Lincoln, England, was home to the famous 617 Bombing Squadron in WWII. These are the fellows that dropped the bouncing bomb on the great dams in the Ruhr valley. The inventor of the bomb, didn't stop there, he had other problems to solve. Some of the Nazi emplacements were proving hard to hit as they were underground and protected by thick layers of concrete. He developed a very large 22,000 pound bomb for the purpose. Getting this bomb into an aircraft and getting that aircraft into the air, was a marvel on its own. Only the Lancaster could do it and the submarine pens and great gun emplacements were to suffer as a result.
After the war, superfluous aircraft were mostly scrapped (aircraft enthusiasts like myself, silently sob at the thought) but some were converted to 'gate guard' duty. All the heavy hidden stuff in the aircraft were removed and they took positions outside of Air Force bases around the world. 617 Squadron, didn't put a Lanc next to the gate, they put two of these huge bombs on either side of the entrance. And there they stayed, silent sentinels for sixty odd years.
When time came for the road to be widened, they brought a crane in to move the bombs out of the way and reposition them. When they began to lift, there was a problem, they were a lot heavier than expected. A few tools were brought to the site and some brave soul, opened a part up and peered inside. There waiting patiently for detonation was the 22,000 pounds of Torpex D1, high explosive. And the one a few meters away was the same. Should one of the hundreds of thousands of vehicles that passed by these bombs, miss the gate and hit the bomb, both could have exploded. This cathedral along with around a third of the city of Lincoln, ancient and modern would have been destroyed in an instant. Thousands would have been killed, many thousands injured. If this had happened during the cold war, WWIII could have started
Civilization hung upon the dodgy tyres of innumerable post war delivery trucks.
. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Slam_bomb http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avro_Lancaster
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Iridium rain
Sixty six million years ago, most of the non avian dinosaurs and surface hugging fish, just died. Survivors were mostly burrowing creatures, fish that could live below fifty meters and crocodiles. Archaeologists were first alerted to its cause by the discovery of Geologist. Walter Alverez of a strange layer of clay, later found to be all over the world. This clay layer separates like cream in a layer cake, the age of the reptiles from the age of the mammals.
Why would 75% of the population of the planet's life just die? Alverez took the problem to his Dad Luis Alverez, the Nobel Prize winning physicist. He turned out to be the best person in the world to ask. He took some of the clay and subjected it to chemical analysis. What he found, surprised them both. The clay was peppered with Iridium. Lots of it. Iridium isn't unknown on earth, but it is bloody rare, and to find a layer of clay with so much of it, was very odd indeed. There is one place where there seems to be quite a lot of iridium - In meteors. The iridium in the clay must have come from space.
Discovering a 180 km wide crater in the gulf of Mexico of the right age, pretty much determined what killed much of the life - A ten km wide meteor made a bang so big it would have echoed around and around the world many times. The equivalent of a hundred million megatons of TNT type bang. The impact point was the source for the iridium and a huge quantity of sulphur trioxide ejected into the air and spread around the planet. When you take a molecule of sulphur trioxide and you add a molecule of water you get sulphuric acid. Nasty stuff. And the air was full of it.
Also jettisoned up was a large quantity of very important silica, without which, neither you nor I, would be here, and this post would be written by a reptile. The silica as it fell through the gaseous sulphur trioxide, sulphuric acid and water vapour, collected together and formed the acid rain from hell. Concentrated sulphuric acid fell from the sky all over the earth for three solid days. Only those who could hide underground or deep under water, or like the crocs and ferns, had a tolerance for acidic water survived.
After those few days, the little furry rat like animals that managed to find safe water, survived. The rise of the mammal, was assured.
Why would 75% of the population of the planet's life just die? Alverez took the problem to his Dad Luis Alverez, the Nobel Prize winning physicist. He turned out to be the best person in the world to ask. He took some of the clay and subjected it to chemical analysis. What he found, surprised them both. The clay was peppered with Iridium. Lots of it. Iridium isn't unknown on earth, but it is bloody rare, and to find a layer of clay with so much of it, was very odd indeed. There is one place where there seems to be quite a lot of iridium - In meteors. The iridium in the clay must have come from space.
Discovering a 180 km wide crater in the gulf of Mexico of the right age, pretty much determined what killed much of the life - A ten km wide meteor made a bang so big it would have echoed around and around the world many times. The equivalent of a hundred million megatons of TNT type bang. The impact point was the source for the iridium and a huge quantity of sulphur trioxide ejected into the air and spread around the planet. When you take a molecule of sulphur trioxide and you add a molecule of water you get sulphuric acid. Nasty stuff. And the air was full of it.
Also jettisoned up was a large quantity of very important silica, without which, neither you nor I, would be here, and this post would be written by a reptile. The silica as it fell through the gaseous sulphur trioxide, sulphuric acid and water vapour, collected together and formed the acid rain from hell. Concentrated sulphuric acid fell from the sky all over the earth for three solid days. Only those who could hide underground or deep under water, or like the crocs and ferns, had a tolerance for acidic water survived.
After those few days, the little furry rat like animals that managed to find safe water, survived. The rise of the mammal, was assured.
