Folks,

Vadenstick:
Well done sir. What will you come up with next? Although it seems to suffer much loss of detail in this reduced form I am really flattered to see the old Prince & Polecat so beautifully rendered and in BOB too. Fantastic.

As for the lack of stripes this illustration is actually that of a certain ruby-eyed, white ferret known to all visitors to this particular pub as Jaydee Fidget.

As for the 110. I'd guess that even the Jerries appreciate the best pint of bitter in the world. Whatever the reason for the visit, the thirsty pilot must have been stone sober when he landed the big thing right on the street.

No travelers need darken the door? Hmmmm. Locals only? Well sir, I was not aware that such restrictions existed in British communities renowned across the world for their hospitality. What a pity, and I with a dry throat and terrible thirst with sacks of Yank money to spend.

The publican better spend a few bob to make the fine print much larger from now on me thinks. Paint it across the roof lads so that it can be clearly read from the air, I think.


------------------
"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 07-30-2002).]

Gents All,

JRT,
E-mail on way re Pillars of Glory!

So glad I won't have to endure the rigours of that mammalian gasbag. Kindly pass on my compliments to any one who was instrumental in its destruction.
Your comments re my appointment to Chief Dung Shifter have a ring of truth.
As the Battle is drawing to a close, our Squadron Commander has hinted that the squadron will be taking the fight to the enemy by using the old Hurricane in the fighter-bomber role. The intention will be to attack jerries coastal airfields in the new year and these operations will go under the code name of 'Rhubarb'.
When he mentioned the latter name, he turned to me with a smirk and a sneer. Now I know why...

He must know that the only rhubarb I will be involved in will be that which is forced along with plentiful supplies of finest thoroughbred horse droppings.

vadenstick,
Line em up!! Can't blame the jerries for dropping in for a decent pint. After that diluted virgins' water they call lager....a few pints of Pedigree or Boddingtons and they won't know what day it is...eh DD?.

JRT..



HeHe! I revisited the Pinupfiles last night, have an idea for some hangar roof improvements.

The sign is 64X64, I don't do faces too well, even tougher with that size. I thought a polecat was a skunk?

Aloha!

Folks,

Gentlemen: (and you too SNAFU wherever you are)
Thank you for enriching my afternoon.

Old Dux:

The "Ground Force" chaps popped in to help do the heavy lifting so we've already renovated the main shrine with your suggestions in mind. Please check your guano encrusted, rust corroded mailbox for the final results.

Because the entire thing was drawn from scratch it was fairly easy to make the recommended alterations. Besides it is for a good cause.

Vadenstick:

See here, we have enough distractions now without adding bathing beauties on every rooftop. Some of the younger chaps have enough trouble concentrating as it is. You do that and we'll have Hurricanes and Spitfires decorating every tree, wall and fence within miles of here.

Hey wait one cotton picking minute... You fly for der Fuhrer don't you.....? Now I see what you're up to. You'll certainly deserve an iron cross or a wooden one depending on one's POV for this one Old Man.

Would you also like to see an illustration of the remodeled shrine courtesy of the architectural firm of Iffwee, Deesignem, Ubedder, Runavey & Dux.

LMK

------------------
"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 07-30-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Jolly Roger Too (edited 07-30-2002).]

JRT..

Any architextures you have, I want also.

I tried to find the HANGR4 roof for a repaint, but no locate. Whilst doing this I got into a melancholy mood. I call this:

The Crying LadyWill he come back tonight?!

All,

Why you chaps have been busy here.

Vadenstick you ole dive bomber you, what the hell is my mother doin on top of that hanger??

She told me she had gone a bit "over the top" whilst in England during the war but I had no idea what she meant. I shall have to have a word or two with her straight away.

Sir JR2, I thank you for noting I have not been around too much lately. It is soley due to the fact my job is making every attempt to kill me. Hopefully things will cool down some soon and I can get back here more often and get some stick time.

TALLY HO!

