Tales from the North - updated!
27/02/16 - Install Windows 10!
Our desktop computer is getting a bit tired. We bought it when we lived in Orkney so it must be a good ten years old now. It has helped in the writing of all these blog items, it stores all our photos, it has helped us book tickets to all sorts of destinations, it has enormously expanded our horizons by enabling us to surf the net, to read Wikipedia, to check up on our various Members of Parliament, and, of course, to read RCM&E online.
But recently we think our dear friend has shown some signs of ageing. We don’t see this as silvering of its locks of hair hanging around the DVD slot, more as glitches on its conversations with us when we ask it (very nicely, of course) to do things for us, like find out what’s on at the Theatre Royal. This can lead to some misleading information causing us to think again about trusting our loyal friend. And recently we have been plagued with some weird things happening as if some miscreant has crept around our firewall and started a plague of some sort. And this necessitates a visit to our favourite computer shop which occupies a space in our favourite supermarket. Rather too frequently.
And then they said they wouldn’t support Windows XP so we had to buy Windows 7, and guess what? Five minutes later there is FREE windows 10! So we waited for a few months till all the bugs seemed to have been sorted out by the earlier guinea pigs and when our faithful friend hiccupped yet again we took the plunge and had Windows 10 installed with a real Chrome search engine so it looked smart. Not plain sailing. Patricia TOLD me she had never heard anyone say a good word about Windows 10 and NOW where have I got us? Well, it is ok, just, and she has found some lovely wallpaper of wolves who change every time we switch on. And she has also found some solitaire games we can play when it is too cold or windy to get out into the garage or off to the flying field, or even out to weed the garden. It seems it is always too wet to weed the garden, but right now there is no snow there.
I confess to being a bit of a geek when it comes to clever things like computers, and I have problems working out how to program an electric toothbrush, never mind a video or a computer or even my trannie. Maybe that was why I was usually near the bottom of the class in most things, and why during my medical training I skulked at the back of the group of students. But there was one day when I was cornered by the Consultant and asked to tell the group all about Rhesus grouping in mothers and infants. I stunned the entire group by giving a clear and lucid review of the problems these people get which even had the Consultant purring in admiration. So, when I do understand something I can teach it pretty well.
The greatest danger in going online is that you can start looking at lots of websites, and this can lead to problems with content, particularly if things are for sale. Like the BMFA Classifieds for example. I pulled a kit down from the rafters the other day which was the end result of one of these forays. It had been gathering dust for some time, and a break in the weather from Arctic to Cold combined with increasing levels of boredom pushed me to make a start. This kit was American, so it had been written in my language, not translated from Chinglish or Vietninglish. There were lovely ply and balsa sheets with lots of ribs and formers cut out, and pretty blocks of balsa cut to attractive shapes, and sheets of balsa to cover wings and fuselages, and there were two of each. This plane is a Lockheed P-38. The plans were clear, with various notes written near appropriate bits of the plan, and a lengthy instruction manual with advice on where to put the supplied decals. The wings were easy. But it helps if there is a datum piece to ensure the trailing edge has the correct wash-out. With so much balsa going to waste they should have added this. And maybe I should have suspected something when they suggested building the left wing by reversing the plan and using tracing paper. It was when I got round to the fuselages that I found the major problems. It helps to build wings and fuselages exactly true, with no warp or banana twists, and most plans have formers pinned down to a plan so you can get and maintain correct datum lines. Not this one! I think the idea was to glue stringers to formers and pin them together over a side view of the plan, and hope that things turned out well in the end. So much easier to have designed the formers to be pinned to a plan so the result would be accurate. And it would have helped if the distructions had noted that some of the formers were handed and could only be built in one way. Sorry, that sentence was missing as well. So were the instructions for three of the units to retain the wing. Imagination required, and I do have an abundance of that.
So, now I have several components which are pretty close to getting finished, and a big question mark over whether this contraption will fly. And since the weather is still a long way from congenial, I think it will be some time before I shall find out.