Alien Astronomers
Looking out at the stars tonight, it was so clear that I felt I had to make use of my astro setup.
I was just cruising along the Milky Way, star after star after star. There are three hundred billion of them. Three hundred billion stars make up the Milky Way. I had to look that number up, because every time I see the number somewhere, the estimate has risen again. While looking at some of our neighbours I heard some statistics on a podcast that set me thinking of the Drake Equation. As loathe as I am to say never, I'll risk it this time to say it is one equation that will never be solved.
Professor Drake probably got asked the question a lot more than I am, and almost everyone asks me, 'Are we alone?' So he worked out a formula for estimating the number of planets with intelligent life. It is very long and I won't go through each term tonight but given the last estimate I read on the number of stars in our galaxy was two hundred million, multiplying guesses over guesses and you get a lot of wiggle room in the final figure.
The Kepler satellite has discovered over three thousand planets in our galaxy, with more confirmations all the time. It is no longer news to find yet another. However we can get some surprising figures from the Extra Solar Planets they have discovered. It seems from the figures that there is around one planet for every star in our galaxy. That isn't to say there are planets around every star, there aren't, but as lots of stars have multiple planetary systems, it averages out to one each. One sixth of these are earth sized, that makes fifty billion earthlike planets just in our galaxy. Taking all of the other elements into account, the current guess is a figure upwards of 35 million intelligently inhabited and able to communicate their presence, planets in 'our' Milky Way.
On this planet we have around half a million amateur astronomers, and as only half that number is in darkness at any one time, we should divide by two. Out of those lets say 10% are actually using their scopes at any one time. So from earth we have twenty five thousand people looking through a scope at the sky, every night. If the thirty five million inhabited planets have astronomers in the same way as we do, that means as I was looking up tonight, there were 875 Million astronomers looking back.
So next time you are out at night, look up and smile, say 'Hi' to the neighbours. Some of them must be saying the same thing!
I was just cruising along the Milky Way, star after star after star. There are three hundred billion of them. Three hundred billion stars make up the Milky Way. I had to look that number up, because every time I see the number somewhere, the estimate has risen again. While looking at some of our neighbours I heard some statistics on a podcast that set me thinking of the Drake Equation. As loathe as I am to say never, I'll risk it this time to say it is one equation that will never be solved.
Professor Drake probably got asked the question a lot more than I am, and almost everyone asks me, 'Are we alone?' So he worked out a formula for estimating the number of planets with intelligent life. It is very long and I won't go through each term tonight but given the last estimate I read on the number of stars in our galaxy was two hundred million, multiplying guesses over guesses and you get a lot of wiggle room in the final figure.
The Kepler satellite has discovered over three thousand planets in our galaxy, with more confirmations all the time. It is no longer news to find yet another. However we can get some surprising figures from the Extra Solar Planets they have discovered. It seems from the figures that there is around one planet for every star in our galaxy. That isn't to say there are planets around every star, there aren't, but as lots of stars have multiple planetary systems, it averages out to one each. One sixth of these are earth sized, that makes fifty billion earthlike planets just in our galaxy. Taking all of the other elements into account, the current guess is a figure upwards of 35 million intelligently inhabited and able to communicate their presence, planets in 'our' Milky Way.
On this planet we have around half a million amateur astronomers, and as only half that number is in darkness at any one time, we should divide by two. Out of those lets say 10% are actually using their scopes at any one time. So from earth we have twenty five thousand people looking through a scope at the sky, every night. If the thirty five million inhabited planets have astronomers in the same way as we do, that means as I was looking up tonight, there were 875 Million astronomers looking back.
So next time you are out at night, look up and smile, say 'Hi' to the neighbours. Some of them must be saying the same thing!
Tim Tams
I threatened to put this on Facebook a while ago, so here it is. One of our German exchange students is back on a working holiday/gap year and a friend of hers flew in to join her for some Aussie travel. Both lovely girls, V, the visitor went against the grain of Australian culture when she announced that she didn't like Tim Tams. Normally such an admission would have her handcuffed and escorted to the nearest airport terminal, but I managed to keep the confession quiet and instructed her not to breathe a word of it to anyone. The AFP were nowhere to be seen, so I think we got away with it.
Strangely enough, she had no problem with vegemite, these two facts I find almost impossible to reconcile.
Strangely enough, she had no problem with vegemite, these two facts I find almost impossible to reconcile.
Right wing, left wing
When I worked for a couple of unions I was considered to be dangerously right wing. When I started my own business, my business partner considered me to be ridiculously left wing.
You know you are an astronomer when:
You know you are an astronomer when:
1. Your first instinct as you step outside, day or night, is to look up.
2. When buying a home, you veto every property that hasn't a clear view of the ecliptic.
3. You consider a nap in the afternoon a down payment for getting up at 3 a.m.
4. You bought an iPhone after a lifetime of avoiding Apple computers, because Monte Huebsch showed you an app that helped identify stars.
5. You think making a Facebook post about seeing an iridium flare is a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
1. Your first instinct as you step outside, day or night, is to look up.
2. When buying a home, you veto every property that hasn't a clear view of the ecliptic.
3. You consider a nap in the afternoon a down payment for getting up at 3 a.m.
4. You bought an iPhone after a lifetime of avoiding Apple computers, because Monte Huebsch showed you an app that helped identify stars.
