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Old picture from Pioneer village AZ with a new background of a Alligator Juniper bark from Mingus mountain
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+++ DISCLAIMER +++
Nothing you see here is real, even though the model, the conversion or the presented background story might be based on historical facts. BEWARE!
Some background:
AGO was founded in 1911 in Munich as Flugmaschinenwerke Gustav Otto by Gustav Otto and a Dr Herbert Alberti. Gustav, the son of Nicolaus Otto – inventor of the four-stroke engine, was a pioneer aviator (pilot's license No. 34) and engine-builder. As was usual in those days, a flying school was attached to the business – one of its later students was Ernst Udet. The initials AGO had a variety of meanings (such as Aktiengesellschaft Otto) during the company's lifetime, but in its final version stood for Apparatebau GmbH Oschersleben. At its peak, the company employed around 4,500 people.
After the outbreak of World War I, AGO built a series of military reconnaissance aircraft, beginning with the AGO C.I – a pusher-powered biplane designed by August Haefeli. The most successful of AGO's wartime aircraft was the C.IV of 1916, of which 70 examples were built. After the Armistice, Otto tried automobile manufacturing, but in 1919 had to dismiss the employees of the Berlin company and divest himself of the Oschersleben factory. He himself withdrew to Lake Starnberg where he died in 1926. The company continued, and in the same year developed 20 new hectares of factory space near the Sudenburger Maschinenfabrik und Eisengießerei AG plant at Magdeburg. By 1928 this enterprise was also forced to close. On 30 July 1930, AGO's remaining assets were sold at auction by order of the court.
In 1933 the government resurrected AGO by refurbishing the Oschersleben plant for aircraft production once more. The first order was for 36 Arado Ar 65 fighters, 197 Arado Ar 66 trainers, and 71 Heinkel He 51 fighters. The first of these to fly was an Ar 65s, on 1 May 1935. This was followed by an order for 140 Henschel Hs 123 dive-bombers delivered at the end of 1937, AGO's introduction to all-metal construction. Next came orders for 241 Gotha Go 145 trainers and 187 Arado Ar 96, and then 150 Henschel Hs 126 reconnaissance aircraft. This latter order was increased to 390 units in Summer 1938. Between March 1937 and March 1938, AGO built 121 Focke-Wulf Fw 44. In 1938, production of the Messerschmitt Bf 109 began, and from 1941 onwards, the Focke-Wulf Fw 190 became the mainstay of AGO's production.
AGO only designed a few aircraft on their own and produced them during WWII. The first new AGO aircraft becoming the AGO Ao 192 Kurier of 1937. The last type that went into production was the Ao 175, a reconnaissance and liaison aircraft. A design for a heavy fighter project, the Ao 225 did not progress past the wind-tunnel stage and even the 8−225 RLM airframe designator for the type was withdrawn by the RLM and reassigned to Focke-Achgelis.
The Ao 175 was conceived when the Henschel Hs 126, a pre-war twin-seat design from 1936 with a parasol wing reconnaissance and observation short range aircraft, entered service. While fulfilling its duties it lacked overall performance, the type showed little development potential, so that the Reichsluftfahrtministerium (RLM) issued a specification for an advanced short-range reconnaissance aircraft to succeed the type in the tactical support role provided by the Luftwaffe to the Wehrmacht. While Arado Flugzeugwerke (Arado) had responded with the Arado Ar 198, Focke-Wulf's design team produced the Fw 189, a twin-boom aircraft with a central crew gondola with a glazed stepless cockpit. AGO proposed the Ao 175, which was, using the Hs 126 as benchmark, the most conventional design, and it was adopted together with the bigger Fw 189.
The Ao 175 was a conservative design and followed the Hs 126’s parasol layout with a fixed landing gear but differed in some details and offered a better overall performance. The aircraft’s overall dimensions were like the Hs 126, but the all-metal fuselage was sleeker, with a fully closed and generously glazed cockpit for pilot and observer who sat in tandem. The cabin offered space for an additional folding seat for a passenger or a third crewman, e.g. an observer or a camera operator.
For reconnaissance duties the Ao 175 featured three camera compartments behind the cabin: a vertical rack, an oblique forward rack, and a compartment for a horizontal camera with a window in the port side flank. Rb 20/30 and Rb 50/30 cameras could be mounted in each, the oblique rack could even hold a longer Rb 75/30 camera.
The Ao 175’s high wing was mounted above the cockpit and braced against the fuselage, but with less struts and drag than on the Hs 126. A fixed slat ran along the entire length of the wing's leading edge while a hinged and slotted set of control surfaces ran along the entire length of trailing edge. This arrangement was allegedly inspired by an earlier Junkers wing design concept, referred to as a “Doppelflügel” or "double-wing" aircraft wing control surface. On the Ao 175, this setup along each wing panel's trailing edge was split nearly 50/50 between the inboard-located flaps and outboard-located ailerons, which, in turn, included trim tab devices over half of each aileron's trailing edge length. This combination of flaps and slats created an impressive STOL and slow airspeed performance – in fact, the design was so effective that the Ao 175 could land almost vertically when flying against the wind and also required less than 100 m of runway for taking off.
