Years ago, I was working delivering car parts and occasionally, I'd have a bit of free and chat to my loadmaster, solving the problems of the world. One day after a couple of incidents that made us question the quality of young men around us, he said to me, "In 1940, when Britain stood alone against the Nazis, a lot of young men rushed to join the RAF as air crew. Those that were selected as pilots could be, and often were, 19 years old. At this age they were COMMANDING a bomber, responsible for the mission and the men in the aircraft." "How many of these boys would we give that responsibility to?"
"I don't think any of them could do it." I said "These kids have been told how, wonderful, creative and talented they are all their lives.
Now they come here and expect us to treat them like it was true."
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Shameful Treatment
In World War II, long before the Americans were able to join, the Battle of Britain convinced any doubters that air power will be the way to win this war. PBI's (Poor Bloody Infantry) would eventually have to go in and take what was left, but it was the RAF who were going to be taking the war to the Germans. This they did, night after terrifying night.
To do this they would need aircraft and aircrew. The aircraft were taken care of by an amazing man, Lord Beaverbrook. He was a marked man, being Jewish, and was on Hitler's death list should he take Britain. Noel Coward, after the public release of the list, received a telegram "My dear, the people we would have been seen dead with!" Beaverbrook streamlined production and modification to a level that was little short of miraculous. Pilots were consulted and listened to, spares could be ordered direct from airfield to factory and aircraft were delivered direct to the bases, no government red tape to be seen.
For the aircrew a much wider organisation was required and the Empire Training Scheme was devised. Men were sent for different types of training and selection - Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, all set up schools. And Australian flyers went to each one. Only about 3% of all enlisted Australian soldiers, sailors and airmen went to Europe and the Middle East to fly and yet from this small group came 39% of the casualties. If you flew against the Axis, your chances of coming through unscathed or coming through at all, were not great. Yet night after night these men climbed into their aircraft, flew over occupied and dangerous country, carried out their missions and hopefully, chased the sun home. To them, we owe nothing less than the survival of Western civilization.
Britons cheered them on as they flew overhead and counted them home as they landed. But after the war, when the survivors had landed for the last time, the photographs of what they had done flooded the papers. The people were ashamed of them. They were the only group of combatants to be in every theatre and every day of every battle. They fought from beginning to end, and some only stopped when they were injured or killed. I have read of men who volunteered over and over again, counting nearly a hundred trips over enemy territory. Each one capable of causing death or maiming any or all of these men. And yet, the greatest injustice of them all, they received no campaign medals, no recognition, nothing. They were shunned even to the extent that in the victory parade, they were the only group of any size that were not permitted to march.
Shameful.
To do this they would need aircraft and aircrew. The aircraft were taken care of by an amazing man, Lord Beaverbrook. He was a marked man, being Jewish, and was on Hitler's death list should he take Britain. Noel Coward, after the public release of the list, received a telegram "My dear, the people we would have been seen dead with!" Beaverbrook streamlined production and modification to a level that was little short of miraculous. Pilots were consulted and listened to, spares could be ordered direct from airfield to factory and aircraft were delivered direct to the bases, no government red tape to be seen.
For the aircrew a much wider organisation was required and the Empire Training Scheme was devised. Men were sent for different types of training and selection - Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, all set up schools. And Australian flyers went to each one. Only about 3% of all enlisted Australian soldiers, sailors and airmen went to Europe and the Middle East to fly and yet from this small group came 39% of the casualties. If you flew against the Axis, your chances of coming through unscathed or coming through at all, were not great. Yet night after night these men climbed into their aircraft, flew over occupied and dangerous country, carried out their missions and hopefully, chased the sun home. To them, we owe nothing less than the survival of Western civilization.
Britons cheered them on as they flew overhead and counted them home as they landed. But after the war, when the survivors had landed for the last time, the photographs of what they had done flooded the papers. The people were ashamed of them. They were the only group of combatants to be in every theatre and every day of every battle. They fought from beginning to end, and some only stopped when they were injured or killed. I have read of men who volunteered over and over again, counting nearly a hundred trips over enemy territory. Each one capable of causing death or maiming any or all of these men. And yet, the greatest injustice of them all, they received no campaign medals, no recognition, nothing. They were shunned even to the extent that in the victory parade, they were the only group of any size that were not permitted to march.
Shameful.
Service Call
Me: Oh hello, I booked a service call for my dryer today and I have a question.
Them: yes?
Me: When I did, you asked me what was wrong with the dryer.
Them: Yes...
Me: Why?
Them: So we can tell the technician what to expect.
Me: So why didn't you? He came without the part I told you he needed. Now, I have to wait while you get the part from god-knows-where and take more time off work (slight exaggeration) so when he comes with (hopefully) the correct part I can let him in. All the intervening time we are without a dryer. And it looks like rain around here.
Them: [silence]
Me: I just wish that when service people talk to me, they would listen to what I say and act accordingly. If you are going to ignore me, please tell me in the beginning so I won't bother helping you and I know what to expect.