Folks,

Vadenstick:

Mother SNAFU is a real knockout. No wonder our SNAFU is such a handsome lad. The revised Hall of Fame is winging its way to one of the most beautiful jewels of the Pacific. No, I certainly don't mean you are a jewel Vadenstick (although judging from your work perhaps you are), I mean it is headed for Hawaii.

SNAFU:

It is good to hear from you. I'm sorry your job is such a strain right now. Look at it this way, at least you have a job....there are so many who do not right now. If you are in the business I think you are in then you have every reason to be stressed. I hope things will be better soon for us all.

My advice is free because that is probably all it is worth. Here is several pounds of it at that very reasonable price. When worries of the job intrude at home get a fix in your mind on something very pleasant that may be coming up in the near future for the SNAFUs and concentrate on that instead. Take your Hurricane up for a spin and relax a bit. I've found that BOB can relieve many tensions and soothe the stress of life quite a bit. Take stress management seriously, stress can kill.

Now that I have solved all your worldly problems in one simple paragraph, if there is anything else I can do to help let me know. I am always there at the end of the cord from your keyboard. That's what friends are for.

Did you like the original Hall of Fame graphic? Old Dux suggested some worthy changes so I will send you the new graphic when I send it to Vadenstick.



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

Folks,

Come to think of it, I haven't heard from Old Dux regarding what he thinks of the changes I made just for him. You should have them by now.

Vadenstick suggests that the carved out eagles would be sufficient and that I have horribly bungled the German Cruez. I think he is right about the cruez. I saw some painted on Stukas Tuesday on the History Channel and so if we resonably accept the bearly debatable fact that the Germans actually knew how to paint them themselves then I've been doing so incorrectly for some years. Ahh, well, they were supposed to be stylized versions anyway.

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

JRT,

Sorry for the delay.

That looks fine to me. The 'written in stone' look is more appropriate than a coloured representation which was what I had in mind. Good work.!)

Folks,

My only claim to Englishness is a fondness for BOB and certain British comedies plus the unavoidable fact that the language I generally speak, at its Sunday best, is a much colloquialized version of a southern derivation of an Americanized English. It is for this reason and in hopes of maintaining good Anglo-American relations, that I offer the following disclaimer.

I do not in any way suppose that I have a tiny clue what it really means to be British.

Here is therefore an attempt to explain that very thing entirely without credentials.

The Lottery of Life

Our Spitfires float easily over a flat expanse of Channel. Behind us Dover’s chalky white cliffs hug tight to the green coast of summertime England. Ahead lie France and the Luftwaffe. Somewhere in between the two landmasses enemy fighters are believed to be searching for us as we also diligently scan the sky ahead in a desperate search for them. It is true that RADAR is an advantage for the RAF flyers but every pilot knows it is sometimes just blind luck when the two sides actually meet.

It is not enough just to find your enemy across a vast expanse of empty sky. The real trick, the art, the arse saving genius of it all, is in so contriving that many elements including chance favor your side. You must maneuver in such a way that your side meets the enemy when you have the advantage of surprise, height, sun and speed. In order for all this to conveniently come together for your personal wartime enjoyment requires great cunning and skill as well. Unfortunately Messieurs. Cunning and Skill are not flying with us today.

Today we are vectored toward France in hopes of surprising as much liquid fertilizer as possible out of a considerable number of unfriendly chaps riding in a large mixed bag of He111s, JU87s and Me110s. They are thought to be eagerly assembling over the Frog coast at this moment. It is early morning and we are on our merry way toward angels 20 where our flight should be well positioned to give the Hun a very nasty surprise. Our blood is up as there are several newly dug graves attesting to the brazen success of a similar German bombing raid just yesterday. This was a raid that happened to fall upon our own unsuspecting airfield. One of the dear departed chaps now only recently re-assembled in his various chewed up pieces ranging from the very small to the rather largish and certainly more grizzly chunks was once our very popular skipper. This man had both cunning and skill. Revenge will be our next meal and it is a repast that weighs heavily upon everyone’s mind.

