Interview: Mae Holloway & Jules Calder

Northern Drift – The Lost Airfield marks the beginning of a series that follows two cargo pilots in the Scottish Highlands, somewhere between routine, risk, and fog. Mae Holloway and Julian “Jules” Calder fly for a small operator with history — and stumble into a mission that changes everything. We met them in their hangar at Torran Hill Airfield to talk about aircraft, teamwork, and the events of the book.

I meet Mae Holloway and Julian “Jules” Calder on a windy afternoon in their hangar at Torran Hill Airfield. The occasion is the release of the first volume of Northern Drift — a “record” of real flights, I’m assured. Getting the appointment was tricky: Moira Rusk, head of the small cargo outfit Northern Drift, finally agreed after several calls and two postponed dates — on the condition: “No trade secrets, no client names.”

When I step inside, Jules is crouched next to an old, green Twin Otter. On the floor in front of him, a battered gas stove hisses beneath an enamel coffee pot. He gives a quick wave without taking his eyes off the coffee. A few metres behind, Mae polishes the fuselage with calm, precise motions; on a workbench lie torque wrenches, rags, and a dog-eared maintenance log. It smells of metal, cleaner, and a hint of Jet A-1. “We have ten minutes,” Mae says, without stopping. Jules adds: “Or fifteen if the coffee turns out decent.” I try not to waste time and go straight to questions.

Daniel: Ms. Holloway, Mr. Calder — thank you. How does it feel to suddenly be the main characters in a book?
Mae: Neutral. I see it as documentation, not fame. As long as the facts are correct, I don’t mind.
Jules: I found it odd at first. Who wants to read about me changing tyres at night and nearly spilling my thermos? Turns out people like the real bits — not the hero stuff. And the author nailed my sense of humour… Mae likes that less.
Mae: Because you read the manuscript aloud. With roles.
Jules: That was quality assurance.

Daniel: How close does the novel get to everyday Northern Drift operations? Any scenes where you thought “Exactly like that!” — or “That’s kindly embellished”?
Mae: Procedures are accurate. Departures, radio, weather — correct. Some dialogue is… extended. I don’t usually speak in full paragraphs.
Jules: True. In the book she talks almost twice as much. I talk half as much — Moira claims. The mood is right though: the constant swing between routine and chaos.

Daniel: How did you two end up at Northern Drift?
Mae: I live within walking distance.
Jules: Mine was… unplanned. After my pilot training I earned money as a flight attendant for a charter outfit in Bristol. I hoped to move into the cockpit — the airline went bust. Northern Drift gave me a seat. Once Mae arrived, mine became permanent. Maybe Moira thought someone needed to make her laugh. Or someone who understood her checklist rhythm.
Mae: You delayed your first flight by ten minutes searching for your cap.
Jules: [grins] But the coffee was on time.

Daniel: Two very different characters in the cockpit — how does it work in practice?
Mae: Clear division of tasks. Everyone knows their role and follows procedures. Emotions are secondary. Small talk is misplaced.
Jules: [laughs] Exactly. She flies — I prevent social disasters. Seriously: it works because we don’t try to change each other. I know when to keep quiet. She knows when I definitely won’t.
Mae: Mixed crew dynamics compensate for error tolerance.
Jules: That’s her polite way of saying I’m her safety valve.
Mae: More like an unpredictable factor with occasional benefit.
Jules: See? Teamwork.

Daniel: Any favourite aircraft?
Mae: Our De Havilland Canada DHC-6-300 Twin Otter, serial 321, 1979 cargo version, registration G-EKFO. Two Pratt & Whitney Canada PT6A-27s, analog cockpit. Only concessions: retrofitted autopilot and GPWS. Rugged, honest — flies when others don’t.
Jules: “The Crooked Lady,” as I call her. I like her too, but I miss the old Beechcraft that used to sit here. It had character — smelled of oil, leather, and stories. The Twin Otter smells of cleaner and Mae’s order system.
Mae: That’s called maintenance discipline.
Jules: Sometimes I wish she had a scratch so she wouldn’t judge me for closing the door too loud.

Daniel: In Volume 1, things happen you don’t see every day in cargo. How do you cope when routine becomes the exception?
Mae: By keeping procedures. Checklists, comms, priorities. Whatever happens — fly first, think later.
Jules: I add: fly first, swear later. Usually in that order. We’ve had nights where the cockpit felt like thunder and organ music — thunder outside, warning chimes inside. Stay calm… or pretend you are.
Mae: Simulators train stimulus control.
Jules: And when it’s over, Mae says: “That was interesting.” Her code for “We could have died.”
Mae: So far it’s only been almost.

Daniel: Ms. Holloway, you’re precise and structured; Mr. Calder, let’s say… improvisational. How does that complement each other?
Mae: I plan. He deviates. We meet in the middle.
Jules: When Mae flies, everything is exact down to the cup’s position. When I fly, it’s… a creative process.
Mae: The only creative process in the cockpit should be radio phrasing.
Jules: She keeps the course, I keep morale. If it gets hairy, we briefly swap roles: she says something nice, I shut up.
Mae: Happens about once a year.
Jules: That’s my holiday.

Daniel: Your most remarkable flight — best or worst?
Mae: A night approach into Stornoway. Low cloud, crosswind, no ILS. We went visual under the ceiling with minimal visibility. Technically demanding, cleanly flown.
Jules: I remember the return. A gull ruined our takeoff roll; Mae aborted as if she knew. I was mid-sentence.
Mae: “Rotate” hadn’t been called.
Jules: I swear the gull learned respect.
Mae: And you argued with it for ten minutes.
Jules: Someone had to hear her side.

Daniel: Describe Northern Drift in one sentence to someone who’s never heard of you.
Mae: Regional air freight under changeable conditions, minimal resources, maximum self-reliance.
Jules: Two people, one aircraft, and enough coffee to circle Scotland.
Mae: Not a realistic flight profile.
Jules: But a good slogan.
Mae: Northern Drift isn’t a marketing project.

Daniel: Last one: day off on the ground or another run in the air?
Mae: A run. Stillness creates unrest.
Jules: Depends if the day off is paid. Honestly: I’d probably fly. You even start to miss the “diesel” smell.
Mae: It’s not diesel.
Jules: Jet A-1, yes. Smells like home to me.
Mae: Smells like work.
Jules: Some people have a sofa. We have the Twin Otter.
Mae: And maintenance intervals.

My thanks to both — though I suspect there are chapters between Mae’s precision and Jules’s improvisation no book can fully capture. As I leave, the stove sighs, rain taps the roof, and fog drifts in from the Moray Firth. Mae notes something in the log; Jules offers me the last sip of coffee, which I wisely decline. Behind me, as the door closes, he calls: “Write that we’re not that grumpy!” Mae looks up for a second: “That wouldn’t be credible.”

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