homepage Forums Air Combat & Civil Aviation Battle of Britain + Battle of Britain II Here's what happened (Continued)

Folks,

Today was one of the windiest days I can ever remember and I can remember a lot of days. We had to tie the cats down to keep them from blowing away. The dog stays tied down.

We had temps in the 70's F. yesterday and tonight we expect temps only in the high 20's F. That is a big change in just one day. Speaking of days, here is a mere speculation on my part of a definate possibility for a probable likelihood.

A Mild Day in Derbyshire

It is an unusually mild day for fall in old Derbyshire. The birds chirp high in the red and gold foliaged trees and little gray squirrels busy themselves in the tall grass around the gnarled roots of several ancient oaks. The squirrels are flitting about hiding a few more acorns for their winter feast. All the folk in the forest know winter is fast approaching. All save one, that is, and he hasn't got a clue.

A single massive oak is being strictly left alone. Though birds sing from its massive branches no squirrel ventures near. Now and again a colorful leaf flutters slowly down from the spreading branches. An occasional acorn bounces upon the springy grass directly under the avoided old oak or an insect buzzes loudly through its shade just passing by on its determined way elsewhere. Nothing else seems to go near it. The forest folk are avoiding this particular tree like a plague sandwich. A harsh sound similar to that made by someone sawing wood lifts itself upon the soft morning breezes and is carried clean across several sunny, un-ploughed fields into the farthest tree line where a red deer pricks its ears and sniffs the wild flower scented air.

Leaning against a cleft in that very tree and snuggled deep in the soft, cool grass between two of its twisted roots a man in faded old blue coveralls lies snoring peacefully. Were this tree located in the Catskill Mountains of New York instead of Merrie Old England one might easily think that this could be old Rip Van Winkle himself. It isn't and so it's not. No one has been bowling in these woods…..ever. They have done other things, private things. Like most of England this quiet spot has been populated on and off for hundreds and hundreds of years. Through the ages this singular plot of earth has gone form ploughed to fallow, bustling to sleepy, blood-spattered battlefield to peacetime farmland and back again.

One ancient family in particular left its enduring mark near these same big oaks. Long ago some previous owners of the property were well enough off and felt the desperate need to seek a private spot to build a three holer privy. They erected a substantial toilet facility well appointed with windows, door, dry corn cob holders and the like. It was truly spectacular for the time. This was a convenience where there would be no waiting for either family member taken short or visiting indisposed friend. A facility where one could take care of business, both public and private at the same time whilst sitting next to anyone you chose who was conveniently doing the same thing. We can only presume to know the cherished moments that must have been enjoyed by up to three lucky family members seated there in the gloom chatting intimately together whilst demurly ignoring certain unpleasant sounds and, well you know, smells. Beyond modern times the fancy loo had fallen into disuse and into a rapid decay.

New owners of the land, of which the sleeping gentleman is but one of two discovered the derelict building beyond their garden and began to restore it to its original earthy splendor. “It will make a lovely shed for the tractor.” said one to the other. At this precise moment the sleeping gentleman is supposed to be clearing tangled briar and over-grown hedge from that very crumbling edifice. He is in fact at this precise moment just lying there snoozing. Probably he is working just about as hard at it as he has all day. That will shortly change.

His dear wife is coming down the garden path to check on his progress at this very moment. After slaving away for several hours she is thinking he should be nearly done with the clearing. He isn't.

I do not know about you, but I cannot bring myself to look. This is not going to be pleasant.

Wife, “DUX!”

Dux, “Bloody "ell!”

I have my fingers stuck tightly into my ears, how about you?

You can look now and take your fingers out of your ears. Why are you blushing? Took your fingers out of your ears way too soon, eh?

Relax, the wife has put down the yard rake she used as a cudgel and gone back into the house. All is quiet again in the little wood save for the twittering of birds, the scampering of little gray squirrels, and the buzzing of an occasional insect. One minor difference prevades the otherwise pastoral environment of a fall day in Derbyshire. For now everything else is punctuated by the rapid chopping of hedge, the swift tearing of tangled briar and much soft cursing under someone's breath.