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

Many happy returns Dux!

Reading about your youthful escapades within flying distances of Vladivostok I couldn't help looking out my window at a snowcovered landscape. In this region we'ved had moderate amounts of snow, but the northern part of the country has recieved so much of the white stuff that it is more or less isolated from civilisation.

It is quite cold too. At noon the mercury registered almost - 10 C here.

That is why I shall decline on your kind offer to reveal the exact location of Ludmyla's whereabouts. I am cold enough as is thank you.

As to your finally succumbing to the invitations of the hosting part, you need not feign a lost game of poker, I fully understand that lust can be overpowering, especially so when it is lust for life and you don't want to freeze to death.

In such trying circumstances I doubt anyone here would have acted differently. Roger? C51? Anyone?

After all, as long as the natives are friendly who cares if they look like this:


On to other matters then.

Finally a memorial to Sir Keith Park. And about time, in fact long overdue.
I learned, or re-learned yesterday that he had intelligence available to him regarding the Luftwaffe's Order of Battle through courtesey of Bletchley Park, where the secret messages from Nazi High Command sent using the Enigma code machine were being decoded.

While many well-known and even more less-well or little known people worked together to defeat the Nazi intentions, Sir Keith certainly was a very important person on the right spot at the right time.

It is quite puzzeling, this reluctance to honour the few in a timely fashion. In this country we are only too eager to name streets and squares after still-living politicians and musicians.

Still, there's a song that for now and forever on will be known to me only as "Old Dux Road"

Have a good one Old Dux.

Folks,

Dux:

May I add my own voice to that of the chilly, snow bound MG by wishing you a veritable avalanche of happiness and good will on this most auspicious day. I'm sure that tokens of best birthday wishes from all over the planet are filling your rusty mailbox this morning; justifiably so.

MG:

It was difficult enough for these brave chaps to be recognized for their sacrifice in the first place much less be remembered for it afterward. 'What have you done for us lately?' seems to be the thought driving public policy. It was only recently that we created a WW2 Memorial.

It will be no revelation or of particular interest to any Dane that Denmark is not the largest country in the world. My state of NC may be almost as big? So just how the heck is it then that so many of those tiny snow flakes hit it so easily?

We will have snow tonight. The snow deprived kids are getting excited. Many a mostly unused sled will be pulled down from the attic tomorrow. I will look out my north facing window and pretend that I am visiting you in Denmark. I will not however pretend to be eating 'Sun Eggs'.


The Magic of Youth
By JRT

It was late on the night before his umtieth birthday and a tired Dux marched off to bed after writing to JRT. He wondered if he had made a fatal mistake? Should he have divulged the dark secret of his continued youthfulness? He had been warned by Ludmyla never to do so.

Just thinking the name made him shudder, or was it the cold draft by the door that had made him shiver? He turned out the last light just as he had done every night for years and was surprised to find that for the first time he did not stumble along in the dark. He could see as clear as if it were broad daylight. That was fun at first but soon a many legged feeling of foreboding began creeping slowly up his back. Dux reached around and gave his shoulder blade a good lick and the feeling went away. He sighed with relief but the darker images soon came back. Images that had been locked away for ages in his troubled subconscious.

His grizzled brow was now deeply furrowed and his big ears twitched as his mind flooded with more deep, dark thoughts. As he passed the mirror in the hall he glanced at his reflection and came up short. Hmmmm? He hadn't noticed those long whiskers before, better plan on shaving tomorrow he thought to himself.

As he made it to the stairs he felt that something odd, long and twitching was flicking about inside his pajama bottoms. A very strange urge to lick his hand and wipe it over his face came over him. Arriving at the top of the staircase he paused a moment in the illumination from a window and listened to the chirping of a bird at least a half a mile away. At this point Dux realized something very queer was happening.

Scared to death, Dux hurried off to bed as fast as his four little legs could carry him. He was too frightened to even notice his grumbling stomach and the deep, disturbing yearning for the taste of a fat little mouse.....

