Ian Allan Aviation Tour - France 2025

By Kev Baxter

It was not just the friends of Jean-Baptiste Salis who had a passion for aviation.  Kev Baxter reports from the recent Ian Allan Aviation Tour to France, where the wrecks and relics may have been crusty and weather-beaten, but the allure of Gallic aviation kept them young, sprightly and raring to go.

Had it been a dark and stormy night, there might have been a better excuse to have closed the A12/M25 roundabout again.  But, the dawn was bright and clear, promising great things, so Keith Meacham and I avoided the constantly niggling foul-up and routed into Heathrow via the M11 from our East Anglian early start.  Our merry band of fellow travellers dribbled together in T3, camera bags, zaps and Relentless Pursuit thousand-yard stares marking them out as our likely travelling companions.  There were some old faces (well, most of us were old and some really old) and some new acquaintances to be made, which happened enthusiastically, as always, despite the ungodly hour.

All aboard, apart from our friends from Northern Ireland and Scotland, who were joining us in France, we forewent any entitlement to personal space and crammed into BA’s, bulging baby-bus and wafted off, in more ways than one, to the Carmargue.  As the flight attendants were ordered to their seats by the captain for landing in Marseille, Salon de Provence scooted down the starboard side, but without a glimpse of the Patrouille De France in residence; typical Gallic rudeness to we Brits, it had to be assumed.  On de-planing, we recognised that apparel consisting of black, COAP polo-shirt and jeans may have been suitable for pre-dawn England, but as the blistering Mediterranean sun beat down upon us as we sauntered around the carpark looking for our beasts of burden for the week, we regretted our sartorial choices as rivulets of sweat cascaded between our shoulders blades and flowed unhindered into the Caverne Du Craque.  However, with our week’s mounts claimed and clients allocated to one of four Tour Managers: the Team’s very own Stewart Oxley, Keith Meacham, Paul Ashenden (Pash) and Kev Baxter, the pace quickened as we selected max a/c and dived straight into the melée of advancing north towards Orange.

FIrst contact.  A Mirage IIIC stood guard on a roundabout on the outskirts of Orange.

It was mid-afternoon by the time we arrived at the Aerospace Museum of Orange, ‘first contact’ having been the exciting sight of a pole-mounted Mirage III on a roundabout on the outskirts of the Town.  ‘Arrived’ may have been a slight misnomer.  We may have parked in sight of the museum’s jets visible 50m away, but a hard-hatted ‘travails-worth’ presiding over what appeared to be a poorly coned extension of the A12/M25 junction approached us.  “Non monsieur!  Impossible!  Deviation obligatoire.”  Obviously, Jobsworth was not going to let our clearly elderly attendees amble across any ground upon which he had just walked with absolutely no difficulty.  We engaged our man in pidgen-French and it was established that we could walk around his entirely unpopulated work area to our temptingly adjacent destination.  However, what he failed to mention was that his helpful detour took us about 1500m out of our way in 36°C.  A further Gallic welcome, to be sure; it was just as well some of our clients still had their coats and cardigans with them!  This welcome could not have been further from that received by our host, after he had turned up to the gate, eventually, working on ‘Mediterranean time’.  The gentleman could not have been more effusive about his incredulity over our enthusiasm for his decaying collection.  Despite the Davis-Monthan style climate, aviation preservation appeared to be something of a mystery to the French Public, he stated, and he was enraptured by our knowledge and shared passion.  It was assumed that our extremely modest entrance fee would be put to excellent use and purchase the red wine and baguettes that weekend, so his chaps could have a convivial natter about what they weren’t going to achieve with their jets anytime soon.  The Collection set the scene for all of the private attractions we visited that week.  Once fabulously attractive French beauties were now heat-distressed, tragically faded and crumbling visibly like the pride of their ageing Empire; but still, they were all enticingly alluring.  Bidding farewell to our curvaceous belles, the evening was not wasted, since we took time to ‘recce’ BA115 Orange Caritat to see whether the Rafales were night flying and to scope out possible sites to watch a launch or two in the morning.  Alas, all that was seen was a couple of sad Mirage IIIs on the fire dump and the next morning actually did dawn dark and threateningly stormy, precluding any departures at all.

Time spent in recce is time well spent.  Alas, Orange-Caritat Air Base revealed only this and another forlorn Mirage IIIE on its fire dump, the Rafales did not come out to play.