Instructions which leave so much to the imagination infuriate me. It is so easy for someone who knows all the answers to assume that everything he says is understood by all he talks to. Not So!!! When I explain something I try hard to be as clear as possible so the recipient has the best chance to understand what is going on. This was a good quality kit by Royal with atrociously written instructions and a flawed design method which will probably have an impact on its flying, with a secondary impact on our flying strip. So when somebody simply says “Install Windows 10” I might get understandably upset.
05/12/15 - A Lonely Furrow
The tractor grumbled and groaned, a blue-black haze steaming out of the funnel above the engine, and the wind whistled around the cabin sheltering the driver. Gulls, rooks and robins flustered around the tractor and its attendant plough as the grass was turned over and over ready for its new crop the following Spring, and exposing lots of tasty worms.
This is the stuff of Christmas cards, of amateur painting competitions, of sleigh bells if you go to the right part of the World, but hardly has it much to do with flying model aircraft. Except, it was OUR airstrip we were looking at, OUR pastime, OUR Boys - with - Toys relaxation! On more than one occasion I have landed my model the far side of the fence round our field, where the ground was pretty rough, and I know from sad experience that it is unwise in the extreme, and lengthy repairs are always needed. Ploughed fields and models aircraft do NOT mix.
That era is over. All that is left of our tenancy of that lovely place are memories, mostly good, of happy flights, good friendships, good chats and banter, and a metal-framed plywood box quietly rotting into the ground with a clapped-out ride-on mower with flat tyres and battery. And a field entry which is three inches deep in mud in high summer and impassable in winter, even if you can traverse the first field between the road and our strip.
And the Club? Well, the Farmer had already pocketed the rent for this year so he offered us another field half a mile away which is in some ways better. It is a similar size, it also faces towards the sun so models may momentarily disappear as they pass across the eclipse route, it slopes gently downhill away from the strip, all visible, and it has no bizarre quirks and wind-shears from hidden trees and gullies. It is also much drier and we are unlikely to get bogged down getting in or out. The nearest house is about a mile away. So far things have gone well and we hope to enjoy our stay there for years to come. The snag is that we are nearer a lonely back road and we see the occasional passer-by who stops to enquire what we are up to. Grown Men?? Toys like that?? Can I join?? So, there might be an up-side to a ploughed field. And another spin-off is that we have looked again at safety and flying conditions at our new site, which is always a good thing.
One plane which will NOT be landing there is our last flying Vulcan XH558 as this alas has flown her last flight. We saw her, heard her, trembled at the roar of her jets on full power, as she weaved a fond farewell to us all and her sister on the ground at Sunderland Air Museum before flying off to Newcastle and Carlisle on her round-Britain trip. That was in September, and the other night Guy Martin presented a last look at this amazing plane from his unique perspective as an HGV truck engineer, Spitfire restorer and mechanic, Manx TT racer extra-ordinaire, Narrow-Boat Builder, and proper tea drinker. I don’t usually get carried away with patriotic fervour, but the Vulcan has always made me feel very British, along with its stable-mate the Lancaster and its close allies the Hurricane, Spitfire and the Mosquito. As a Doctor I should also add Penicillin, but that just doesn’t do it for me. 45 tons of pure blue-sky thinking, unknown technologies and untested capabilities turned into 100 tons of lethal weapon and fuel. I watched Vulcans take off from RAF Finningley as a kid, and have seen them at RAF Cosford Museum on film do a foursome scramble. I have stared up in to the open bomb bay as she flew over us at frequent Sunderland Air Shows.
I think the next Air Show will be a bit empty for me. But that is still some time away, and we will have some time to play with our smaller toys till then. Meanwhile, there is Christmas and a Winter to survive.
A Happy Christmas to you all!
