The four of us are lying on our backs, with our legs on a shelf so that our calves and feet are above our heads. Eddie is on one side of me, Sandi to my right and Frank next to her. Eddie and Frank are dressed in astronaut suits. It’s a very small space, and it feels like we have been in some strange, painless car accident and all ended up sandwiched against each other wondering what the hell is going on.
We should actually be feeling like Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, as we are in the Apollo 11 simulator in the Carnarvon Space and Technology Museum, an experience that promises to take you into the world of space flight.
According to Nathan, the highly personable bearded volunteer, the capsule size accurately represents the dimensions in which those space pioneers from the 60’s actually operated. Based on the fact that Neil and Buzz actually walked on the glowing white satellite, it’s probable that’s where the symmetry ends, as the technology in this machine is a little flaky. I’m no rocket scientist (not the first time I dropped that Dad special on this day), but I’m fairly certain most of the instrumentation in the actual Apollo rocket wasn’t painted on.
Nathan thumps the door closed and we are locked inside.
Suddenly, the small screen above us bursts into life and is filled with the image of the Apollo 11, glorious and streaming in smoke and steam, on that bright, crisp day in July 1969. It’s the original footage, shaky but clear.
‘T minus 3 minutes and counting.’
It’s the calm, utterly American voice of the guy who counted the world down that day. He then steadily goes through processes happening within the unimaginably complex contraption, including updates from astronaut Armstrong who assures the flight control centre that everything ‘looks great’. Despite my cynical, somewhat predictable attitude towards the overall construction of the simulator, it’s thrilling.
It’s at T minus 2 minutes, as the second rocket chamber pressurises, that Eddie, through giggles says, ‘Stop, we forgot the Nutella!’ He cracks up hysterically and Frank does his thing, which is repeat the joke. “Stop, we forgot the Nutella’ he chortles, ‘that’s what Eddie said, we forgot the Nutella. He said we…”
“Quiet Frank, we’re about to launch,’ I cut in, probably too quickly, but by this time, I’ve bought in and I’m feeling it.
At T minus 1 minute, a third previously unknown chamber pressurises in one of the offspring, and the resulting funk wafts through the desperately small chamber.
‘Jesus Christ, someone’s broken the first rule of space flight!’ I exhort.
Having lived in what is only a slightly larger environment, be it car or tent, with a husband and two boys for the last four months, Sandi’s powers of identifying who is responsible with the faintest sniff are without match – she’s an olfactory freak. She immediately pins this as the work of Eddie.
‘Ed,’ Frank says in a rapid, concerned whisper, ‘everyone knows you never fart in a space suit.’
Although I can’t confirm the first absolute in terms of all people, he’s unquestionably correct about the suit part. Sadly, this outfit isn’t sealed and the miasma hangs like a brutish shadow above us, invisible but pungent.
Eddie has heard none of this as he is in fits of laughter. This is one of the greatest farts of his life.
Suddenly we have counted down, Neil and Buzz have literally rocketed into the atmosphere and the screen fades. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the stubborn, fetid mist that still occupies the cabin with us.
The capsule door swings open above us, and there is friendly bearded Nathan, staring down at us, although as we are lying away from him, he looks upside down. Despite the inverted appearance, there is no mistaking the moment he cops a nose-full.
‘Do I need to disinfect the chamber?’ he asks somewhat wearily.
‘I’m sorry but yes,’ giggles Eddie.
Eddie then crawls out of the cavity and formally apologises to the next astronauts, an older couple whose previous excitement about going where no man has gone before has palpably diminished. Meanwhile, Nathan is giving the compartment a decent dose of Glen 20, which courageously wins the battle and returns Apollo 11 back to full operating order.
Eddie and Frank peel out of their suits and we exit the building. I had hoped the boys would have left with a sense of awe, of genuine astonishment and a wanderlust that burned so deep that one day they too may travel to the edges of the solar system, driven by the memory of that three minutes in a small metal tube in Carnarvon.
Instead, they’ll remember a fart.
Big Country 