To The Sky


It’s been a good couple of days. Sunday we went to Lydd Airshow. Really., it was excuse to give Xander a chance to look at planes. He loves planes.

B17. Lancaster. Hawker Hunter. Hawker Hurricane. Catalina 7. Yakolevs. Spitfire. Messerschmidt. C49. We looked to the sky to see these relics crawl across the clouds. The only flying models of these planes in the world. The roar of engines and jets. The scream of ancient machines. Obselete and old in dotage. One day these will never fly again. When my father was born, these museum pieces, these examples of archeological engineering, were all that stood between us and the Boche. The Hun. The Krauts.



It was only seventy years ago. My Grandfather lied about his age and fought in the trenches. Once, these noisy beasts were a regular sight. Normal. The thin camoflagued line between Us and Them. Now, these planes are almost extinct.

In the distance, a nuclear power station flickers in the heat register of a jet engine.

Behind the planes, rows of stalls. Candyfloss. Highly processed portions of pre-packaged slabs of cow muscle. Buns. Sauce bottles refilled with cheaper product than the brand name belies. Funfairs. Bouncy castles. Boys roll around on giant balloons. £2.50 for 5 minutes. Girls giggle in face paint.

The photostream starts here.


- posted by Mark @ 10:41 pm