5. You think making a Facebook post about seeing an iridium flare is a perfectly reasonable thing to do.
Crazy idea #374
Imagine a small shed similar in size and shape to a TARDIS. Inside is a contraption powered by solar panels upon the roof. It consists of a great jar filled with genetically engineered slime. Air is pumped in and the CO2 is broken down by the slime depositing the carbon in some nicely inert state. And releasing oxygen into the air or collected for commercial / medical usage. Every owner of every car on the planet has to have one beginning with every sale over the next five years and compulsory for every car thereafter. You don't need to keep it in your backyard. You could buy the assignment rights from someone who will position and maintain your shed for you. This would place a great opportunity for poor hot countries to get capital from rich cold countries.
Who is in and when shall we release the IPO?
Who is in and when shall we release the IPO?
My Son is an Adtronomer!
If there is a greater pleasure in the world of parenting that while it does not eclipse the birth and childhood stuff, it certainly hits an old man like myself with a ridiculous amount of pride and joy, is seeing your 39 yo offspring taking a hold of one of your passions in life and loving it. My son is texting me about what he saw the previous night through his scope! And I cannot wipe the grin off my face.
Sirius and Scotch
Here i am. Comfortably ensconced on a garden recliner. A single malt scotch is in my hand and I am looking up to a perfectly clear night sky with dark adapted eyes. A meteor just sailed across the sky and it was the third I have seen tonight. I doubt it will be the last.
It is warm and there is a gentle breeze blowing and no moon to spoil the darkness of the sky. In the west Orion is sliding behind the hills with Jupiter keeping pace and Sirius following them over. I am quite sure it isn't the scotch talking, when I say that it is stunningly beautiful.
Earlier Tonight I had Yolanda and her son visit and I had a lot of fun pointing the scope to some of the 'star' sights. The tarantula nebula is becoming a favoured spot with me. I try to imagine sailing Kirk like along those dust lanes, skimming dangerously close to a red giant star and settling in to orbit a new star firing off. The star itself is intensely bright and a flat accretion disk is already forming. Planets start to form, just lumpy bits of super-hot material , spinning and spinning and then cooling down until great clouds of steam can condense to form oceans of very hot water. The plates would then solidify and rocks begin to form in the same way as they are here on earth. The first specks of life appear from the strings of amino acids multiplying trillions of trillions of times, until primitive forms of DNA are combined with other elements and life begins.
With daydreams like these, I think I'll stick to this astronomy thing. Life ain't too bad!
It is warm and there is a gentle breeze blowing and no moon to spoil the darkness of the sky. In the west Orion is sliding behind the hills with Jupiter keeping pace and Sirius following them over. I am quite sure it isn't the scotch talking, when I say that it is stunningly beautiful.
Earlier Tonight I had Yolanda and her son visit and I had a lot of fun pointing the scope to some of the 'star' sights. The tarantula nebula is becoming a favoured spot with me. I try to imagine sailing Kirk like along those dust lanes, skimming dangerously close to a red giant star and settling in to orbit a new star firing off. The star itself is intensely bright and a flat accretion disk is already forming. Planets start to form, just lumpy bits of super-hot material , spinning and spinning and then cooling down until great clouds of steam can condense to form oceans of very hot water. The plates would then solidify and rocks begin to form in the same way as they are here on earth. The first specks of life appear from the strings of amino acids multiplying trillions of trillions of times, until primitive forms of DNA are combined with other elements and life begins.
With daydreams like these, I think I'll stick to this astronomy thing. Life ain't too bad!
Paying Politicians
I don't think we pay politicians enough. How much would you want? How much to be home maybe 2 nights a week before 9pm? How about having every weekend taken up with functions and meetings and fundraisers and all sorts of meaningless crap that they must go to and smile and be nice. How much would you want for the phone calls that come at ten at night and six in the morning? How much for missing your partner's birthday and your kids recitals? How much could compensate you for being shouted at, abused and having your personal integrity questioned? What about for your kids coming home, bullied because the bigger kid's dad comes from the other party? What about for your kids reading the paper where people are bagging you or the facebook memes that make you out to be evil, stupid or both? How much for having to hide from photographers in case you do get to lie on the beach for a day a year? And then every three or four years, the work gets notched up a couple of levels. Endless door knocking, folding letters, begging for volunteers and listening to constituents complain and complain. Often about things that you have no control over because the complainer has never bothered to understand the basics of our constitution and yet still wants to talk about parking meters to a Federal politician. And if you lose, what will you do? Who will hire someone whose politics are so open and up front? I would want a LOT more money for that.
Speaking to Newton
If I could go back in time as an experiment, I'd go speak to Isaac Newton at his family farm while he hid from the plague. I'd take an iPad upon which I had magically downloaded the whole of Wiki. Then i would sow the seed.
"What if light was at once a particle and a wave and it had an absolute speed?"
What if all physical things were made of atoms that look something like this;
Here is a book on chemistry. Alchemy is a waste of your talent. Once I had him convinced I was from the future, I'd tell him religion is bullshit. Then I would nip back to now and see what was what.
