kookaburrakapers

I had not crossed paths with GLF since way back in January 1985 when it was a club glider at Temora and I was on my third annual cgliding pilgrimage to Australia. Thus came about my first flight in the renowned Kookaburra and generously I was cleared to fly solo.
Referring to notes I made at the time, it seemed that when the Kookaburra had been designed the word ergonomics had yet to enter the dictionary.
In front of each seat GLF had a quaint open shelf (now gone, thank goodness), an inviting repository for any FOD the crew chose to carry.cThe elevator trim lever was an adapted screwdriver (!) which required considerable contortion to operate. Flying from the left seat, with my right hand on the stick, trimming was tantamount to stretching my left arm across my chest to put my left hand in my right back pocket (try it - and think about being strapped into your seat too). Conversely, with my left hand on the stick I felt I needed a rubber right arm to locate the trim lever. Ah well, I'd learned to fly in a glider that didn't have a trimmer, so why worry?
My notes went on: deploying the spoilers, via a ball on a wire above and behind my left ear, I felt like a left-handed Robin Hood plucking an arrow from his quiver. But it was a good day, so I bit my tongue, said nothing and savoured the moment.
I had consistent, smooth, 200 ft/min thermal directly over the airfield with no drift at all. Heaven! In anticipation of at some time having to come to terms with the march of progress in flying controls, I experimented (high up !) simulating a sidestick by using the right hand stick from the left seat .......... no difficulty, so, tiring of this, I soon got it out of my system - but I'm not recommending that you try it at home folks !
After landing, as I fought to disentangle myself from the Kookaburra's uncooperative canopy, I was mobbed by club members demanding to know how high I'd been. My mind raced. Had I unwittingly busted airspace and brought the club into disrepute ...and ... and ...?
In trepidation I hesitatingly mumbled "Err, 9000ft or so." The inquisition intensified. An approximation wasn't good enough; they demanded to know the exact height. My heart sank further as I resigned myself to my fate.
But, what was this? I gradually discerned that the interrogation was proceeding with excitement and anticipation rather than hostility and accusation. Then, unaware that my typical English view that Australians gamble on anything was thereby reinforced, they told me that they had all been watching my flight throughout and betting on how high I would reach ! With hidden, but intense, relief and now regarding myself as "one of the lads", I blurted out some impromptu, random figure. Money changed hands as one lucky Australian gleefully gave vernacular utterance to what I self-righteously took to be a compliment to my flying.
I too was happy. Indeed, being an inveterate type-hunter, my rapture knew no bounds; I, a pom, had flown the great icon of Australian gliding.
I felt privileged beyond imagination. Nevertheless, to myself, I noted finally (and rather unkindly) that the Kookaburra had just about the lowest performance of anything I had ever flown - a record which, I now hasten to add, it no longer holds!