Folks,

Ok, Old Dux:

Isn't it about time for that offbeat tale you've been promising?

Where is everyone? It has been so quite on this thread I can hear my thoughts echo.

Some of you chaps must have gone AWOL. Do we need to have a roll call?

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-13-2002).]

JRT,

(click) Yes! (crackle) Receiving you (crackle) loud and clear! (click)

Been spending a lot of time on skinning problems lately. Hope to get round to my 'offering' soon.

BTW, Did you receive 'it' yet? Went on the 7th! No idea how long it takes across the pond.

Folks:

Calling Old Dux, Calling Old Dux. Jolly Roger here:

Note to SFX dept. insert appropriate static, tuning and atmospheric growls here.

I read you 5 by 5! Thanks for the fast post. No joy yet on "it". I repeat, no joy yet on "it". No post or deliveries here on Sundays. I have no idea how long it might take to reach us way out here in the Carolinas. Perhaps tomorrow, then?

Monitor this frequency. I will try to make contact as soon as the parcel arrives here. We hope the 11 year sun spot cycle continues to help with our communications.

Your Spitfire's radio signals are pegging the Vu meter over here. It must be some Ionospheric "skip" at work as well. Or could it be the huge Rhombic antenna I have strung out across the best part of the lower fourty?

Over.

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

Folks,

I was visiting friends over on the EAW forum today and found this account posted. I think you'll enjoy reading it. I did.

http://www.simhq.com/simhq3/sims/boards/bbs/Forum41/HTML/010915.html

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

Folks,

A Fluttering Distraction

The Battle of Britain still rages on. We have Pilot’s weather today, the ceiling is zero, and it is pouring rain again. Thousands of little hammers of water pelt the tin roof above us. I am discussing tactics with friends SNAFU, Old Dux and Bader.

Distracted form the conversation for a moment of reflection, my troubled mind lazily wanders and my fuzzy gaze is directed toward the dusty, bone white painted window that is only inches to my left. I focus first upon the dirty pane of glass reflecting my own face and then beyond its streaks and grime into the gray, wet world beyond. Glancing upward into the cold torrent running off our roof I notice a fluttering.

A soggy little bird has just flown down to perch precariously on one of the swinging cables running across the yard from the telegraph pole to our briefing hut. All along the sagging curve of the several bouncing lines coming in from the pole that connects us to the rest of Britain, I see that other little, dark shapes are now huddled. They hang there grasping the freezing lines with all their might just to hold on in the blowing gale. Every tiny back is hopefully turned toward the dim lightness that somehow promises them that the sun still exists somewhere far away beyond those bitter gray clouds.

How much alike we are, little bird, think I, for we are both grounded today by this wretched weather. You are beaten and tossed by foul wind and rain and the ravages of war sorely oppress me. Yet we both steadfastly hang on to life and hold in our hearts the promise of a better world to come when the sun shines through once more and we are all free to pursue our happy lives once more. I wish you well.

My tired mind flutters like the wings of that tired little bird. I close my weary eyes and away it slides on runners greased by fatigue and pushed by boredom, back to the hot combat of yesterday mixed with flashbacks of other dangerous days.

The sky is clear and one perceives its receding vastness. There is no hint of the dark weather to come. One moment the air around me is packed with hundreds of swirling, twisting Spitfires and gray 109s and the next moment it is empty. Parachutes blossom here and there and drift down slowly. One cannot tell friend from foe as they float toward earth. Greasy black coils of smoke also drift about across the canvas of the sky. A Spitfire wing flutters by like a leaf. Or is it a Hurricane’s? Perhaps it was from a fatally wounded 109? High above us the brilliant sun sparkles on the Perspex canopies of the enemy.

I am so tired, so very tired. So are we all. Mind numbing fatigue is without doubt our greatest enemy of all. Will I claim a kill today? Will I, in fact, be claimed? (Author’s note: During the BOB the RAF claimed 3 kills for every 2 postwar confirmed kills. The Germans claimed 3 kills for every 1 confirmed after the war.) Dog fighting a Spitfire is tiring. It is a two-fisted affair. The stick pressures in a dive can be amazingly high. The 109Es have a higher ceiling and, we think, better guns. The 109 is a formidable opponent if flown by an experienced pilot.

We have found that our Spits have a marginal advantage in speed at less than 20,000 feet. Above that the German pilot and his 109 have a decided advantage. Their superchargers are designed to operate quite efficiently at high altitude. Our Spits are more maneuverable but maneuvering and tight turns are not offensive measures. Our plane’s rate of turn can get us safely out of a tight fix if we see trouble coming in time. Only plenty of altitude and constant vigilance assures use safety from a “bounce”.

The 109 drivers usually take evasive action by half-rolling and diving away. It has been my experience that we have difficulty following this maneuver.

Flying the Spitfire your visibility below is hindered by your broad wings and the long snout hinders your vision out in front as well. (Author’s note: The great JE Johnson writes: “When you fly your Spitfire five miles above earth you will find that your wings hide a good deal of the ground and sky below. Suppose you are crossing the coast and Margate is just disappearing under your nose. The port wing tip is over Clacton, the starboard wing tip slides across Dungeness, and Maidstone is just reappearing from the trailing edge of the wing. In other words, an area of about 1,000 miles is always hidden from your view at this height.”)