Would I get my Back to the Future hover board then?
"What if light was at once a particle and a wave and it had an absolute speed?"
What if all physical things were made of atoms that look something like this;
Here is a book on chemistry. Alchemy is a waste of your talent. Once I had him convinced I was from the future, I'd tell him religion is bullshit. Then I would nip back to now and see what was what.
Would I get my Back to the Future hover board then?
Feeding the World
Much of the world's oceans are unpopulated by much more than microscopic or at least miniscule life. I propose that 30 m square cubes made of some non corroding material and filled with a an open honeycomb like material and suspended from a floating concrete platform. (Similar to the Mulberry harbours the Allies towed to Normandy on D Day.) Life will start to congregate on the mesh and grow prolifically, small fish will eat that, larger fish eat them and we eat the larger fish. The larger fish could be 'stocked' to give us the species we prefer, and smaller fish to give the larger, what they prefer. Solving both the food and over fishing problems in one fell swoop.
Dylan Thomas on dying
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
Desiterata
Short of the religious bit at the end, Desiderata is still an inspiring read.
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Bravery
I once came face to face with a bank robber. He was tearing down our street with the police right up his arse. There were sirens and lights from three police cars, you couldn't fit much between them. He looked like he was in a TV shoot, he was quite good looking in a magazine ad kind of way. He had a white crew necked sweater and drove with his arms straight out. I was struck by his calmness, he was just businesslike - he could have been driving to see his mother from the look on his face. He seemed to be without any fear at all.
In wartime we can see the best and the worst of us, the heroes and those that just couldn't take it. The stories of bomber crew show the full range of reactions to fear. There were men who night after night climbed into their bomber and one night, could do it no more. Others who simply refused to fly. Punishment for both was severe. Their records were stamped with LMF. Lacking moral fibre. They lost all rank and privileges and were transferred to duties designed to humiliate and demean.
Being brave doesn't mean being fearless. I have read several airmen who referred to one of their crew as extremely brave and yet the man was absolutely terrified on each and every mission. The fact that he overcame his terrible fear and did his job well despite it, rated the man a hero in their books. I have also read accounts of people who were absolutely fearless - although, perhaps from modesty, not many write their own story.
Here are three examples of simply heroic conduct. A New Zealand flyer was in a big bomber returning from a raid when an inner engine caught fire. He hacked a hole in the side of the aeroplane, unfurled his parachute and had a comrade hold onto the end. He grabbed an extinguisher and crawled out on the wing and put the fire out. He knew that if he fell his friend couldn't hold him and his parachute would be too twisted and tangled to open. Yet he went. And survived to wear his medals.
One woman secret agent dropped into France to help organise the resistance for D-Day. She was walking toward a little village and flagged down a car containing two SS officers and their SS driver and casually asked for a lift. She was taking the most appalling risk, each of these men could torture and kill her with imagined impunity and yet, she just chatted to them as if they were old friends. Another story has her (or perhaps another, it would take too long to check) calmly walked into the Gestapo Headquarters and demanded an audience with the head Nazi. She offered to exchange a letter of recommendation for the freedom of her husband currently in the cells below. The coward folded. The husband freed.
There is another kind of bravery that I know of. My grandfather was a Black Country coal miner near Birmingham, England. His wife was the local nurse, his sons and sons in law were away at the war and his two eldest daughters were building Spitfires. He knew the risks they were taking, his own brother was killed on the Somme. Every working day, Grandad would go "Down pit" and dig the coal used to heat homes and barrack rooms across the island and even used to power some antiquated naval vessels. He went down there again and again knowing that as he descended into the ground in the cage, he was completely cut off from the world. He never knew whether he would come up to find his entire family dead or maimed, his house destroyed and all he loved gone.
Grandad will always be a hero of mine, he received no medals, he just went out every day and worked for victory. I am so very proud to have known him
In wartime we can see the best and the worst of us, the heroes and those that just couldn't take it. The stories of bomber crew show the full range of reactions to fear. There were men who night after night climbed into their bomber and one night, could do it no more. Others who simply refused to fly. Punishment for both was severe. Their records were stamped with LMF. Lacking moral fibre. They lost all rank and privileges and were transferred to duties designed to humiliate and demean.
Being brave doesn't mean being fearless. I have read several airmen who referred to one of their crew as extremely brave and yet the man was absolutely terrified on each and every mission. The fact that he overcame his terrible fear and did his job well despite it, rated the man a hero in their books. I have also read accounts of people who were absolutely fearless - although, perhaps from modesty, not many write their own story.
Here are three examples of simply heroic conduct. A New Zealand flyer was in a big bomber returning from a raid when an inner engine caught fire. He hacked a hole in the side of the aeroplane, unfurled his parachute and had a comrade hold onto the end. He grabbed an extinguisher and crawled out on the wing and put the fire out. He knew that if he fell his friend couldn't hold him and his parachute would be too twisted and tangled to open. Yet he went. And survived to wear his medals.