My Grandson is called BO for short, and he is five years old and a bundle of dynamos. He sits still for a few seconds, and wriggles around on his chair, and loves his lego. As part of his expanding lego kit he has a few Airfix model aircraft which are very lifelike and can survive crashes which would have destroyed the models I grew up with, and they don’t need a single drop of glue. They can be dismantled and spread all over the house and can then be retrieved and re-assembled before bed-time, just as simple as that! Last time I did take him a proper model of a Vulcan as I knew this was his favourite plane, and he could learn to glue it and even paint it in the correct way for real models. I found his concentration was wavering when I tried to assemble the wheels. So was mine as they are difficult to assemble properly. Finally he dropped the bombshell. “I don’t want it with wheels, Grandad, I want it FLYING!” So half an hour’s concentration went in the bin, and it is still flying, with other planes to keep it company.
Bo lives near RAF Cosford Air Museum, so one of my days was spent chasing Bo round this incredible place. He can run a lot faster than me, and is small enough to disappear behind most of the exhibits, so I knew that this trip would be fun. He is also sensible enough not to cross guard ropes and (usually) does what he is told. All in all, an exceptional kid. But, as the only son of my favourite and only Daughter, what else would I expect?
RAF Cosford Museum is an incredible place. It is enormous, part of an operational RAF Base, with several huge hangars themed to specific eras, and with hundreds of outstanding exhibits. IT is FREE!! But there is a charge for car parking. It is centrally placed in Britain and is handy from several motorways. So go and see what they have to offer, and look at their website.
Their Research and Development hangar was full of planes I had never heard of, probably because most development is carried out in secret and before the days of computer simulation the results were trial and error. Sadly, sometimes the errors were fatal, Unfortunately, most of the trials never made it beyond the prototypes, for example the TSR-2. For political reasons, Britain got itself in to an enormous financial mess and cancelled this incredibly versatile and expensive multi-purpose supersonic plane before it could out-sell its American rivals (who were then effectively our Bankers). So, what is new in the World? Some say that the TSR-2 was so versatile it couldn’t do anything well, perhaps a bit like the hoped-for Eurofighter if it ever survives design by Eurocrat Committee and tensions from its various and competing Nations. But I think it was a fabulous plane, beautiful to look at, and a tribute to British ingenuity.
Titanium was once just an element in the Periodic Table before the Space Race. Stainless steel was the metal of choice for supersonic aircraft skins, as alloy would melt and buckle at high temperatures. There were planes in this hangar you could use to put your Brylcreem hairdo straight they were shining so brightly. Look at the Bristol type 108 with a pencil-thin nose and jets close to the fuselage. Strange air-brakes stuck out from the fuselage behind the jets looking as if a foot were sticking out.
The hangar which ticked all the boxes for me was the Cold War Exhibition. I could stand closer to a Vulcan than I had ever been before. I was next to a Victor, and under a Valiant, all three filling the air above me with real VEE for Venom. Oddly, the Vulcan’s nose was suspended from the ceiling and poked out over another part of the show. The Victor was my Father’s favourite. He thought it the most gracious of the V-Bombers. Pity the wings dropped off them after a few years. And if missiles were your thing, there were plenty to choose from. Or even a Lightning pointing, as their motto states, “Per Ardua Ad Astra”. But the star attraction was a film of The Scramble of four Vulcans in quick succession all disappearing in a haze of heat and burning kerosene and a very loud noise within a couple of minutes of getting the order to SCRAMBLE. I went weak at the knees, and Bo was lost for a minute or two till I came back to earth.
The “Re-fuel Café” doesn’t just serve kerosene coke and grease butties. There is all you need to keep you going for as long as your parking ticket lasts. So, after refuelling, Bo and I went all round the Museum again. It was wonderful. And if I am ever called up for babysitting duties again, I will go back for another look.
Last night was a real tear-jerker for me. The very last of “The Few” pilots from The Battle of Britain were flying the very last of The Few airworthy planes that flew in That Battle. Flights of four planes flew all over the area around and over which that battle was fought, and people could see and hear these magnificent planes doing what they do so well, and once did in such dangerous conditions. I saw a Spitfire loop, and do a barrel roll, often the finale to a successful sortie. This time they all came home. In those days so many didn’t, and lots of wreckage lies at the bottom of the Channel off The Needles which featured so poignantly in this programme.