Ha, Ha. You do not look to be 71 Duxy. Shades of Grey....I was wondering this morning if you didn't have a portrait of yourself hidden up in the attic. A portrait that looks to be at least 71 years old......

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND MANY HAPPY RETURNS OF THE DAY.

Gentlemen,

may I add my voice to that of McG and JRT and untold others in wishing you a very Happy Birthday Old Dux. No better man. This is indeed a great occasion for celebration, so I will help myself to the spirits in your honour.

In keeping with the topic of naming of places after those who in times of war have contributed so much - there is an elderly white washed building which I pass often in my neighbourhood. It used to be a Canadian Legion Hall but is now being used for martial arts classes. Over the door there is the name of a former local resident to whom the building was dedicated, but now it too is white washed over and hard to read. The name is David Hornell, VC.

JRT, thank you for those moments of literature.

Folks,

C51:

Thanks for dropping in today. We miss having you on a daily basis but have every reason to hope that you will be able to join us more regularly very soon.

I am sitting here listening to Dvor�k's haunting music from his "American Suite". To be specific, that particular portion of which our readers would quickly recognize as "Going Home". I was thinking of all those cold, white crosses lined in perfect symmetry. You must get quite close to them to recognize whom each one represents. It is a metaphor for life. The closer we are to one of these fallen men or women the more personal is their loss.

And how quick we forget. Like so many young men who lie moldering in their graves on this cold January day; Hornell has been covered over and mostly forgotten. Not by you and that is to your credit and to his. When it comes to remembering so many sacrifices, I suppose there is ample evidence of benign neglect at best and a shameful indifference at worst in most all countries.

Wow, "Rise of Flight " really looks good. You are indeed lucky MG to have a box robust enough to run it. Could you post a few screenies for us to drool over?

Alas Santa somehow overlooked me this Christmas; no doubt due to my many glaring mistakes, thoughtless blunders, astonishing errors and too many careless omissions in 2009. I am still awaiting the funds to acquire 'IL2 1946' at my earliest inconvenience.

There is every reason to believe that I can run that on this aging box. The price on line is certainly right but I have no way of buying on line. I forgive old Santa. I know he had his priorities for there is a devoted lady and 2 deserving little children in the house. Dux, remind me to write to the jolly old bast...elf about setting his priorities right.

Oh do stop pretending to cry C51 you are getting crocodile tears in your breakfast beer. Your deep sympathy for those temporarily monetarily challenged is heart warming indeed.

Wonder if you can see this

Folks,

Jens,

That is one beautiful Spad. I can imagine Rickenbacker it it. The pix on the admin awards post on page one is of an Albatross and a little Neuport with its wings still on (they loved to shred their wings in a dive. That pix is what got me started. What we want to know are the graphic in the game on your box as beautiful as that? WOW!

JRT, McG, C51,

Thank you all so much for your kind congrats and best wishes.

I'm off on another birding trip in half an hour or so. Can't allow my mates to get too far ahead with 'year-ticks' y'know! Will check in later.

Folks,

There goes Dux off once more with his cohorts in crime to stagger about terrorizing the fish, fauna and fowl of some nether portion of the realm. Good luck pal.

Speaking of 'cohorts in crime', Jens has tipped me off to an incredible video. It brought back many memories of my youth and young adulthood as I watched every boy's dream come true on my 17" screen. There are 6 parts but IMHO it is more than worth a look. I was so impressed that, in an age awash with cliches and useless sound bites, it drives me to coin a brand new phrase, "This is so cool".

You may have seen this on TV already Dux so off you go with your well filled flask and 10x60 field glasses into a veritable shower of mud and feathers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-gjJIbBEBI

Hi Chaps,

Thanks JRT. I saw the giant Spitfire construction kit programme some weeks ago and decided I wouldn't want to be billed for the polystyrene cement on that project!

Thanks also for the email re the flying school preliminary handbill which I expect you will soon be offering on the street corners of Rocky Mount. What an ideal opportunity to return to my barnstorming days in the old Curtis JN-4. With the engine flat out and pointing downhill at an angle of about 4 to 1 and into wind I could just about coax her into the air. Things will improve of course once I find and restore the upper wing.