One woman secret agent dropped into France to help organise the resistance for D-Day. She was walking toward a little village and flagged down a car containing two SS officers and their SS driver and casually asked for a lift. She was taking the most appalling risk, each of these men could torture and kill her with imagined impunity and yet, she just chatted to them as if they were old friends. Another story has her (or perhaps another, it would take too long to check) calmly walked into the Gestapo Headquarters and demanded an audience with the head Nazi. She offered to exchange a letter of recommendation for the freedom of her husband currently in the cells below. The coward folded. The husband freed.
There is another kind of bravery that I know of. My grandfather was a Black Country coal miner near Birmingham, England. His wife was the local nurse, his sons and sons in law were away at the war and his two eldest daughters were building Spitfires. He knew the risks they were taking, his own brother was killed on the Somme. Every working day, Grandad would go "Down pit" and dig the coal used to heat homes and barrack rooms across the island and even used to power some antiquated naval vessels. He went down there again and again knowing that as he descended into the ground in the cage, he was completely cut off from the world. He never knew whether he would come up to find his entire family dead or maimed, his house destroyed and all he loved gone.
Grandad will always be a hero of mine, he received no medals, he just went out every day and worked for victory. I am so very proud to have known him
Don't jump!
Alvin Toffler once said (1971?) that hoping that technology would come to save us from the coming ecological disaster was like jumping out of an aircraft and hoping a parachute would be invented on the way down.
Gliders - the whooshing death.
The British military thinking in 43 and 44 was that Gliders would form a key component in the D-Day invasion in June 44. To this end a training unit was established to train soldiers (not airmen) in flying a glider under tow and landing. The first intake of trainee 'pilots arrived at the base, unsure of what they were getting into. The were lined up on the runway, waiting the arrival of the Commanding Officer who was responsible for their training and whose wisdom they relied upon to give them the best chance of survival. The CO arrived in a big, troop carrying glider ( I think it was a Horsa )
To make the glider behave like a combat aircraft it was loaded with sandbags. All eyes watched the glider as it turned to approach the airfield. They didn't know it, but something was terribly wrong. His speed was too high, he touched down too late, something was very wrong. It overshot the end of the runway and crashed into a house, the sandbags smashed through the bulkhead behind the pilot and killed him. The new CO was dead before he had even arrived on the base. The men watched the scene with horror and imagined that it would be their fate too. They were formed up and marched back to the barracks to await a new CO. Some of them shrugged it off, others were a little worried and some, I suspect most, decided that they were already dead, so they just enjoyed the time they had left. Not one requested a transfer.
And some did die in the early hours of June 6, 1944. Several were completely destroyed on D-Day, with all occupants killed outright, but at least one was lost to stupidity. A glider reserved for a general and his headquarters staff held a Jeep as well as a dozen or so men and all the supplies they could fit. Some idiot decided that the general was valuable so he got a large steel plate and fixed it to the bottom of the glider, hoping to minimise the danger from small arms and light flak. Unfortunately he told no one what he did, even the pilot was in the dark. As soon as they were towed into the air it was clear something was wrong. The extra weight changed the flying characteristics of the glider and made it all but unflyable. As soon as the release light went on, the glider dropped the cable and then it dropped too, it's airspeed was way too high but the pilot had no choice but to land as best he could. He landed much like the CO crashed, with the General, his staff Jeep and supplies all crashing through the bulkhead, killing everyone.
To make the glider behave like a combat aircraft it was loaded with sandbags. All eyes watched the glider as it turned to approach the airfield. They didn't know it, but something was terribly wrong. His speed was too high, he touched down too late, something was very wrong. It overshot the end of the runway and crashed into a house, the sandbags smashed through the bulkhead behind the pilot and killed him. The new CO was dead before he had even arrived on the base. The men watched the scene with horror and imagined that it would be their fate too. They were formed up and marched back to the barracks to await a new CO. Some of them shrugged it off, others were a little worried and some, I suspect most, decided that they were already dead, so they just enjoyed the time they had left. Not one requested a transfer.
And some did die in the early hours of June 6, 1944. Several were completely destroyed on D-Day, with all occupants killed outright, but at least one was lost to stupidity. A glider reserved for a general and his headquarters staff held a Jeep as well as a dozen or so men and all the supplies they could fit. Some idiot decided that the general was valuable so he got a large steel plate and fixed it to the bottom of the glider, hoping to minimise the danger from small arms and light flak. Unfortunately he told no one what he did, even the pilot was in the dark. As soon as they were towed into the air it was clear something was wrong. The extra weight changed the flying characteristics of the glider and made it all but unflyable. As soon as the release light went on, the glider dropped the cable and then it dropped too, it's airspeed was way too high but the pilot had no choice but to land as best he could. He landed much like the CO crashed, with the General, his staff Jeep and supplies all crashing through the bulkhead, killing everyone.
Theatre Icebergs
I have been backstage in many theatres and have a fairly good idea on how they work. However it is plainly obvious to me that most architects have only ever sat in an audience and have no idea what goes on backstage, and some I doubt have done even that. So, here are the steps that most theatre companies would go through to put on a show. This is how Julie Bray and I ran a theatre company, others will be different, but the principles are the same, if not the principals!