I am drifting now in a swirl of swiftly darkening cloud, my mind softly wraps itself in that healing darkness and I am lost to all that is about me. Awakened by a resounding “clunk” and a blinding stab of pain in my forehead, I look up from the boot-lined floor where I have fallen so heavily. Were it not for all the rude laughter I would be sorely tempted to lie there, pull up a convenient boot, place my throbbing head on it, and slumber on.




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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-14-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-15-2002).]

Superb account JRT. Part of it reminded me of my birdwatching (twitching)days....travelling to all corners of Britain and sometimes in the vilest weather.

I've just heard that the weather has really clamped down in 11 Group so I suggest that you forget your fall from the bunk and join Bader, SNAFU and myself in a little libation down at the Plough Inn.
I want to introduce you all to the delights of my new cocktail which glorifies under the name of 'Jungle Juice:
Take a half pint glass, all the white spirits, which are a measure of Bacardi, Tequila, gin and vodka. Top the glass up with a thing called Babycham (a perry made from pears), it should just come to the lip of the glass. Think of the white cliffs of Dover and down it in one.

After a couple of these, should we later fall in battle, the embalming process would have already been completed....from within.

Folks,

Old Dux:

This is flying in nature but actually OT:

Thank you for reading my story.

Now come clean, aren't young ladies known as "birds" over there? Exactly which type of "bird watching" were you actually doing with those big, powerful 10x50s?

I'm not an ornithologist mind you and I have never even played one on TV (that's an advertising joke, sorry).

I do know our state bird, the Cardinal, when I see it. I can pick out the unsociable Blue Jay and the red breasted Robin for they are regular visitors to our several feeders. We see many colored finches and deep bluish hued black birds, the odd crow visits us now and then. The big crows are the only birds that will stand up to the squirrels.

We have set up several Blue Bird houses around our forested areas for those scarce and finicky nesters. Every year we have several hyperactive Ruby Throated hummingbirds in residence through spring and summer. Once in a while we look up to see a common hawk.

Morning doves (ground feeders) hop about the fallen leaves mornings and evenings to peck out the feed we spread for them in the fall. We offer a safe haven during dove season. As these docile creatures mate for life it is truly sad when we see one we recognize settle in for a lonesome feed without their mate.

Last year an old horned owl was caught out in the single night of snow we had. Too cold and stiff next morning to fly and already blind in one eye it was found by our son staggering around our front yard. The bird was staggering not our son.

We caught the poor thing in as humane a fashion as we could think of before the neighbor's cat did so in a less than friendly manner. To quote old "Hookey Nose" Wellington, it was a near run thing.

I have a pair of 7x 35s and a pair of 10x50s myself. Wifey has a pair of...well, she's frowning at me so we'll not get into that.

My adventure in "bird watching":

Once, near the beach house, I trained my heavy marine glasses on a couple of young "birds" frolicking in the surf. One turned round and bared her chest and the other unveiled and twitched her lovely behind. Needless to say my glasses fogged up and were useless for quite some time.

Ever since that singular event I have scoured the seascape to no avail in a hopeful search for another glimpse of the rare and so seldom seen "Bare Breasted Tail Twitcher".

No, the wife does not approve.

That libation of yours sounds a treat. Can you drink more than one without a physician at hand to restart your heart?



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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

Thanks for the link, JRT. Seeing some of the work done by yourself, SNAFU, and the many others here I am truly honored you would consider mentioning my story.

There was a forum member on the EAW board last year named "Cain Brane". He posted a daily journal of his missions in 85 Squadron from July through the end of his career. I'm sure if you search the EAW forum archive, you would enjoy his entries as well.

Thanks again.

TQM

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En boca cerrada, no entran moscas.

Folks,

TQM:

Not at all. Thank you for the story and for the friendly visit.

There is an obvious love of combat flying sims over at EAW and an interest in BOB is manifested by the recent addons. I spend most of my time here, I admit. Yet I feel right at home on either the EAW or BOB forums.

Many of us here have played or as in my case are still playing EAW. We would be honored to have others from the EAW forum visit here as well.

Thanks for reading our stories.

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

Folks,

Old Dux:

"It" arrived here today and in excellent condition. I have sent an appropriate e-mail to you that includes a smiling pic.

Yesterday, I might have quoted the actor Harry Morgan speaking to actor Jim Garner in the film "Support Your Local Sherrif", "We expect it any day now, but it ain't "arrove" yet."

As I said yesterday, perhaps it would arrive today. As it has, it would seem that snail mail takes about a week. It was worth waiting for I think.

In case you do not check your e-mail often, I thought I'd leave an appreciative message here.

I do thank you most sincerely, Sir.

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"Blessed are they who expect nothing.
For they will not be disappointed." - Edmund Qwenn, "The Trouble with Harry"

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 01-14-2002).]