It was August 1993, and our sixth visit to Iceland in a space of 10 years. We had started out flying on Icelandair’s fleet of Boeing 727 and Fokker 27 aircraft, and in the later years we had flown on the new Boeing 737-400 and Fokker 50 fleet. The airline had four aircraft in the 737 fleet - they were:
TF-FIA (name “Aldís”) which later became OO-RMV
TF-FIB (name “Eydís”)
TF-FIC (name “Védís)
TF-FID (name “Heiðdís”).
For our outward flight on that holiday we had flown on TF-FID for the first and only time. This had been a pleasant, uneventful flight with a polite, professional crew. I had always liked flying on Icelandair, it was a highlight of going to Iceland. But very soon all that was to change.
I liked flying on the 737s, but with one exception. This was TF-FIC. We had our first ever flight in a 737 aboard this aircraft, and it can only be described as a weird experience. The take off and approach performance on this aircraft had been nothing like any of the 737 aircraft I had flown in since. On one occasion we saw it make an unscheduled stop in Glasgow, which did not seem right.
On this holiday, we had travelled to Ísafjörður from Reykjavík and experienced one of the most exciting approach and climb aways ever, so I was not nervous of flying at all
I was not happy to be going back to Keflavík, but I never liked going home from holiday, so this was nothing new.We checked in and were lucky enough to be seated in seats 13A and 13B, which meant an exit row window seat. These were the best seats to get on the Icelandair 737. We went to look in the bookshop, bought a superb book about Icelandic horses, and then went into the café to have a hot drink and a chocolate doughnut.
I was feeling increasingly nervous about this flight, but I could not think why. We found out our gate number, and went to the waiting area, passing the windows which overlooked several 737s parked at the terminal. TF-FIB was parked close by, and I hoped it would be our aircraft, as we always seemed to fly home on this one
At our gate, I asked VC10 to give me the letters on the nose wheel door so I knew what we would be flying on. When she said “FIC” I just thought ‘oh no, not that one’.Boarding went smoothly, and the aircraft was full. A young lad occupied the isle seat in our row, and I sat and looked through the window, and waited. I was still nervous, more so now that I knew which aircraft we were flying on.
We taxied from the gate, and the cabin crew carried out the safety procedure. I waited for something to go wrong.
We approached the runway, and turned to begin the take off run. The pilot powered up the engines, and after a few seconds of noise, the engines went dead. I thought ‘this is it, I knew something would happen here’. This was before the pilot had even told us we had a “minor technical fault” and were returning to the terminal. Passengers muttered nervously, the young lad in the isle seat in our row pulled his baseball cap down over his face.
We parked at the terminal whilst a mechanic on a bike arrived to check the problem. Passengers were not allowed to leave the aircraft, and the cabin crew were in tears. After half an hour of tense purgatory, the mechanics left and the aircraft taxied to the runway once more.
This time the thing managed its take off run, and lifted slowly away from the tarmac. We flew along at very low level until we reached the Vestmannaeyjar, to the south east of Iceland. Then we endured a very steep climb to altitude. All we hoped at that time was that we would reach Glasgow. We had 90 minutes to endure in that aircraft if it managed to stay airborne. That seemed to be the mood throughout the flight. The cabin crew served an inflight meal consisting of chicken salad (a staple on Icelandair) but I wasn’t really hungry so I left it.
It was a relief to see the land appearing below us, meaning that we were over Scotland. At least if this damned aircraft pulled any more stunts we would be nearer to an airfield where we could make an emergency landing. It was even more of a relief to see Glasgow appearing below us! Our ordeal was almost over, after 90 minutes of psychological hell we were about to touch down.
We did touch down in the proper place, and were greeted by the fire engines who escorted us to the terminal. I have never been so glad to leave an aircraft, and I vowed that I would never again fly on Icelandair, even though it meant never going to Iceland again. The following year we broke with tradition and went to Finland.
A while after this, I read in a newspaper article that passengers in a Scandinavian country had refused to reboard an Icelandair 737 after it had developed faults, and the carrier had to fly out a replacement aircraft. I could not blame the passengers for this, and I only wish we had been given the option of leaving the aircraft because I sure as hell would not have got back on it!