First a committee will determine which play to perform, decisions are made on various levels. The play must fit in with the philosophy of the group. Ours was always about quality and less about popularity and we didn't want to put on Benny Hill type farces, door slammers and so on. We wanted to use our resources to present plays that challenged us and sometimes our audience. Plays must have the right mix of genders and ages, for example, there would be no point in starting work on Twelve Angry Men as men are in very short supply. We did a few plays in which we changed the gender on a part, simply because few men want to act. We would try to balance out the season with a comedy, a drama, a Murder Mystery and sometimes (if we were feeling brave) we'd do a musical. More on those later.
Then we would go in search of a director for each play and sound them out to see if they were willing to take on the work. Sometimes directors would come to us with ideas or pet projects and if we could, we would oblige and use that play instead. We would then determine the season, choosing the times and numbers of performances, usually eight or nine shows. As soon as we knew what plays we were doing (usually four per year) we would write to the rights holders and ask formal permission to perform - and send them a cheque of course!
We would then schedule rehearsal times and dates, sometimes choosing a special rehearsal location and then we'd advertise for a cast. Before auditions we would decide on the crew. The director would advise as to his/her requirements and anything extra. The principal decision is the Stage Manager (SM) and the director often has a view on who that should be. The lighting rigger/designer and operator (who was often Mansell Wellings) was chosen and the set builder and designer too.
At auditions each aspiring actor would come along and 'read' the desired part, sometimes alone and sometimes with others. Once the cast was decided they would get a script and be sent home to start learning. The director would be aided by a Production Manager whose job was to liaise between the Director and the management committee. PMs kept the show on budget and allocated what resources were available and start hunting for those that were not. The director and the PM would have meetings with the costume person, set designer and sometimes the program designer, so that everyone is on the same page and working toward the same theme.
The set designer would do a few drawings and once they are approved talk to the set builder to see if it can be done. Sometimes a scale model would be built and shown to everyone, cast included. The lighting director would look at the design and discuss any problems, the set builder would also talk to the director to finalise a few details, like the height of a platform (stage speak = rostrum) or which way doors open and what can and should not be seen through them when they do open.
At rehearsals the Stage Manager (SM) attends and makes notes as to what props are required where, by whom and when. Most SMs attend most rehearsals. The first stage of rehearsals is just reading through the lines, getting a feel of the show and what happens to whom. Then a little basic blocking is introduced. This is telling each actor where and when to move and what props to use. Costume designers would come in and fit each actor with their various costumes, some may change several times during a show.
The set builders will start on the set and actors will often be dragged in to help build and paint. Once the set is substantially complete the Lighting Director would start setting the lights on the various bars above both the audience and the stage. These are plugged in to the 'board' and a rough lighting plot is worked out. The director and SM would be shown the proposed plot and adjustments made.
Meanwhile the Sound Director (SD) would be searching for various effects (phones ringing, cars screeching etcetera) and putting them together on a CD in the required order. Sometimes music was especially written for us, which made a tremendous difference to the show. The program person (often me) would come up with an idea for the program and also design the poster. Short bios are collected from the actors and directors often want to write a little too.
Photographs are taken, advertising booked and the posters distributed. The mail out is then organised and final touches put to the set and costumes. The schedule for ticket sellers finalised and the person running the tea coffee and wine appointed (Front of House, FOH) By this stage rehearsals are at the Full Dress point, all props used and lights are gradually being worked out - lighting is harder than it looks, like most of this stuff!
Actors have had their lines memorised for a couple of weeks now and should only stumble a little. In the last week before opening night the tech run is performed. This is where the LD and the SD do all of their magic. Actors are asked to 'top and tail' which is them performing just bits of the show, where the lighting and sounds change. This is usually the beginning and end of each scene. At the final dress rehearsal a full performance is done without an audience but exactly as the audience would see it.
The stage manager then takes full control of the show from the second the final dress is finished. It is his/her job to reproduce the final dress every night and matinee. This control is absolute for as soon as the handover is made, the director needs the permission of the SD to even talk to any cast or crew member. And after all of this is done and a lot more I have omitted, then and only then can the audience see the show.
As I said... it is an iceberg!
First a committee will determine which play to perform, decisions are made on various levels. The play must fit in with the philosophy of the group. Ours was always about quality and less about popularity and we didn't want to put on Benny Hill type farces, door slammers and so on. We wanted to use our resources to present plays that challenged us and sometimes our audience. Plays must have the right mix of genders and ages, for example, there would be no point in starting work on Twelve Angry Men as men are in very short supply. We did a few plays in which we changed the gender on a part, simply because few men want to act. We would try to balance out the season with a comedy, a drama, a Murder Mystery and sometimes (if we were feeling brave) we'd do a musical. More on those later.
Then we would go in search of a director for each play and sound them out to see if they were willing to take on the work. Sometimes directors would come to us with ideas or pet projects and if we could, we would oblige and use that play instead. We would then determine the season, choosing the times and numbers of performances, usually eight or nine shows. As soon as we knew what plays we were doing (usually four per year) we would write to the rights holders and ask formal permission to perform - and send them a cheque of course!