Following the salivatory trail of viticulture north through the geologically ancient Rhône valley, we alighted upon the splendidly named Musée Européen de L’Aviation de Chasse.  More aptly, in English, ‘Daddy Dassault’s Fighter Farm’.  A plethora of French, military aviation legends beset us and camera shutters and notebooks steamed hot under the leaden sky.  On a knowledgable whim, Keith sought access to the restoration hangar, only to be denied politely by the Receptionist.  However, as things were wrapping up, an enthusiastic docent appeared wishing to know. “Who are the English?”  Since he declared openly that he was a Belgian, not a German asking for our papers - you never know in France, we chose to reveal our identities to him.  Our decision was a good one.  He ushered our hastily gathering group through the barrier to an adjacent hangar, where we were introduced to an airworthy OV-10, the atypically well-preserved Mirage III EX prototype and one of the two Cyrano-radar equipped Vautours used for testing with the CEV.  Result!  Having enjoyed thoroughly access not granted to just anybody, we were even more pleased to be accompanied hurriedly into the staff crew room as the impending storm finally broke overhead, pelting the other punters with rain, hail and thunder.  We passed the time waiting for the storm to blow over ogling the souvenirs adorning the walls, each a unique snippet of history with stories all of their own.

The first of several Mirage IVs seen on the Tour.  Under cover and slightly incongruously, it being at the Musée Européen de l'Aviation de Chasse (Fighter Museum), Montelimar, this example was exhibited in its original natural metal finish.  Although several of these mighty nuclear bombers were seen, none were as resplendently shiny.

Finally, we had to bid our adieus and get on the road following under the coat-tails of the storm towards Albon and our next destination, Aero Retro.  The plan was for those of us who wished to avail ourselves of some flying to do so in classic airframes from such types as the legendary Chipmunk to more esoteric mounts such as the Caudron Luciole.  Unfortunately, our e-mails about flying had gone unanswered and when, on trying to find the entrance to their hangar we disturbed the representative of Aero Retro from his mid-afternoon nap in the bar, we discovered that it was not just the weather that would preclude our ambition to fly.  To his undying merit, our unkempt Maitre D’ composed himself swiftly.  Lighting a suitably pungent cheroot, he cleared an ankle-deep drain adeptly that offered the only waterlogged access to the aeroplanes and grandly waved us through an equally unkempt workshop area into an Aladdin’s cave of single-engined piston aircraft of many and much varied heritage.  Free-rein was allowed amongst the aviation oddities, with an implicit understanding that we weren’t the usual crowd; possibly indicative of a questionable level of trust, or a bad hangover.  Ducking under cobweb-strewn wings and around dust-caked crates, treasures abounded from a naked Fiesler Storch, to a partially clothed WACO UPF, to an immaculately restored Bücker Jungmann and many more too.  An ex-military Nord Ramier and Socata Epsilon were a backdrop to a converted Texan masquerading as a ‘Zero’ and a Pilatus P-2, of Indiana Jones’ Messerschmitt fame.  PT-17s, fronted British ex-service machines, the Chipmunk and Bulldog being the obvious examples.  A Moroccan Max Holste Broussard languished along one wall awaiting its wings and engine to be re-fitted and smaller types that had many of us scratching our heads to identify sat there either resplendent or waiting to be so again.  When the French learn to work through lunch having enjoyed only a soggy tuna sandwich and a Rich Tea biscuit, the skies over Albon will roar again triumphantly.

Indiana Jone’s Pilatus P-2 ‘Messerschmitt’ awaits the lunch-break to be over so it can roar once again over the skies of Albon.

The day was far from complete and having sailed north on rain-swept roads we entered grid-locked Lyon, albeit it with clearing skies.  After settling in to the hotel, the majority of us enjoyed a fabulous walk at dusk along the Rhône and through the Old City to enjoy our only full meal time together as a group.  The advantage of a family member living and working in the ancient city and being available to arrange and host the evening for us was exploited fully and a gourmand evening was relished in a flamboyantly themed and thriving restaurant.

It is not all ‘hard core’ aviation action on tour.  Much is made of the social aspect and the ability to share time among like-minded individuals is highly prized - even better when a family member can take the strain from the Tour Managers after a hard day’s driving.

A ‘Wheels’ time was one rule that was strictly adhered to on Tour.  ‘Wheels’ meant that if you had turned up at the time given you would have seen the bus leaving, or you would be the one buying the beers that night for having made everybody late for the next time-on-target.  However, departing the Lyon hotel saw the Chuckle Brothers’ greatest hits played out by the Tour Managers in a, “To me! To you!”, parody in the underground car-park.  The four minibuses took half an hour to be shuffled out from the tortuously packed undercroft parking bays and to ascend the tightly pig-tailed ramp.  Not our finest half hour!