I say 'helping you' as this won't cost me a cent more, but you have to pay this guy to come twice.
I know you deal with a lot of idiots who wouldn't know one end of a machine from another, but I am not one of them. Perhaps you could change your default assumption from, they are all idiots, to, some are idiots, but lets give everyone the benefit of the doubt and see what happens.
Them: [Silence.]
Me: Goodbye. Click
Them: yes?
Me: When I did, you asked me what was wrong with the dryer.
Them: Yes...
Me: Why?
Them: So we can tell the technician what to expect.
Me: So why didn't you? He came without the part I told you he needed. Now, I have to wait while you get the part from god-knows-where and take more time off work (slight exaggeration) so when he comes with (hopefully) the correct part I can let him in. All the intervening time we are without a dryer. And it looks like rain around here.
Them: [silence]
Me: I just wish that when service people talk to me, they would listen to what I say and act accordingly. If you are going to ignore me, please tell me in the beginning so I won't bother helping you and I know what to expect.
I say 'helping you' as this won't cost me a cent more, but you have to pay this guy to come twice.
I know you deal with a lot of idiots who wouldn't know one end of a machine from another, but I am not one of them. Perhaps you could change your default assumption from, they are all idiots, to, some are idiots, but lets give everyone the benefit of the doubt and see what happens.
Them: [Silence.]
Me: Goodbye. Click
A tale of two tours
I have been to Rome four times and each time I went to the Vatican Museum, surely one of the great museums of the world. In the VM you can wander around aimlessly or you can follow one of the four colour coded tours. Each time, besides being fully aware of this fact, I choose the same damned tour, I forget which I have seen and yet always seem to choose the same one to see again.
Several hours west of Sydney (Australia) there are an extraordinarily beautiful group of limestone caves - The Jenolan Caves ( http://www.jenolancaves.org.au) where they also have different tours and I also choose the same caves despite trying to choose a different one each time.
These caves were popular for 'turn of the century' trips from Sydney by horse and cart taking a week or so for the trip. In the caves in those days each guest carried a candle for light and as the paths and steps were not then cut or lit, there was a lot of clambering and sliding. In one spot there is a huge rock, about the size of a one story house, that sloped around 30 degrees downward. Our intrepid visitors were required to slide down this on their arses, slowing themselves down with their hands. This left only one place to hold the lit candle - in their teeth. Men of those times sported very big beards, and it was not unusual for a man to be hurtling down the slab screaming because his face was on fire and he could either put out the flames or smash into the rocks at the bottom.
They made them tough in those days.
Several hours west of Sydney (Australia) there are an extraordinarily beautiful group of limestone caves - The Jenolan Caves ( http://www.jenolancaves.org.au) where they also have different tours and I also choose the same caves despite trying to choose a different one each time.
These caves were popular for 'turn of the century' trips from Sydney by horse and cart taking a week or so for the trip. In the caves in those days each guest carried a candle for light and as the paths and steps were not then cut or lit, there was a lot of clambering and sliding. In one spot there is a huge rock, about the size of a one story house, that sloped around 30 degrees downward. Our intrepid visitors were required to slide down this on their arses, slowing themselves down with their hands. This left only one place to hold the lit candle - in their teeth. Men of those times sported very big beards, and it was not unusual for a man to be hurtling down the slab screaming because his face was on fire and he could either put out the flames or smash into the rocks at the bottom.
They made them tough in those days.
Neanderthals
My first wife and I lived for a time, in a country town called Toowoomba. And yes, foreigners, it is as odd as it sounds. She was walking home from college one afternoon when she passed a building site. Now, for a woman, passing a building site in the new millennium is nothing at all. Worksites are surrounded with plywood walls that obscures sightlines from both directions. But back in the seventies, any woman walking past a place where men worked were likely to be subjected to a series of cat calls and wolf whistles. Her response was to indicate just how hard and exactly where she was going to put her umbrella, should they continue. They shut up immediately, probably because most women in those days would just hurry past and try to ignore the raucous Neanderthals.
Today, I suspect, any woman who was subjected to this outrage would march right up to the site office and tear strips off the site supervisor. But these were the days when advertising for an employee of a particular gender was only just made illegal. Building sites around the country resorted to creative methods of ensuring only men applied, the most popular being that applicants must be prepared to work shirtless. It occurred to me that many of the 'younger generation' would not only, not employ the 'wolf whistle', but not recognise it if someone did. I present this as evidence that society is improving, we are getting better at being decent people and recognising where others slip back into Neanderthalism.
I know we have a long way to go. Progress is always slow on a social level, but we are moving in the right direction and that is a good thing to be doing.
Today, I suspect, any woman who was subjected to this outrage would march right up to the site office and tear strips off the site supervisor. But these were the days when advertising for an employee of a particular gender was only just made illegal. Building sites around the country resorted to creative methods of ensuring only men applied, the most popular being that applicants must be prepared to work shirtless. It occurred to me that many of the 'younger generation' would not only, not employ the 'wolf whistle', but not recognise it if someone did. I present this as evidence that society is improving, we are getting better at being decent people and recognising where others slip back into Neanderthalism.
