckage and Campbell’s body. The first substantitive piece of wreckage was raised in May 2001 and Campbell’s body was recovered four months later; something which would’ve been big news in normal circumstances, completely disappeared beneath the weight of the lives lost on that fateful day – September 11th, 2001.
I’m going to do no more than mention the conflicting views held over whether Campbell and Bluebird should have been allowed to remain in their 50-year old grave in the deep waters of Lake Coniston but Smith, with the support of Gina Campbell, proceeded with the project. When I recently watched the documentary of that moment, I understood why Gina felt her father’s memory was in safe hands. Campbell’s body was recovered and placed into a coffin whilst still in the water. The coffin, draped in the Union Jack, was carried onto dry land by the team who recovered him. No public images exist of that private moment in the water, and those who bore his body behaved not only with enormous respect to Campbell himself, but with great sensitivity to Campbell’s remaining family and friends. Smith spent the next 15 years restoring Bluebird, for Gina was adamant that it would not be exhibited as a wreck. There was one notable exception – the flag in the header image – that’s how it looked when they recovered Bluebird in 2001.
The restored Bluebird is currently undergoing speed trials on a loch in Scotland. Quite the tale eh?
But what about that Vulcan? Well, whilst nothing to do with Mr Spock and Star Trek, it – too – is quite the tale.
There were rumours that a few hours after Campbell’s fatal crash on Lake Coniston, a Vulcan bomber flew overhead in a mark of respect – a rumour that was flatly denied by the RAF as it not being “one of ours”. But, who else’s could it have been? Unlike in 2015 when I joined thousands of fans racing around the country to see the final flight of a privately-owned Vulcan, they were the backbone of the United Kingdom’s nuclear deterrent during most of the Cold War, so not just anyone had one.
Then, earlier this month, the son of Vulcan pilot Don Dale, repeated his father’s account of that unauthorised tribute …
“We flew over Coniston and dipped our wings in tribute to a very brave man who had just lost his life … Poignantly, on recovery of Bluebird and of Donald Campbell, his internment ceremony was planned to have a flypast of 4 Tornados. Sadly; the weather was too bad for the flypast. Perhaps I was 25 years too early, but I had given him an appropriate salute.”
This account was told decades ago to an artist who later painted his impression of that tribute. The Vulcan Spirit To The Sky Trust are keen to track down a copy of that picture – and no wonder. Two British legends of yesteryear … together.
© Debra Carey, 2018