It is not every day our clients are invited to sit in the cockpit of a Mirage 2000C.  At Lyon Corbas the practice is positively encouraged.

Eventually though, as the morning’s rush-hour traffic began to dissipate, the additional treat of a visit to Lyon/Corbas Airfield and the Musée De L’Aviation Clément Ader was not to be missed.  Named after the father of aviation, Clément Ader, the inventor of the Eole, a steam driven aircraft credited with the first heavier-than-air flight, albeit uncontrolled, the museum had a lot to offer.  Unlike the freedom enjoyed at Albon, however, this museum insisted upon a guided tour throughout its twin hangars and undercover, outdoor storage area.  Alas, Vincent, our guide and once the French Marine’s Chief, Multi-engine Test Pilot, Nord Frégate and Breguet Atlantique ace recognised that plaiting fog and herding cats was a better use of his time.  Fortunately, nobody blotted their copy-book too badly, or was caught doing so, in spite of their inattention to Vincent’s manful attempts to muster his limited aviation-English for everyone’s benefit.  Our number-crunchers enjoyed the uniqueness of some of the airframes in the collection, notably the No1 Mirage IIIB and E and the Mirage IIIR, No2, that was once the mount of Jacqueline Auriol for one of her many record breaking achievements.  Prototype turbo-shaft helicopters were a feature and also a later Henri Mignet inspired design built by a pilot, who had gone totally blind; presumably, being a Mignet design, it couldn’t be established if the poor chap had built the thing the wrong way round or not?  Specially-schemed jets were also preserved, fortunately under cover there, unlike many of their counterparts seen elsewhere.

Vincent, the former Chief Multi-engine Test Pilot of the French Marine realises that he might as well plait fog than try to explain to aviation enthusiasts what they are looking at.

As everything closed for lunch in France, we were ushered out of the door politely, so we took the time to grab a soggy tuna sandwich and Rich Tea biscuit on the road to Savigny Lès Beaune.  The medieval chateau at Savigny dripped old wealth, despite having been bought out by a farming cooperative.  Almost certainly, the inherent wealth had been derived from the incoherent pleasure and crashing hangovers of innumerable drunkards.  The vineyard had paid for the most outrageous of Burgundian Boys’ toys, crowned by the oft-photographed Musée Des Avions in the back 5-acre field.  Again, preservation had been the least of the concerns of the owners and many of the exhibits were rotting hulks, stripped of their military dignity and paint.  Perhaps the poignant demise of these once proud machines could have been likened to war veterans reduced to becoming destitute winos, reliant on the product they live amongst and huddled for old time’s sake in a seedy commune of their own.  It was a hard scene to witness and as I cast back my mind I wondered if the defiant shark-mouth adorning the French Marine F-8(FN) Crusader was the same jet I had witnessed at RAF St Mawgan, conducting an entire airfield attack inverted along the length of the runway, because the message the pilot was sending was: gunfighters don’t drop any stinkin’ bombs!  Like the sun-scorched paint the memories were fading, but hopefully, and unlike the jets, such flash-backs could be preserved and never forgotten completely.  On the other hand, the co-located Abarth racing car collection, several hundred motorbikes, multiple fire engines and tractors were all looked after far better indoors.  Also, the 2500+ plastic models on display illustrated that quantity did, indeed, have a quality all of its own - but the enormity of the massed display cabinets was chilling to the owner of a model stash a fifth of the size of that one, but living in house with a total floor space no bigger than a guest’s bedroom in the Chateau.  Hmmm.

‘Do not go gentle into that good night!’  Defiant to the last, this F-8(FN) Crusader may, or may not have been an old friend re-visited at Savigny Les Beaune. 

After enjoying a coffee and ice-cream on the terrace and purchasing a vintage bottle of the good stuff from the cellars of the Chateau, it was time to break out from the Côte Du Rhône and strike north-west towards our final destination, Paris.  The long drive culminated in the sighting of the Eifel Tower followed by intense concentration whilst trying not to collide, damage or kill anyone on the infamous Paris Peripherique in search of our hotel.

Another unsuccessful attempt to herd the cats for a photograph was made at the Musée De L’Air Et De L’Espace, Le Bourget.  The museum is an exemplar for collections throughout the World.

