May you fly high on life's journeys

As I started reading an online article about Caribbean Airline’s (CAL’s) plans to retrench between 95 and 115 pilots – almost 46 per cent of their crew – I was surprised to feel that rising inner tide that becomes a lump in the throat, then moves into tears. I sat in front of my laptop weeping.

Whether we realise it, admit it or not, many of us have an emotional connection with “CAL”...or “BWee” as it was once fondly known.

When heading off to Cambridge to do my masters in my early twenties, that was the airline that transported me, safe and sound, to London. The general camaraderie and warmth of the smiling flight crew brought familiarity to the opening leg of a big new adventure, akin to the feeling of being dropped off to school safely by loving parents.

On longer flights, during which one might fall asleep, there was often a feeling of "home" upon waking – brought on by something as simple as a passing stewardess bending to ask “You okay? Can I get you anything?”

In the darkness and silence, with most passengers dozing, others watching a movie quietly, there was the comforting awareness that the flight crew was there, in charge, sitting like patient, watchful guardians on the jump seat near the cockpit or quietly chatting and laughing (aka liming) with each other near the toilets at the back. Seeing this assured us that all was well. Even during stomach-churning turbulence, one glance at the nearest steward/stewardess, always exuding peace, would calm any concerns.

There was the feeling of knowing the crew, simply by the familiar way they talked, laughed, made a joke or gave picong, their smiles of recognition and gentle greetings as we mounted the steps to the aircraft, or their warm wishes of goodbye on our departure.

As children we enjoyed flying to Britain with our parents on British Airways – mainly because the flight crew would give us toys and treats to keep us occupied. But whenever I flew BA, Virgin or any other airline as an adult, while there were enjoyable aspects about all of them, none ever matched the feeling of home and recognition that I experienced on CAL.

I remember once being on a flight with a grumpy purser. I assume many other passengers must have wondered as well, in typical Trini style “Wh’appen to she?” However, even such grumpiness can have an endearing quality – because of the way in which people from TT understand and can accept, ignore or navigate around that "hard face." Deep within we all knew that at some point someone might joke with her – drily saying “Smile nah, gyul” – and despite whatever caused her "sourness," she could crack and laugh.

Once, flying back to Trinidad from Toronto, the CAL stewardess, clearly into cricket, kept announcing the score. Although I am not a cricket fan, I was touched. To most of the other passengers, she was their radio and TV rolled into one. Her frequent updates inspired groans, exclamations or cheers within the cabin, followed by lively discussion and laughter. It was as though we were in an airborne living room with an entire family or group of pardnas huddled around a radio listening and hoping for a win. As we landed and she announced the score, passengers erupted into screams and claps, celebrating victory.

On all of those CAL flights, whether long or short haul, there was the awareness of what felt (at least to me) like a solid, unwavering presence – unseen, yet real, sometimes becoming audible via a reassuringly calm voice over the intercom: “Good morning/afternoon/night, everyone, this is your captain John/Jane Doe speaking,” followed by some wish that we are having a good flight and that we are now flying over X place or approaching Y destination where the weather is this and the temperature is that. And, at the end of it all, a sincere thank you for flying with us.

Since moving to Tobago, I have flown CAL only domestically and BA internationally. Even as I write this the tears are, surprisingly, coming again.

My heart goes out to the crew and pilots – especially those who are being retrenched. I am sure I speak for many in thanking you for flying us safely over the decades – getting us to our destinations in one piece. Thank you for your dedication and your courage, as I imagine flying is not always a walk in the park.

I am especially grateful to the pilots of domestic flights (if reading this, you know who you are) who, as animal lovers, have personally transported several rescued Tobago dogs and cats to new homes in Trinidad. How heartening it always was to see you striding to the check in area to confirm that the animal will be going as your baggage...then striding off to the loading area with the crate in your arms...and to know that you would caringly collect the crated animal on the conveyor belt in Piarco and meet the new owner for handover.

Thank you all for your service to us. I wish you only the best in whatever your continued life journeys bring.