C51,

I checked on David Hornell RCAF. He was awarded the VC posthumously after attacking and sinking a U-Boat despite his aircraft being damaged. His PBY Catalina was duly shot down in this engagement. Full information of course is on the web. He would have been 100 years old this month.

From ROF:


Father,

I have settled into the squadron without any incident. I know a few of the other men here, and the commander, Ernst von Samuen, served in your cavalry squadron as his first posting. He spoke very highly of you, and told me that he has great expectations of me. We are currently flying the Albatross DV, a fine pursuit plane. It is fast, and very agile, much like a good horse. I know you wished for me to serve in the cavalry, but I hope you agree after these years of war that aviation is now where gallantry and skill change the course of battles.

I have had a chance to fly several missions in the short time I have been here. The first was a familiarization flight to learn where the front is, and the lay of the land. The second was a reconnaissance mission trying to ascertain where the new artillery batteries the French had brought in were to be deployed. Here was were I first came under fire, as the French attempted to shoot us down with artillery fire using air burst fusing. Anti-aircraft artillery is what they are calling it. The shells create great puffs of hanging black smoke, and have a thunder to them. The French didn't come close to striking us as we sought the batteries. We were unable to locate them before we risked running out of fuel and returned home.

Yesterday father I scored my first victory. We had gone up to again try to locate the batteries when the French decided to test our mettle. We had just reached the front lines, when we spotted them. Our flight met with 4 French planes, an even and fair match. They were flying Nieuport 28's, a plane fairly comparable to ours mounting two machine guns. We each turned and met our respective opponents, charging head long at each other like knights jousting. We raced at each other growing ever closer, until finally at the last second, we both opened fire for a brief second and then turned away to avoid colliding. From there we turned round, and round circling like Dragoons dueling on horse back. Each attempting to gain position from which to land a telling blow. Finally I was able to out maneuver him, and opened fire. I watched the fire from my guns throw linen and wood from his upper wing until suddenly it bent upward on the left side. Downward he began to spiral tighter and tighter, until suddenly the whole wing ripped free. His plane dove propeller first into the ground where it lay crumpled like a grouse brought down on the wing.

The rest of my flight had driven the French from the field, shooting down one more of their number. We returned home after the fight to accolades from everyone there. It is apparently rare for such a new pilot to score a victory. We are scheduled to fly again as the dawn patrol, so I must end my letter here. I have enclosed letters to mother, and to Josephine and Maximilian. I made a point of avoiding anything worrying in my letter to mother

Your loving son,
Jacob

jenrick,

Now there's a refreshing change! A new contributor (I think) with a well written tale from a previous war.
In both wars, the tactics remain basically the same while the object is to survive. If you can hurt the enemy - all the better. Well done...that's quite whetted my appetite for a WW1 scrap.

The progress reports of Jacob under the tutelage of Ernst von Samuen will be eagerly awaited here at HWH.

Now then....where did I put me old FCG Gold?

Gentlemen;

bravo jenrick! well done, I quite enjoyed that. Very refreshing additon.

Jens, I did get a chance to check the Spad, mighty impressive. If I had the gear to run that sim I would be a card carrying member of ROF. Alas, right now I can only dream and drool. Thank goodness I have WOV.

Old Dux, any luck birding? I did manage to spot a Bald eagle over the lake last week. I didn't realize that Hornell would have been 100 this month. He was the subject of a story in our reader which we studied in elementary school entitled "Heroic Hornell". No such story is taught today.

JRT, how is that double life sized airfix Lancaster progressing?

Gents,

C51,

The year ticks continue to come our way - three birding days on the trot which is pushing it a bit don'tcha think. If the ladies went on a fashion shopping trip three days in succession wouldn't we have something to say? Snow on the minor roads has limited our options so far.

A few more notable birds so far this year are Goshawk, Water Rail, Long-eared Owl and Yellow-legged Gull.