The Ao 175’s powerplant was a liquid-cooled Jumo 211A with 1.000 hp – an unusual choice for a reconnaissance aircraft that operates at low altitudes, but the engine was chosen because it was available and proven, and it offered a relatively low cowling that resulted in a very good field of view for the pilot ahead and downwards. Thanks to the relatively powerful engine and good aerodynamics the Ao 175 achieved a top speed of more than 400 km/h, considerably more than any other German reconnaissance type of the early and mid-war period.
The Ao 175’s armament was still relatively light. It consisted of a synchronized single 13 mm MG 131 in the cowling in front of the cockpit which fired through the propeller disc, and for defense a 7.92 mm (.312 in) MG 15 machine gun in a dorsal flexible mount position fired to rear – even though several other, heavier weapons like the twin-barrel MG 81Z or another MG 131 were frequently mounted by the crews.
A ventral hardpoint could carry a single 250 kg (550 lb) bomb or similar loads (e .g. a rack with 2x2 50 kg bombs), but in practice this was hardly ever used. Instead, a 300 l drop tank was frequently carried to extend range and loiter time, or a cargo container of similar shape when the aircraft was used for liaison missions.
During early 1940, Luftwaffe pilots commenced training on the new type. While operational trials of the type were quite successful, Luftwaffe officials concluded that there was little advantage to withdrawing the existing Hs 126s in favor of Ao 175s. Instead, the service decided to introduce the type relatively slowly, thus the Ao 175, just like the Fw 189, was not operational at any meaningful quantity until the summer of 1942. This delay did allow for some refinements to the aircraft, though, particularly its airframe, to be performed during 1941. Modifications around this time included desert survival gear and floats, because most of the first Ao 175 A-1 production models were sent into the MTO and operated in North Africa, Italy, and the Balkans.
By September 1942, 172 Ao 175s were reportedly operational at the Southern front, making up the majority of short-range reconnaissance aircraft present. After that, more aircraft of the improved B variant were delivered, primarily to the Eastern front. Thanks to its relatively high speed and maneuverability Soviet fighters had difficulties targeting the Ao 175, and the Flamingo was often able to out-turn attacking fighters by flying in a tight circle into which enemy fighters could not follow or use the aircraft’s excellent climbing ability at low altitude to move out of fighters’ way. Ao 175 also saw service on other fronts, including West in France and Belgium and even the Middle East.
Production ended in 1944 after roughly 750 aircraft, exact production numbers remain uncertain because production was, beyond ARO’s Oschersleben factory, also carried out in France and Czechoslovakia.
General characteristics:
Crew: 2 (plus 1 optional passenger)
Length: 11.5 m (37 ft 8.75 in)
Wingspan: 13.86 m (45 ft 4.75 in)
Height: 4,18 m (13 ft 8 in)
Wing area: 30.0 m² (322 ft²)
Empty weight: 2,030 kg (4,480 lb)
Loaded weight: 2,493 kg (6,483 lb)
Powerplant:
1× liquid-cooled Jumo 211A with 1.000 hp (736 kW) at 2.200 rpm,
driving a three-blade Junkers constant speed propeller
Performance:
Maximum speed: 395 km/h (245 mph, 215 kn) at 2,500 m (8,200 ft)
Cruise speed: 317 km/h (197 mph, 171 kn)
Landing speed: 65 km/h (40 mph; 35 kn)
Stall speed: 55 km/h (34 mph; 30 kn)
Take-off distance to 50 ft (15 m): 150 m (491 ft)
Range: 1,500 km (620 mi, 540 nmi)
Service ceiling: 7,000 m (23,000 ft)
Rate of climb: 550 m/min (1,800 ft/min)
Time to altitude: 4,000 m (13,000 ft) in eight minutes and 18 seconds
Wing loading: 166 kg/m² (34 lb/ft²)
Armament:
1x 13 mm MG 131 machine gun in the nose, synchronized to fire through the propeller
1x 7.92 mm MG 15 machine gun in a flexible dorsal mount
(often replaced with a 7.92 mm MG 81Z or a 13 mm MG 131).
1x ventral hardpoint for a 250 kg (550 lb) bomb or a 300 l (66 imp. gal/80 US gal) drop tank
The kit and its assembly:
This build is the result of a long gestation and the use of several kitbashing remains from former projects – incidentally all German donors. At the core was a leftover but complete MPM Ju 87 A fuselage, a typical early short-run kit with thick sprues and massive attachment points of the parts, lack of locator pins on the parts, dubious fit, and a very thin and wobbly vacu canopy. Nothing you really want to work with…
I also had wings and landing gear from an Italeri Hs 126, and recently it struck me to combine these with the Ju 87 fuselage into a mid-war recce/spotter aircraft.