If I had been a Spitfire Boy then, I wonder if my Grandson would be writing this today, or if my great-great Grandson would sit wriggling on my knee.
Shiver Me Timbers!! - 30/06/15
T.E. Lawrence was a remarkable and complex man. Very bright, he was thought to be insolent by his peers, probably because they were not as capable as he was and he probably told them so. His contribution to the First World War and the Arab Cause may never be fully or accurately assessed, but his portrayal in the film “Lawrence of Arabia” filled me with excitement. There was one scene when a lone arab on his camel rides towards Lawrence out of a heat haze and a mirage for one of the most unforgettable two minutes of cinema history.
I think it was last summer when I wrote of another dread killer coming out of the mist. We were at the Sunderland Air Show and The Vulcan was on its way. We knew something was about to happen as the skies had become silent and empty. Then, somewhere out in the haze over the North Sea, something was moving. Was this the Kraken waking? Something was emerging from the sea fret and mirage far out in the bay, silent as death, and it was coming our way. Slowly this apparition grew wings and a tall tail and I knew it was Avro Vulcan XH 558. Its approach was silent till very close, but it made the hair on my neck stand up, and then its presence was absolutely unmistakable, particularly on full throttle when half of the North East of England knew that particular Kraken had woken.
I had heard that XH 558 was about to pay us another visit. This is, I think, its last year as a flying Vulcan, and this mission was to fly round those bases where other static Vulcans sat on stately tarmac aprons and bid them a fond farewell. XH 558 lives at Doncaster Robin Hood International Airport. When I was a kid, this was RAF Finningley and was a top secret nuclear VEE Bomber base, and it was a few miles from our home. We would sometimes stand at the perimeter fence and watch these enormous planes fly off to do their Masters’ bidding. The chest-crushing roar of those four jets has never left me. And so far as I remember from school visits, Robin Hood never went near Finningley. He harassed the Sherrif of Nottingham some leagues further south, around Sherwood forest. Well, what’s a little marketing hype between friends?
The Big Bird was leaving Doncaster after an early lunch, flying up the coast to Durham and Sunderland, and then on to Carlisle. Our schedule was 1343hr overhead above our lovely Vulcan in the Sunderland Air and Transport museum. Once again, she appeared like a wraith out of grey skies flying over the Nissan car factory and banking north east for a pass over her sister. Then a full-throttle left bank and full circle and repass over sis, and she did it all over again before flying north over Newcastle and on to Carlisle. Being downstream of those four jets still amazes me. It is something like jumping into a cold lake, the breath just gets taken away from me, but I like it!! And there were several hundred others watching as well. If that was the last time I ever see a Vulcan fly, I shall be happy. But I hope she may turn up to the Sunderland Air Display later this summer. Keep an eye on the “Vulcan To The Skies” website for more information.
An interesting thing once happened to Sunderland’s Vulcan. During a heavy snowstorm so much snow fell on the huge wings that it overbalanced and its nose began to lift skywards! That caused some problems when the thaw started.
Vulcans were only used once in anger, when they went on an incredible run down to the Falkland Islands. So perhaps “Robin Hood” is a suitable name for the home of XH 558. And Sunderland is no stranger to strife and controversy, from pre-historic times through Roman and Viking raids to more recent times, often with its neighbour Newcastle. And Carlisle has a castle and controversy and was renowned for the Border Reivers.
But perhaps all these places which house Vulcans are also known for their connections with our Roman invaders. Vulcan was the Roman God of Fire, Volcanos, Metalwork and Forges. The Emperor Hadrian certainly had forges and metalworkers in the settlements along his Wall, and there would have been temples to Vulcan somewhere along the line. How fitting that XH 558 flew along the line of The Wall from Newcastle to Carlisle. Vulcan is also the Patron of the Sheffield Steel industry.
