The bottle of Orvieto Classico

Went down well. This was in Borgo Pace, a lovely village in the Marches. We had a night in a farm stay, a wonderful place - which we'll outline soon. In the meantime, cheers!

Polarised Canada?

Sometimes I feel I have a slightly polarised view of Canada, having only been here in the high summer, between 25 - 35 degrees C, and varying humidity:
Or midwinter, down to the minus 20s C:


I've been assured that the Fall (I think they mean Autumn, rather than the pop group) is worth seeing, but there are few advocates for spring. These Osprey chicks are happy in the summer...



Either way, the natives seem friendly, and the food's good.


James

July 25th, 1909

"I am alone. I can see nothing at all. For ten minutes, I am lost."

Many people have been very pleased to see the white cliffs of Dover come into sight. Only one of them won a 1,000 pound prize by crash-landing just above them.


It's 99 years today since a small, determined Frenchman with a remarkable moustache and a badly burned foot managed to get lost and then re-find the right direction to cross the 20 odd miles between Britain and France. Unable to walk without crutches, and (the story goes) also saved by a passing rain shower cooling his overheating 30 hp Anzini engine, Louis undertook what is generally now recognised to be one of the great steps forward in aviation and world history.

Louis' original Channel conquering Bleriot at the Musée des Arts et Metiers, Paris.

Having been flown around the world in airliners that travel more than twelve times Louis' best speed, it seems superfluous to point out how much progress there has been in linking the world, here commenced with ending one form of Britain's splendid isolation. Just climbing up to see Bleriot's original aeroplane on a slightly bouncy gantry in the Museum was enough for your intrepid correspondent.


Rightly, Louis' achievements are recognised in aviation in numerous ways. His flight has been regularly recreated by various adventurers, not least the Salis' family who are aiming, next year, I understand, to undertake their third generation (grandfather, father, and sons) of Bleriot Channel crossings.

One of his achievements was what is now regarded as the standard flight controls, rudder bar for rudder control, stick for the other two dimensions. This is well shown in this original Bleriot cockpit in London's Science Museum.

The colour photos are not of Louis Bleriot's take off, but Michael Carlsen flying his Swedish built Bleriot at the recent Flying Legends show at Duxford.


"To fly from Paris or London to New York will be commonplace."
Louis Blériot


Today there is a plaque in a model of of Bleriot's monoplane at the landing place on Dover's cliffs - photo (and heading shot) by my contact Sigurjón Valsson.


Vive la France!

It's Thursday, it must be...

...Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Breakfast at 10.30 with Tam after a 6.00 start in Toronto.


We continue to gather blog material (and 'life experiences') but are still rushing from one to the next, so the blog remains remarkably in arrears. However, your blog broadcast experience will resume normal service, erm, when we can.


In the meantime here's the sisters looking at Bev's latest needlework.

James

Return of the Mighty Eighth's Girls

Our last couple of days in the UK were timed to allow me to go to TFC's Flying Legends airshow at Duxford. The premier event of its kind in the world, it's three hours of concentrated warbird flying, with some of the best restored aircraft entrusted by their engineers and owners to some of the world's best pilots, from Europe and North America. There are many highlights to the show, but this year the strafing pass by a bunch of P-51D Mustangs over the two flying B-17's was a standout for me (and I don't even like Mustangs...)


Back in 1944, this scene would have been for real, with the young men heading off for day-long raids over occupied Europe. As a vintage aviation writer, it's easy to become over-familiar with the facts and overlook the technology these teenagers were expected to tackle a new dark age with. And the reasons why as well as the sheer terror of such wars at 20,000 ft.


In 1944 Duxford was Station 357 of the United States Army Air Force's 8th Air Force, rightly remembered as 'The Mighty Eighth'. Sadly, Duxford's own B-17 Flying Fortress Sally B was grounded with a failed engine, but (in Olive Drab) Pink Lady attended from France, while the silver Liberty Belle came in from the USA just for the show.


The three girls - Sally B, Liberty Belle, and the Pink Lady. W.W.II recreators add a touch.

Smoky start from the French.

(Tragically it is possible the French team may be stopped from flying their commemorative bomber because of new, irrelevant EEC insurance regulations.) When Pink Lady departed for Paris, it was reminder that those skies were not so friendly.

We therefore present a short photo-essay as a tribute to the engineers (and aircrew) who keep them flying today, and those who at war back then.


Dressed for then, and (below) the real pilot. (Interestingly, Liberty Belle was previously called Outhouse Mouse - a name I rather like.)


1930s curves on this old girl.


Coming through, tailchase...


And today they all come back for tea and medals. Back then, they didn't.


At Duxford, outside the American Air Museum is a glass memorial with representations of all the US aircraft that didn't return, etched in. There are a lot of panels.


Thanks and goodbye.

James

Another Swallows and Amazons experience

Following on from Bev's post, I was delighted to discover we had, all unsuspecting, been delivered to a scene from the Arthur Ransome book We didn't mean to go to Sea, featuring the Swallows and Amazons.


We didn't bother trying to line up then and now illustration shots, but the picture above from the book shows how much, even today, 71 years later, the scene's still the same.


We never meant to do an Arthur Ransome tour, but it was nice when we did! Thanks go to the Bobs, including the loan of the book to compare illustrations. Next time we'll visit Secret Water.

James

Stuck in the mud

Large lovely ships wallowing in the mud, Friday afternoon on the River Orwell... we escaped the delights of London for the weekend in Suffolk.


It makes me dream of boats plying the river over the centuries -- to London, the continent, Felixstowe and all ports out on the open sea, carrying sugar and tea, and the necessities of English life.


These old ladies are massive and impressive; the breeze is lovely, and the threatening rain did not arrive to soak us, as we trundled across fields and clambered over wooden stiles to get to our destination....


... Where the fish and chips were piping hot and snap-crackly crispy, just as they should be, the lemonade and gin flowed, and local dogs drooled and tried to look unfed. Which is remarkably unsuccessful if you are a hound of enormous proportions. Uh-uh, my fush n chups are mine!

All out for a quick trot on the muddy pier, before home.


Thank you, folks, for a delicious, delightful, quietly wonderful part of our trip. We'll be back as soon as we can!

Bev