Yes indeed. The heroes of yesteryear and those who did there duty or made the ultimate sacrifice do not come under the curriculum in today's educational planning it seems. Makes me wonder how many of them would have thought it worth a light if they had been able to look forward a couple of generations.

Folks,

Jenrick:

It is a good day! We welcome you to HWH and hope that you will both enjoy and continue your visits here. Your story has a definite ring of authenticity that adds greatly to the pleasure of reading it. Thank you for posting.

I quite agree with Dux that it puts one in the happy mood for climbing into a Sopwith or Albatross for a good scrap in the freezing, Castor oil fume filled air above no man's land. Those lucky enough to be able to run the newest WW1 sim (and they know who they are) will be lucky indeed. The rest of us poor sods laboring with boxes manufactured in antiquity will make do quite well with Flying Corps Gold, Red Barron or whatever we can resurrect from our own cobwebbed archives.

I am as guilty and anyone of making this more like a BoB blog than anything else. I suppose there is nothing wrong with that. Clearly we need more of this higher quality writing posted here. We need also to remember our 'Fearless Founder', the missing and presumed to be shacked up with a French or German Woman of very poor taste happily riding out the war, SNAFU, meant HWH to be a flame-less refuge for BoB pilots on both sides of the conflict to share exciting stories of their missions.

I would therefore behoove us gentlemen, in the particular light of all that stuff I just typed, to re-dedicate ourselves to... to... to drinking, hedonistic pleasures in the air and on the ground and the unabashed and un-abandoned pursuit of the happiness of the flesh. Doesn't that deserve at least a mild Hear-Hear, gentleman? OK. I'm waiting......

Dux:

It was an unexpected privilege and pleasure to get up this morning..... um...to.. get.. up.. this morning.. and find all these posts awaiting. It is always a special pleasure to have a new poster, is it not? Having been here (as I suppose you have) on many dark evenings when all one could hear were the crickets chirping outside a dark window, the scuttlings of little mice feet behind the walls, and the echoes of my steps upon the hardwood, I can honestly say that this is both encouraging and pleasant. If you do get up in something made of canvas and wire, don't forget to write about your adventure.

C51:

Thank you very little for all this arctic air you thoughtful chaps in Canada have been sending down to us thin-skinned Carolinians. We were not born with anti-freeze in our veins or nerves in our skin so dulled by constant exposure to the chill that one can immerse the body in ice water or mounds of snow for long periods without any discomfort whatsoever. We are mere mortals with sensitive skins and houses with not enough insulation.

We are neither polar certified nor are we blizzard ready. We are not trained in driving over black ice, the repair of burst pipes or the building of fire with just two twigs. We haven't a clue how to build an igloo.

We southerners have been mercifully sheltered from these things by a benevolent Deity all our lives and cannot ignore with careless ease or practiced abandon the mercury dipping for days into the blue minus regions. We shiver in summer when we open the freezer door for an ice cube or two.

Pardon me. You are generous and if I did not realize what an abundance of cold you have up there in the Sub-Arctic I would, as a gentleman, be required to thank you for the sacrifice of cold. I hope I do not seem ungrateful. Unlike many of my cold challenged brethren I actually enjoy the bitter cold in moderation. Yes, indeed, when the mercury dips way down deep into the chilly area noted in blue numbers on my thermometer as between 62 and 68 F. (16 and 21 C.), and at a time when others are desperately reaching for their fur-lined parkas, I am still quite comfortable. BTW, where is the snow we were promised?

It sounds as if the birding is good. My wife, grand kids and I walked the 200 feet or so down to the river yesterday and, after walking along the wooded path for only a few minutes, we spied an egret in flight. He soared just over the water and was swiftly gone, headed southwest. The kids had never seen one before and they were thrilled. Of course it would deeply shame the family were they to do so, but they may grow up to be dedicated birders one day, who knows?

JRT,

*Gerunff* er *cough* er, yes...Hear-Hear to er whatever it was you were saying just now. I second that motion for stronger beer and wider roads. That was the gist of your observation wasn't it old chap?