Big Brother - 23/04/15
Rain, wind, snow and hail! So I stayed indoors not venturing anywhere near the shed, as has been my practice for most of the last five months. Somewhere on the box was a re-run of The hunt for Red October. This is a good film, and worth the occasional re-watch. I saw something new. The KGB minder who had been sent to keep an eye on the highly respected and venerated Admiral Vilnius was a chap called Putin. How prophetic can the original book have been, written when our present Mr Vladimir was a mere lad. It set me thinking --- what sort of Big Brother do we have watching over us at our flying sites when we go off to do our Boys With Toys thing? Our Field Safety Officer has changed recently, from a wizard with investments to a chap half his size who is a wizard with physics. But I doubt the end result will be any different. We will still get benign but authoritative supervision without being too claustrophobic. And he will know that he has the BMFA and the CAA watching him, in a benign and authoritative way. I wonder if Mr Vladimir is watching them?
So, we are all sorting out our new models and checking that they are suitably airworthy – at least for their first flight, and waiting for a break in the weather so we can go off and have some fun. I guess most of us have already done some flying this year, but here the daffodils are still struggling against cold winds, and snow showers have scurried past from the Northumberland uplands to the North Sea and on to turn Bergen into a skiers paradise. I read recently that it only rains twice a year in Bergen, from April to September, and from October to March. We lived near there for 18 months, and that is close to the truth. The Bergen Emblem is an umbrella, and it is also a very pretty area to visit, if you take a lot of cash. I mentioned the first flight. One thing I have grown better at is to check the plane thoroughly after each flight, and before taking it out to fly the next time. First, it is a requirement for our insurance, and second, it keeps our friends safe. And we do like our friends, don’t we? Even our Flight Safety Officer, Vladimir? But what if we were told we had to stop flying because our plane had been condemned as unsafe? I wonder what sort of unfortunate accident might then befall our unfortunate Safety Officer? No, of course not!
We have an election soon, and lots of people are on the box making all sorts of seriously credible promises about how trustable they are, and how they would either guard prudently the nation’s assets till we could once again pay our way in the world; or spend and borrow all we can get our hands on, maximise on all our credit cards, create prosperity and dig ourselves even deeper out of the hole we are in. For us flyaholics we can position ourselves anywhere on the spectrum; sell up and worry ourselves silly; or spendspendspend. Someone else can pick up the pieces either way. How can it be our problem to worry about the economy national or personal when there is a summer of flying to enjoy? Well, I heard one brave politician earnestly NOT talking about the defence budget, and then a few hours later I heard some chilling facts from a journalist noting that we now have at our disposal a fraction of the number of aircraft we once had in the Iraq war. Apparently Germany can put up approximately half its complement of fighters as the other half are seemingly unserviceable. This same journalist finds that America’s B-52s are a little past their sell-by date, the youngest being 50 years old. Their F-16s average some 30 years of active service. Their maximum service life is probably on a need-to-know basis, as are most political jiggery-pokeries. And the replacement F-35, on which we hope to depend, is still a paper tiger. So, what is wrong with parading a few vintage aircraft to impress the public? Don’t we do this all the time at our shows? Aren’t there dedicated columns in our magazines highlighting models that are as frail and aged as their owners? But maybe the safety of the realm, or even of the free world isn’t so dependent on these models.
Well, maybe not. If we can be nice to each other maybe the world will still be there when we wake up tomorrow, maybe the weather will be fine, the wind blissful, and the Safety Officer might just be tied up with more important things to do. What was that about a new Higgs Boson?
Another day, and the swallows are flitting and chirruping around the house, so summer must be almost here. At last!
Thunder Tiger - 15/1/15
I watched a programme the other night about Tigers, the real sort, not our Taiwanese model types, and it raised a few questions in my mind. The basis of the programme was the use of very low frequency sound waves by animals (and many other agencies) to achieve their ends. Why is it that when a tiger jumps out of the jungle and roars at you, the end result, if you survive the first few minutes, is that you need clean pants. The answer, according to the researchers, is that low frequency sound engenders fear in people, and that usually makes their legs quake, and that usually stops them running away. A win for the tiger. Good research, perhaps, but I have never seen a deer jump so quickly as when a tiger roars at it from ten yards away. Maybe the researchers have a bit more homework to do.
