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 Dvorák'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