Drat! The port bottle is empty again...

Folks,

Dux:

Why do I bloody try?

Me dear old sod, if yer would jes get yer blinkin' great 'ead out o' that blinkin' beer bucket for a bloody minute an' shut yer bloody great cake 'ol you wouldn't 'ave to arsk Jenrick or C51 fer a bleedin' synopsis of what I jes said, much less repeat it in polite comp'ny.... I'm a good mind to 'ave Leroy box you round yer ear 'ole.

Yes, sigh, more powerful booze and wider roads... that was about it. LOL.

The port bottle is ....empty? Again...? Really? That was our next to last 19th century vintage bottle of Quinta do Vesuvio, too. Pity.

What's that you say Leroy? He did? With what? You know he didn't... he DID! Leroy says that he saw a cross-eyed C51 fill that very empty bottle half an hour ago with something disgusting. I pity the fool who drank it, don't you?

Dux, what's the matter? You look a bit green about the gills. And you C51, you look, well you look greatly relieved.

Good Day Gents,

clearly Dux wasn't listening, but that is completely forgivable since he has birds on the mind. If I can precis the inspired musings of JRT, I believe he said "lets drink to....something"

I agree JRT, bottoms up. And don't mention the favour, always happy to share our wealth of cold air. I am relishing it whole heartedly myself and feel that you are sadly impoverished of this great pleasure.

Dux, agreed, 3 consecutive days of birding is a huge risk. It possibly preferable however to 3 consecutive days of fashion shopping yourself, or having the ladies tag along on the birding trip. And definitely preferable to the option I chose - to skip the birding trip entirely, which this weekend resulted in my missing a 6 owl species day at Amherst Island. Hence I must imbibe.

Folks,

C51:

Perhaps there are just 2 things worse than birding 3 days in a row. They are going birding only on one or two days in a row.

Gents,

Jenrick; That was a very fine piece of writing, clearly capturing the different attitude about fighting in the air, Well done!

The chival . .. lerous ... Chivas of the ear, perhaps I could say Shiva because isn't that the War God or something, the Chivas-ness soon to be abandoned and buried as humanity changed during the War.

Anyone looking for snow? And cold? Well, just send an exorbitant amount into my account - details to follow - and I will export it from here to you. I've already exported some icy wind and about 5 degrees of cold, Centrigrade, so I can report good progress.

Roger, you wish to know if RoF does indeed look as good as on the screenshots. It does. Honestly.

Folks,

Jens:

"I am become death, the destroyer of worlds" Robert Oppenheimer, Trinity 1945

The age of chivalry should have ended with the Gatling gun and the rifled musket barrel but somehow it did not. At least not in the air over France.

That ostrich plumed Arch Duke found himself no longer counted amongst the living. One thing led to another and war was declared on everybody who was anybody. On the ground the war shortly stalemated into static lines where men were living and dying in mud and filth and thousands were being slaughtered daily by artillery and machine guns. We will not even mention dum-dum bullets and gas. Was this chivalrous?

Even then, it took more time than it ever should have to put the horse soldiers out of business. I think the Germans used horses throughout the war, perhaps other nations did as well? Correct me Dux if I am wrong, you were probably there. Perhaps man brought it upon himself? At least men knew what was going on and they knew to duck. The horses knew nothing of making war. Did German horses naturally despise British horses? Imagine the carnage, the horrific fear in the eyes and the terrible suffering of those poor beasts. Was that chivalrous?

Yet, in the air, and particularly at the beginnings of this new type of warfare that was specific to the new century, there were indeed perhaps archaic feelings of fair play and chivalry on both sides. There was fashioned a code of ethics or conduct if you will and a pilot on either side who flaunted it did so at at their social peril.

At the beginning of the first air war, before the interrupter gear was even dreamed of, enemy pilots and observers flew by one another and often gave each other a friendly wave. OK, perhaps at the end of that wave there may have been the odd obscene gesture now and again. Still, aviators were commonly civil to one another at that time. They believed they had no other option. Was this chivalry?