We would then schedule rehearsal times and dates, sometimes choosing a special rehearsal location and then we'd advertise for a cast. Before auditions we would decide on the crew. The director would advise as to his/her requirements and anything extra. The principal decision is the Stage Manager (SM) and the director often has a view on who that should be. The lighting rigger/designer and operator (who was often Mansell Wellings) was chosen and the set builder and designer too.
At auditions each aspiring actor would come along and 'read' the desired part, sometimes alone and sometimes with others. Once the cast was decided they would get a script and be sent home to start learning. The director would be aided by a Production Manager whose job was to liaise between the Director and the management committee. PMs kept the show on budget and allocated what resources were available and start hunting for those that were not. The director and the PM would have meetings with the costume person, set designer and sometimes the program designer, so that everyone is on the same page and working toward the same theme.
The set designer would do a few drawings and once they are approved talk to the set builder to see if it can be done. Sometimes a scale model would be built and shown to everyone, cast included. The lighting director would look at the design and discuss any problems, the set builder would also talk to the director to finalise a few details, like the height of a platform (stage speak = rostrum) or which way doors open and what can and should not be seen through them when they do open.
At rehearsals the Stage Manager (SM) attends and makes notes as to what props are required where, by whom and when. Most SMs attend most rehearsals. The first stage of rehearsals is just reading through the lines, getting a feel of the show and what happens to whom. Then a little basic blocking is introduced. This is telling each actor where and when to move and what props to use. Costume designers would come in and fit each actor with their various costumes, some may change several times during a show.
The set builders will start on the set and actors will often be dragged in to help build and paint. Once the set is substantially complete the Lighting Director would start setting the lights on the various bars above both the audience and the stage. These are plugged in to the 'board' and a rough lighting plot is worked out. The director and SM would be shown the proposed plot and adjustments made.
Meanwhile the Sound Director (SD) would be searching for various effects (phones ringing, cars screeching etcetera) and putting them together on a CD in the required order. Sometimes music was especially written for us, which made a tremendous difference to the show. The program person (often me) would come up with an idea for the program and also design the poster. Short bios are collected from the actors and directors often want to write a little too.
Photographs are taken, advertising booked and the posters distributed. The mail out is then organised and final touches put to the set and costumes. The schedule for ticket sellers finalised and the person running the tea coffee and wine appointed (Front of House, FOH) By this stage rehearsals are at the Full Dress point, all props used and lights are gradually being worked out - lighting is harder than it looks, like most of this stuff!
Actors have had their lines memorised for a couple of weeks now and should only stumble a little. In the last week before opening night the tech run is performed. This is where the LD and the SD do all of their magic. Actors are asked to 'top and tail' which is them performing just bits of the show, where the lighting and sounds change. This is usually the beginning and end of each scene. At the final dress rehearsal a full performance is done without an audience but exactly as the audience would see it.
The stage manager then takes full control of the show from the second the final dress is finished. It is his/her job to reproduce the final dress every night and matinee. This control is absolute for as soon as the handover is made, the director needs the permission of the SD to even talk to any cast or crew member. And after all of this is done and a lot more I have omitted, then and only then can the audience see the show.
As I said... it is an iceberg!
Bombing the Delft
During our obligatory visit to my parents this year, I started putting some names on photographs and she started telling stories as she saw them. I had heard this one before but there were new details that I was unaware of.
My grandmother was a nurse and midwife, she probably delivered every baby in the district for decades. My mother was ten and for some reason a young fellow called Sid was with them on this adventure. This was the day a new word came into the language penned by some Nazi functionary and approved by Hitler. The cathedral city of Coventry was being so heavily bombed that the Nazis warned that every other city and town in England was to receive the same treatment. They were to be Coventrated.
In WWII bombing was awfully inaccurate and stray bombs were falling on the small market town of Tamworth where my family lived. One of my grandmother's patients was hysterical with fear and Gran went with my mother to her house to help calm her down. As they arrived the bombing became fiercer and closer to home so Gran rushed inside and started emptying the little triangular cupboard under the stairs to use as an emergency shelter. She grabbed great stacks of expensive Delft china and slid them along the hall tiles away from the door. Breaking many in the process. Any that were not broken then were about to be. As soon as the space was clear enough, the bombing became suddenly louder and closer and they piled in. Young Sid went in first and sat on two huge pickle jars, my mother sat on his lap and the pregnant patient and Gran sat in the other end. As she slammed the door shut the bomb hit.
The brick house was lifted off its foundations and it smashed down at an odd angle. A huge beam separated the adults and children along with piles of rubble. The only injury to the little group was Sid, the pickle bottles smashed and he had a cut on his arse. Rescuers came and quickly got the adults out, but although they knew the kids were alive, rescue for them came 20 hours later. What follows are most shocking events in the story to modern eyes.
Once they were outside, the rescuers moved onto the next job and the kids were on the bombed street unsure of what to do next. Gran was off bandaging the wounded and Grandad was fire watching, his partner looked up at the wrong time and lost an eye. The kids proceeded to Gran and Grandad's house but on the way she fell into a bomb crater and was dragged out by the hair by a Methodist minister who promptly called her a 'Silly bugger'. Hearing the minister swear was the most shocking thing for my mother. She wouldn't have thought that possible.