The skipper had always been considered by us to be the most fortunate of men. He had been born to a family of great wealth and influence. His first breath was that of rarified ozone inhaled whilst perched upon one of the loftiest rungs of the British Empire’s social ladder. Although he grew up smothered in the lap of luxury where no whim went unanswered and no thirst went unquenched he luckily managed, against considerable odds, to grow into a generous, level headed, unpretentious, even self-effacing young man. He attended the finest schools and upon his reaching maturity one would have unhesitatingly bet the farmstead that this young gentleman’s future success was more than reasonably assured.

Then war filled the 120 point boldface headlines for just about everyone. War has a nasty habit of rearranging ones stars to better fit the galaxy of the greater good. In doing so war sometimes leaves all previous hopes for a happy future lying about in miserable shreds and shambles. Somehow our skipper left the promise of assured greatness behind, rose above it all, joined the RAF and showed a huge talent as a leader of men. With 8 personal kills to his credit he was perhaps no threat to the high scoring giants like Johnson or Stanford-Tuck yet he was by virtue of his own personal example an inspiration to all who knew him.

He was British through and through and so very proud of it. Woe betide the unfortunate individual who made even the most trivial of unpatriotic remark within his hearing.We all suspect that there are bloody fly blown hides still hanging in mute but softly dripping testament to his patriotic zeal in secret places all over England. He was a force to be reckoned with and mightily proud we were that he was our skipper. He fought with us and he fought for us. We loved him for it. And now as we glide upward toward our first battle without him we must accept that his hotly beating heart is stilled forever.

This man always considered himself so very fortunate to be born British. I wonder had he been born an American or of any nationality other than British might he not find it his good fortune simply to continue living? Ah, would remaining alive by virtue of being born under any other flag than England’s ever have been compensation enough for a man like our skipper? Like Cecil Rhodes he believed he was fortunate among all men to be born British and for this favor no price, even that of his life, was too great a price to pay. He has fully paid that price. Tally Ho! Sixty -plus bogies at twelve o'clock! Red Flight you take the bombers. Blue Flight, we'll take on the escort. Turning now!

“Remember that you are an Englishman, and have consequently won first prize in the lottery of life.” - Cecil Rhodes










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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 08-02-2002).]

..So now you understand why the English can appear so complacent..

Splendid JRT. Pride is a product of environment. The RAF pilots of the day were justifiably self assured.

All,

Ah, Saturday morning and I am comfortably home with family rather than trudging thru the corporate mud trying to stem the tide of the enemy, an insane volume of work that is doing it's best to bomb me back to the stone age.

Sir JR2, I think your revised Hall of Fame plaque is superb. Your artistic worth grows by leaps and bounds seemingly each time you create something new.

And the names on it are exactly correct. Without them, we would not enjoy BoB as we now can and the number of new chaps joining "The Few" would not be growing as it is.

Simmer's looking for that elusive game that wets the appetite of dogfighters and fanciful generals alike are rediscovering the gem that is BoB.

The Lottery of Life is a tale told in typical form by the great storyteller amoung us, Sir Jolly Roger too. What was at stake in the Battle of Britain was by any reasonable assessment indeed a Lottery of Life or converesly death, for a country and it's people. Well done Sir JR2.

TALLY HO!

All,

Having finally had time for some BoB'n I had one of those typical gripping missions that I now share part of.

It is tough to follow the master so bear with me.



[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 08-03-2002).]

Just you and Me Kid
24 July 1940
Somewhere near Southhampton


The raids were coming in from several directions and we received numerous course changes from fighter command as we sought out the enemy. The RT was bristling with activity most notably, the soothing voice of the female controller trying to put us on to Jerry. After some twenty minutes removed from home the bombers were sighted off our port wing. The squadron leader called out orders and our band, 50 or so in all split into attack formations. At first it appeared the raiders were unescorted. Then out of the sun came the screaming 109's in numbers twice that of ours. Sightings were called out and the Spitfires learking just behind us leapt into action to stave off the bomber cover whilst we struggled to gain position on the bombers. The battle opened in typical confused fashion with German and British fighters, together like a cake mix being stirred about in a bowl.