Then one lovely day someone with PMS took a brick into the air with him and someone on the other side got a huge headache. Next, someone brought a pistol to the party and someone on the other side made his last rude gesture. After that happened things pretty well deteriorated. Someone took to carrying a rifle, another took a shotgun up with him. The air war had escalated slightly and tempers flared. You could no longer count on "flying the friendly skies". Unless you were on the receiving end of a brick or bullet, all this amounted to little more than a nuisance and observers kept on doing what they do best and pilots flew their planes without too much fear. The aircraft was not yet officially a weapon.

Oh, pilots wanted to shoot each other down sure enough, but to do that effectively you had to mount a gun in the front of a plane. And as the widow of Count Von Krashenburn would certainly tell you, he found to his horror, that you could not put a machine gun in the front of a plane of the period and fire it without shooting off your own prop. Rat-Tat-Ta...CRACK... Ach! Mine Gott en Himmel! Donder Und Blitzen! Then a very loud whine all the way down (ditto for the plane)....crash!

What to do? Men on both sides removed their steel helmets and scratched their pointy heads. Finally another bright spark screwed steel plates to his prop at an angle so the bullets would bounce off more or less harmlessly and things really got deadly. Before long, someone on the other side, persumably someone who could count, began to notice their pilots were taking off but not enough of them were coming back. They examined downed enemy planes and discovered those tricky plates on the prop. Ah-ha mon ami! Before you could say Manfred Von Richthofen's mother sucks eggs, both sides were sawing each other's tails off regularly.

Soon the interrupter gear was developed and that forever solved the sticky bit about shooting off your prop with a machine gun. That gear prevented a bullet from being fired at the precise second that the blade of the prop was in front of the gun muzzle. Brilliant huh? Soon having a plane fitted with an interrupter gear was all the rage. Every pilot had to have at least one. On that day the true fighter plane was born and letters of condolence from Berlin and Paris began streaming home to bereaved mothers of fighter pilots everywhere. The Kaiser, king or Prime Minister is so terribly sorry to inform you that your son Fritz or Simon or Alphonse swallowed an incendiary bullet over the Somme and plunged to an untimely and fiery death....

Even then there remained some residual thoughts of chivalry amongst the fliers. Sometimes when their opponent was out of ammo or their guns had inconveniently jammed right in the middle of a dog fight they might think it poor form to riddle the helpless foe and send him down in flames. So, instead, they'd give 'em a quick salute and just fly away while he worried about getting his flight suit laundered. Some did that at least. It is documented.

Others, on the other hand, were more practical about the whole thing and they figured that it might not be a good thing to allow an enemy pilot to fight another day when he might thanklessly shoot down someone from their side of the barbed wire. Later on, when French Neuports and German Albatrosses were piling up by the hundreds over the bone-white grave markers of pilots shot dead or burnt to death falling to earth, surviving veteran pilots who wished to see the end of the war got a bit more testy and far less chivalrous toward one another.

As the merciless meat grinder droned on and on all the fun wore off, close friends were lost and men became accustomed, even indifferent to death. They thumbed their noses at death and sang songs like "Hooray for The Last Man Who Dies". It was then that chivalrous thoughts were mostly abandoned and everyone on both sides got down to the dirty business of just killing each other as expeditiously as possible, any way that they could. After all, they had learned the hard way that war is a grizzly, unsavory, perhaps even un-gentlemanly business with no redeeming virtue save that of survival.

I am delighted to hear that RoF is as beautiful as the screen shots at least on a state of the art computer. Pardon me while I drool. Ha! I doubt the CD would even fit in my drive and it is certain that it would not install. Ah, well perhaps I will soon have IL2 1946 to play with?

We never got our snow last week, not a flake. It has warmed now though we are told to expect a few flurries tonight. Temps will climb by the weekend to 12-13 C. and there will be no hope of snow. I know it will be expensive however if you do not mind the cost, kindly ship us a carload of new fallen Danish snow.