Apparently elephants can communicate with other elephants miles away with low-frequency burblings transmitted through their feet. Sound travels through solids and liquids at different speeds and a lot further than through air. Whales can hear each other singing hundreds of miles away through the oceans. We humans don’t listen through our feet, or skin. Imagine how the noise pollution in our wonderful world feels to these creatures. Perhaps ships propellors thrashing round at subsonic speeds are the real reason whales get disorientated and beach themselves. Maybe that was what was behind “The Ipcress File”. It is possible that animals and birds react to earthquakes and volcano eruptions because they sense subsonic noises we can’t hear and aren’t yet aware of.
When did you last see a Vulcan at an airshow? Feel the chest-shuddering power as it flies past and stands on its tail on full power and leaving four plumes of kerosene smoke? Or any other powerful jet? They all generate a lot of noise, and that is why we go and watch and listen. And we don’t get turned to jelly or any other public health hazards. We absolutely love it! I must confess I don’t know what the spectrum of frequencies from a Vulcan looks like, but I am sure that a lot of the energy is low frequency and high energy. I grew up near a V-Bomber base and loved to hear them take off.
Another sound that thrills me is the sound of really deep organ pipes. The third movement of Saint Saens Organ Symphony starts with deep pedal organ notes which you feel rather than hear. In that instance I can imagine the organist caressing the pedal notes with tiptoes and setting the whole cathedral gently resonating before the music ratchets up towards Vulcan fever in the fourth movement and he stamps on the pedals and bashes the keys and manuals with full force which is what my music teacher said “ff” in music actually meant.
The researchers mentioned sound guns which could create low frequency sound waves which could disintegrate entire buildings at the press of a button. The patents ran out on that idea. And now we have interstellar lasers which really do work. They also mentioned testing animals in subsonic chambers to see if they disintegrated before checking out a few humans. They passed, which also appeared to limit the effectiveness of a sound gun. But I bet if they had done MRI or CT scans on these subjects they would have found quite a bit of unsuspected damage on small blood vessels or lung tissue. Fortunately for those researchers MRIs and CTs weren’t yet invented.
Another subsonic sound which really did turn peoples legs to jelly was the drone of a Doodlebug or buzzbomb, particularly when the sound stopped. The motor on these contraptions was a pulsejet which in basic terms is the simplest form of internal combustion engine there is. You can even make one out of a jam jar. If you ignite a fuel/air mixture it goes BANG! And its volume rapidly expands. Inside our Thunder Tiger engine the piston goes down and the propeller turns, and we go flying. If we have a tuned exhaust pipe on it the burning gas expands along the pipe to the atmosphere so fast that it creates a vacuum behind it which will suck the next bang along and improve the power of the engine. The simplest (valveless) form of pulsejet is a bit like a tuned exhaust pipe with a gismo to inject fuel and air to repeat the bangs and provide some jet propulsion, if not much throttle control. And they are not called bangs, they are called Deflagrations. It is all carefully explained in Wikipedia. Reed or daisy petal valves are used in more sophisticated designs to improve power and reduce reliability. I saw a couple of pulsejet models in action last summer at an airshow, once they had stopped working as flame-throwers and started pulsing correctly. They were whizzing round at high speed with a very distinctive loud and low throb till they ran out of fuel and landed silently.
The first pulsejet patent was issued in the 1860s with designs improving from there. The first jet engines were around when the Three Kings went to Bethlehem, using steam power. The jet engines, I mean, not steam-powered camels. Then the Chinese invented rockets, and various designs came and went, till Frank Whittle set us all on the right road from 1928. And the government? They told him to get lost. How did we guess that one? So he persisted and eventually we arrived at today, and for us flyaholics we can now play with lots of jet-powered models as well as pulsejets, if that is what turns us on.
Use this forum thread link or the one below if you have any feedback or messages for Martyn.
|The Flying Doctor|
feedback and commentary By Tim Mackey
by Tim Mackey
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