Soon I was entangled with a yellow nosed 109. Gaining his six, I released a burst of 303's a few of which cut into his left wing. He banked hard right and then left and began a steep climp which I tried in vane to duplicate. Within a few seconds the apple cart had been turned over and I was the persued. Cannon rounds slammed into my Hurricane as I struggled to find the key to unlock the Jerries grip. A steep dive for a few seconds, then hard up on the stick, a full roll and I was again firmly planted behind him. I pressed the firing button and once more my fire landed, this time causing peices of rudder to spray into the air. The German threw his damaged aircraft all over the sky as we dipped up and down, right to left. He turned the 109 over and pulled back ducking below and behind me. More cannon and gunfire was placed masterfully into my tail and the Hurricane began to shake a bit and becoming more difficult to manage.

The rest of the fight had disappeared from my view. It seemed the only thing in the almost cloudless blue sky were he and I. The jerry had the advantage now and knew it. He pressed his attack hard as the tide began to turn in his favor. Finally seeing other combatants and knowing I had but a few precious seconds to find a way out from the jaws of the furious 109 I turned toward the nearest friendly aircraft and called for help. A Spitfire reacted to my call swiftly and steered straight for the German as I drew him in. As the Spit passed me he opened up on the persuing 109 and hit him heavily across the engine cowling and windscreen. The German fell away from me trailing glycol and black smoke. He began a slow bank to starboard and then down. The pilot released the canopy of his dying 109 and jumped clear, his chute opened quickly and he glided toward the ground and captivity. Surely a more fitting end for a fine and most worthy opponent.

The Spit came along side and wagged his wings right and left in a victory salute, a broad smile on the pilots face as he slid away. I limped my wounded Hurricane back to base making a very untidy but safe landing. I didn't know the name of the flyer in the Spit, didnt even notice what squadron he was from yet we are forever linked. That he saved my skin that day there is no doubt.

Sometimes it is when you feel most alone that you realise there is someone you can always count on.

TALLY HO!

[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 08-03-2002).]

[This message has been edited by SNAFU (edited 08-03-2002).]

Deary me old man. Saved by a glory-boy eh? That'll never do.

Folks,

Bader:

Thank you for reading my story with a tolerant mind. If you enjoyed reading it at all then I am rewarded handsomely.

SNAFU:

Way to go! I may say that it was well worth reading twice. Sometimes it takes a crisis for us to find out who our real friends are.

In my particular case it is friends like you who willingly trudge wearily through miles and miles of my unambitious prose who have the good manners to then thank me for the "pleasure" that I number among my cherished friends.

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

All,

Oh my, I seem to have left my first draft along with the final story. (OK Sir JR2, I can hear you say it could have used a third or forth draft)

I'm glad you took the time to read it. The tale was from one of those BoB missions that leave you sweating and somewhat tuckered out. A very tough fight with a worthy AI pilot and one I essentially lost.

Were is not for that "Glory Boy" as Sir Bader called him I would have been doing a silk jig for sure.

I knew those bloody Spit's were good for something Geeez, did I just say that??

..it was bloody well written, as ever.

Folks,

Now to be fair dear boy, there is quite a bit more to us "glamour boys" than just a pretty face, as our fortunate chum SNAFU has just discovered.

I believe that it was Old Dux to the rescue this time. I was far too busy using gallons of paint remover sloshing off all those gorgeous but way too distracting roof pinups placed there by the charming but so diabolically clever Von Vadenstick.

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

Gents,

JRT, SNAFU,

Your affinity for Britishness and Englishness in particular, suggests through your writing, that your ancestors may well have been touched by the salt spray of the Mayflower.