I know we have a long way to go. Progress is always slow on a social level, but we are moving in the right direction and that is a good thing to be doing.
Building the Obsevatory
This project took me 12 months from laying the concrete to lifting the turret in place. Here is what I did.
I spent a long time thinking about ways to do this and made many mistakes. The pad was my first. I tried to save money by having it poured at the same time as another slab was laid. Next time, I'd make the slab 3 meters square not four, and have it stand proud of the soil. Much less opportunity for water to get under the walls. I would also get the pipe for the pier positioned before the slab was laid, rather than rely on reo and a box of concrete to attach the pier, I'd buy it a meter longer and bury it in the slab footings. I think I probably went overkill on the central concrete column, but there is no way to tell.
I had a couple of data pipes laid underground, and got the sparky to connect the power and internet/phone line. After seeing my workshop built, I had the idea of building a three meter cube with the same method. The garage people said their engineers weren't happy about making a building and not a roof. But they were persuaded and It was a terrific solution. I put up the framing for three of the walls and then built a scaffold to hold the joists in place. Once the joists were in position I slid the floor up onto the joists attached it securely and cut the floor hatch out. The floor is just above the doorway so the top of the wall is about hip height. I then fixed a drilled steel plate to the pier, aligned it roughly N/S and welded it on. The main plate duplicates the shape of my tripod but made of a substantial slab of steel. I hadn't taken into account a protruding part of my CGEM mount, so I had enormous fun, making sparks and grinding some of the slab away.
I then had to think about the top. I couldn't get anyone to respond when I tried to buy the domes made around here and couldn't afford the one other I looked at. ($11K) My first turret was made of ply. Heavy exterior ply. I had a building designer friend tell me where I went wrong with its construction - see now, I built it like a theatre set and not like a building. So I pulled it apart and rebuilt it. I went through a lot of ideas trying to work out how to do a cut the friction as the turret rotates. Eventually I found these little Chinese rollers that are used in screen door applications and ordered 600, they are rated at 20Kg each and the turret weighed 350kg. A mate has a truck with a crane so he loaded the turret onto his truck and put it in place. It rotated, but it was just too hard to push. I had no alternative but to scrap the turret and do something else.
I had built a little 3D model that showed me I had the proportions right. (I got that idea from Medieval cathedral builders!) So I took the turret to a couple of metal fabricators and gave one the job. They did a great job and it is now on the cube and rotating well. In the next few days, I'll get my scope together, carpet both floors, put some furniture in and open the hatch to space.
Saturn
I remember my very first look through any sort of telescope. It was like most kids get, a five inch reflector. It was actually my brother's, though it mystified me why my parents chose him over me to receive this. I was the one who loved science. Anyway, neither of us knew how to work it, principally because we didn't know how it worked.
Eventually, after doing stuff to it that would require a couple of hours thought and planning and a scotch nowadays, we finally saw something. All we ever did was look at the moon and every bright star in the sky.
One night in particular I remember and I'll bet you all a dollar Wayne remembers the night this happened to him. I saw Saturn. Those rings, those gorgeous, unmistakeable rings, popped out of the blackness and seared themselves into my memory. If I could win a million dollars for it, I couldn't describe the TV I saw Armstrong take his step upon. But I remember Saturn.
In such a scope, it couldn't have been much I would remark about now, but it was beautiful. Saturn on my new scope will be another milestone along with my first galaxy, Andromeda, and my first nebula, Orion. The sales guy put it this way. "On this scope, the Cassini rings are not even a challenge!" He needn't have said another word, that sold it right there. I'll be able to see the Cassini Rings! The Cassini Rings don't actually exist, they are the spaces between the numerous rings of great gas giant. I will not only see the clouds on Saturn, but through the rings as well!
Eventually, after doing stuff to it that would require a couple of hours thought and planning and a scotch nowadays, we finally saw something. All we ever did was look at the moon and every bright star in the sky.
One night in particular I remember and I'll bet you all a dollar Wayne remembers the night this happened to him. I saw Saturn. Those rings, those gorgeous, unmistakeable rings, popped out of the blackness and seared themselves into my memory. If I could win a million dollars for it, I couldn't describe the TV I saw Armstrong take his step upon. But I remember Saturn.
In such a scope, it couldn't have been much I would remark about now, but it was beautiful. Saturn on my new scope will be another milestone along with my first galaxy, Andromeda, and my first nebula, Orion. The sales guy put it this way. "On this scope, the Cassini rings are not even a challenge!" He needn't have said another word, that sold it right there. I'll be able to see the Cassini Rings! The Cassini Rings don't actually exist, they are the spaces between the numerous rings of great gas giant. I will not only see the clouds on Saturn, but through the rings as well!
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