Our free day was spent at Le Bourget, naturally enough.  Despite preparations for the Paris Salon, almost all of the Musée De L’Air et De L’Espace’s exhibits outside were on display.  The interior of the museum outshone anything that had been seen on the Tour so far and was an exemplar for all international aviation museums.  What was surprising was that in a country that had spent so much time at the forefront of aviation development, of the museum’s visited, only this one had exuded the pride derived from the country’s achievements.  It should have been no surprise to us that most of the bits on aeroplanes have been named in French.  From the earliest of flying machines to uniquely revolutionary designs, Le Bourget had them all.  Over a less than frenetic lunch it was decided to spend some extra time at the museum to revel in its charms and marvel at the fabulous exhibits on display.  This decision was a true validation of greatness from the well-travelled and often jaded enthusiasts!

Imaginative displays of fabulous aircraft ensured that even our most jaded of tourists elected to spend more time at the gem of Le Bourget.

Our final weekend was spent commuting daily through the tranquil countryside outside of Paris to La Ferté Alais.  Cerny was and still is the home airfield of Amicale Jean Baptiste Salis and the Musée Volant Salis.  Approximately 70 aircraft could be seen in the collection, mostly in flying condition.  Here preservation and celebration was at the forefront of the aviation agenda.  In trying to express the feelings generated by Fête Ariénne, Le Temps des Hélices, or The Time of the Propeller Air Fête, consensus was reached that the set formula of the Show fell somewhere between something slightly lacking the charm and intimacy of Old Warden, but trying quite successfully to engender the spectacle of the late-lamented Flying Legends.  This attitude was not arrived at to damn the Show with faint praise, because it did have many unique selling points.   The Dassault Flamant in company with two Socata Epsilons were a highlight and little seen in the UK.  The Bede BD-5 likewise and the R4D, ‘Ready For Duty’ continued her European tour by joining up on two of its La Ferté Alais-based Douglas stablemates.  Pyrotechnics have been little demonstrated in the UK and this show had oodles of them.  From the Tora, Tora, Tora demonstration with 11 T-6s pitching over to rake the airfield with accompanying explosions, to the T-28 display re-enacting the Vietnam era, there was a lot of petrol going boom!  The Securité Civile S-2 Tracker ‘Firecat’ was displayed optimally with its water-bombing passes; although, sadly, not immediately after the preceding displays mentioned had set fire to the grass.  Using the Firecat to extinguish the pyrotechnic aftermath might have made sense, but presumably it was thought that should technical issues beset the fire-bomber, it was more sensible to have had on hand the option that was used - a muck-spreader spraying slightly brown and not entirely odourless water-jets.  Whilst the thrust of the Show was propellor-based, as the name suggested, modern aviation was represented by a Corsair Airbus A330 making stealthy passes using such low power settings as to be almost inaudible.  This stealth was offset by the immense presence of this behemoth manoeuvring above the environs of a small, grass airstrip, which was quite incongruous, but most impressive.  The Fence Military were well represented by their A400M tactical display and the French Marine closing the Show on both days with their Atlantique 2 in formation with the sweetly diminutive Morane Saulnier Paris whistling by and also giving its spirited display in gorgeous evening light.  The Patrouille De France, did welcome us finally, giving displays on both days, although they were restricted to a rolling show on the Saturday due to weather.  Should the Reader be an airshow aficionado, but has not yet attended this Show, it could be recommended wholeheartedly.  The Show would be reached relatively easily from the UK and whilst it offered something familiar, it had distinctive differences and a Gallic flair to keep things fresh.

La Ferté Alais ensured that the climax of the Tour went with a bang!  Here a PT-17 re-enacts the scenes from Pearl Harbour at the beginning of the ‘Tora, Tora, Tora!’ display.

To sum up, although the tone of this report may have been tongue-in-cheek dismissive of the French aviation scene, they are the French after all, the Tour was very successful and thoroughly enjoyable.  The uniqueness of some of the exhibits witnessed and connecting with roots fundamental to aviation was a genuine thrill and one to be savoured in the memory for many years.  It is believed that our fellow travellers were very much of the same opinion.  As ever, the cachet of our Brand was helpful in acquiring access and also ensuring that things ran smoothly, by and large, with the focus firmly aimed at producing the very best of aviation experiences for those who chose wisely to join our happy band.  As our garlic-munching mates over the water might say, “Vive L’Aviation, Vive La France!”

“Vive l’Aviation, Vive La France!” Our garlic-munching mates really did do us proud.

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