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I’ve always been a daredevil, but fear completely lost its grip on me when I was 15. A horseback riding accident resulted in severe injuries, the death of my beloved horse Spooks and the devastating news I’d never ride again. I was set on proving the doctors wrong. Just a few months later, with my mother’s support, I rode sidesaddle to win my first jumping competition. The thrill was incredible.
From then on, I dedicated my life to adventure, remembering my mother’s lesson: never say, “I can’t”. At 22, I read about an opening to be a motorcycle stunt rider – I’d learned to ride a few years earlier. Still, it was 1976 and I knew they were unlikely to hire a woman.
At the time, I was working as a dispatch rider, zipping through London, making high-speed deliveries. My boss had hesitated to hire me, and even asked his wife’s permission first. I thought about that as I signed my stunt rider application, leaving off an honorific, hoping to disguise the fact that I was a woman. But they never got back to me.
I was devastated. Maybe the position had already been filled; maybe they’d discovered I was a woman. My mother suggested I train in something that could lead to a stable career. I agreed, so long as it didn’t come at the expense of adventure. My friend Steve then proposed an idea that at first seemed absurd: learning to fly aeroplanes. “Flying is for men,” I scoffed, but the suggestion stuck.
Years ago, trial flights – brief introductory sessions with an instructor – cost just £5 for 15 minutes in the air. Steve and I both signed up, and by the time we landed, I was hooked. I got my solo licence and headed for the US. There, I ended up flying an aerobatic plane, and taught myself stunts including loop-the-loops and rolls.
When recession hit in the early 1980s, I headed to Botswana, where I found work flying chartered planes. It wasn’t easy. Initially, they were sceptical about a woman working in the role, but I ended up outperforming my male colleagues.
When my contract ended, I moved to South Africa to work as a pilot for a luxury travel company. Despite being popular with passengers, I faced resistance from male colleagues and was fired. Later, I learned that my “unusual hobbies for a woman” – including motorcycling – and lack of a boyfriend had fuelled ignorant speculations about my sexuality.
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Remembering my mother’s lesson, I returned to England and bounced back. I worked as a commercial pilot for 10 years, then as a flying instructor, starting my own company, Tiger Airways, with my partner Chris. For 17 years, we specialised in instruction and aerobatics, until Chris passed in 2017.
Now, I live a quieter life. I’ve settled in a village in Lincolnshire with my dog Tiger, my chickens, Wize and Candy, and hawk, Solar. Much of my time is spent volunteering in care homes, where Tiger brings comfort to the residents.
Last October, after nearly 50 years and countless adventures, I received a letter from a post office in Staines. It was my stunt rider application, with a note scribbled at the top. The post office apologised for the delay and explained it had been found stuck behind a drawer in the office – the company never received it.
It felt strange to get it back after all those years. I remembered the excitement I’d felt when I heard about the listing back in 1976, my days of anxiously waiting for a reply, and the disappointment when it never came. I also looked back on all the adventures I went on after that letdown.
Who knows what would have happened had I taken the job? Perhaps the letter did not reach its destination because I was meant to go down a different, more fulfilling path. In any case, my story was covered in the papers, and old friends got in touch. They were amazed to hear all the other adventures I’ve had.
I don’t always understand why things happen, but I do believe they happen for a reason, even if that reason isn’t clear right away – and my lost job application proves that.
As told to Sophia Brousset
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