What shocked me was that the family was nowhere to be seen, they didn't help with the rescue, they didn't even stand around anxiously waiting for news. I am sure every parent, every brother and sister reading this is thinking WHAT??? at this point. We would all be in there, dragging bricks off the great pile and lifting wreckage. We just would not stop till the kids were free. At first I thought that our family was just dysfunctional, but there was Sid's family that could have helped, and wouldn't the family of the pregnant woman feel some sort of responsibility?
They received no help, no counselling, no trip to the hospital for observation, nothing. They were just left to wander the street alone till they found someone who gave a damn.
Different times huh?
My grandmother was a nurse and midwife, she probably delivered every baby in the district for decades. My mother was ten and for some reason a young fellow called Sid was with them on this adventure. This was the day a new word came into the language penned by some Nazi functionary and approved by Hitler. The cathedral city of Coventry was being so heavily bombed that the Nazis warned that every other city and town in England was to receive the same treatment. They were to be Coventrated.
In WWII bombing was awfully inaccurate and stray bombs were falling on the small market town of Tamworth where my family lived. One of my grandmother's patients was hysterical with fear and Gran went with my mother to her house to help calm her down. As they arrived the bombing became fiercer and closer to home so Gran rushed inside and started emptying the little triangular cupboard under the stairs to use as an emergency shelter. She grabbed great stacks of expensive Delft china and slid them along the hall tiles away from the door. Breaking many in the process. Any that were not broken then were about to be. As soon as the space was clear enough, the bombing became suddenly louder and closer and they piled in. Young Sid went in first and sat on two huge pickle jars, my mother sat on his lap and the pregnant patient and Gran sat in the other end. As she slammed the door shut the bomb hit.
The brick house was lifted off its foundations and it smashed down at an odd angle. A huge beam separated the adults and children along with piles of rubble. The only injury to the little group was Sid, the pickle bottles smashed and he had a cut on his arse. Rescuers came and quickly got the adults out, but although they knew the kids were alive, rescue for them came 20 hours later. What follows are most shocking events in the story to modern eyes.
Once they were outside, the rescuers moved onto the next job and the kids were on the bombed street unsure of what to do next. Gran was off bandaging the wounded and Grandad was fire watching, his partner looked up at the wrong time and lost an eye. The kids proceeded to Gran and Grandad's house but on the way she fell into a bomb crater and was dragged out by the hair by a Methodist minister who promptly called her a 'Silly bugger'. Hearing the minister swear was the most shocking thing for my mother. She wouldn't have thought that possible.
What shocked me was that the family was nowhere to be seen, they didn't help with the rescue, they didn't even stand around anxiously waiting for news. I am sure every parent, every brother and sister reading this is thinking WHAT??? at this point. We would all be in there, dragging bricks off the great pile and lifting wreckage. We just would not stop till the kids were free. At first I thought that our family was just dysfunctional, but there was Sid's family that could have helped, and wouldn't the family of the pregnant woman feel some sort of responsibility?
They received no help, no counselling, no trip to the hospital for observation, nothing. They were just left to wander the street alone till they found someone who gave a damn.
Different times huh?
Memories of Colour
There exists a picture of my mother and I taken almost sixty years ago. I was something like three or four months old and my mother, clearly proud and pleased to have produced me. Every now and then in my childhood, I remember her bringing it out to embarrass me, the way many mothers must do as part of the normal duties, part and parcel of bringing up a boy.
I am dressed in the usual over decorated fancy hat and cape and she is wearing a dark blue dress with white piping around the edges. Or is she?
Colour has played a role in some of my former jobs, culminating in being a colour photograph printer in the early eighties. Hand printing wedding pictures takes a great deal of skill, as I am sure my neighbour Stephen Henry, photographer, will agree. Seeing the subtle shades of colour in the shadows, knowing how much colour to subtract on the enlarger so that the next print would be perfect, I found took a deal of concentration that I never knew I had.
So why is it that when I refer to the picture to my mother she always corrects my assertion that the dress was dark blue, It was, of course green. Why is it that this brain, a brain that was at least capable of being trained to a high degree of colour perception, steadfastly insisted against the evidence, that the dress was blue?
What else have I got wrong in my memories?
How can I trust anything I remember faced with this, this, memory?
I am dressed in the usual over decorated fancy hat and cape and she is wearing a dark blue dress with white piping around the edges. Or is she?
Colour has played a role in some of my former jobs, culminating in being a colour photograph printer in the early eighties. Hand printing wedding pictures takes a great deal of skill, as I am sure my neighbour Stephen Henry, photographer, will agree. Seeing the subtle shades of colour in the shadows, knowing how much colour to subtract on the enlarger so that the next print would be perfect, I found took a deal of concentration that I never knew I had.
So why is it that when I refer to the picture to my mother she always corrects my assertion that the dress was dark blue, It was, of course green. Why is it that this brain, a brain that was at least capable of being trained to a high degree of colour perception, steadfastly insisted against the evidence, that the dress was blue?
What else have I got wrong in my memories?
How can I trust anything I remember faced with this, this, memory?
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