However, as simple as this sounds, closer inspection of the hardware revealed several flaws in my plan, and overcoming these required more planning. This led eventually to more/extra donor parts in the form of Fi 156 wings (Academy kit) to bring the concept to fruition, because the deep Hs 126 wings and their elliptical shape would not match well with the rest of the Ju 87, and especially not with its cockpit position and glazing. As a bonus, though, the Fi 156 wings also had the benefit of a square shape which would match well with the Ju 87 stabilizers, and they also had a kinked root for a direct attachment to the fuselage instead of the Hs 126’s indirect struts arrangement. The Hs 126’s spatted landing gear was to be retained, though, because it would fit very well under a Ju 87.
Work started with the chunky fuselage, and I kept it mostly OOB. The only major change is the addition of an adapter for the propeller mounted on an axis (OOB there is NOTHING – you are supposed to glue the spinner to the hull, and that’s it!), and I added some struts inside of the cockpit (inspired by the Westland Lysander’s construction) because the wings would require some support in real life. Major PSR and body work was required to make the Ju 87 wing roots disappear on the fuselage, a ventral display holder adapter was added, as well as camera fairings behind the cockpit. On the original Ju 87 stabilizers simpler support struts were used (actually from the Ju 87 A’s landing gear), and the Hs 126 landing gear and its spats were glued to the lower hull behind the engine.
The biggest challenge became the attachment of the wings, though, because they had to be mounted somehow to the glazing. This would already be tricky with a styrene canopy, but the Ju 87’s thin vacu canopy – due to its instability and the material as such – called for a scratched solution/construction! I initially tried to use the clear parts from the Fi 156 kit, but they would not fit. My solution eventually was again inspired by the Westland Lysander, or better the Matchbox kit’s construction: I cut two slits into the vacu canopy and placed a horizontal styrene bar through them, so that the Fi 156 wings could be mounted on their original attachment points. However, they ended up quite ahead, but at least I had them in a plausible position, even though the whole thing was not stable.
The next problem arose through the canopy itself: mounting a thin and rather flexible vacu piece on the OOB Ju 87 would already have been a stunt, but now it also carried very fragile and instable wings! With much patience and after several failed attempts I was able to fix the vacu canopy in place (with super glue and white glue), and once it was in position I added the wings support struts from the Hs 126 to stabilize the whole parasol construction and somewhat relieve the canopy from the wings’ weight. Never again…!
Painting and markings:
Putting the Ao 175 into the MTO was a good excuse to apply a German North Africa paint scheme, brought to Northern Italy with withdrawing units. The plan was to create an aircraft with field camouflage over a standard paint scheme, and to this end the painting process became a bit more complex than usual.
The core scheme is a simple, uniform RLM 78/79 (Himmelblau and Sandgelb) livery with a low and straight waterline, plus white MTO markings on fuselage and wing tips. For the Sandgelb I used Modelmaster 4789, which is a nice brownish tone that is not too bright and yellow-ish, and Tamiya XF-23 for Himmelblau, which is a tad darker and more greyish than RLM65. At this stage the white wingtip undersides were painted, too.
For the post-camouflage look the markings were added now – puzzled together from various sources. The tactical code is a mix of the Academy Storch’s individual “BA” code, which is a staff code with an unusual green letter, with a smaller unit code. The underwing “Bs” came from the Storch, as well as the fuselage Iron Crosses. The national markings above and under the wing came from a TL Modellbau aftermarket sheet, the Iron Crosses on the upper side lack black edges, so that there is no stark contrast with the Sandgelb around them. The unit badge under the windscreen is fictional, IIRC from a late German Bf 109, though. A light black ink washing was used to emphasize some seams, esp. for the flaps, and a light post-shading was done to add surface structure.
After that the tedious process of adding a meander pattern with RLM 80 (Olivgrün) over the Sandgelb base, around all markings. For the sake of easy application, I used acrylic Revell 65 (Bronzegrün, RAL 6031). Everything was done with a relatively small brush and took some time and several turns to cover area by area with the green wiggles. Some wet sanding was later used to simulate some wear and tear around the leading edges.
The propeller spinner became green with a white spiral, repeating the staff marking from the individual code letter. The propeller blades were painted with a very dark mix of green-grey and black.
As finishing steps some soot stains were created with graphite behind the exhausts, the position lights were made with clear paint on a silver base, the camera lenses (black decal material) received a glossy finish with ClearFix, and the wire antennae from the wingtips to the fin were created with heated black sprue material.
The finished aircraft looks disturbingly plausible – either like a sinewy and streamlined Henschel Hs 126, or a Fi 156 on steroids! The Fieseler Storch’s square wings are a great supplement to the equally shaped Ju 87 stabilizers, and the fixed landing gear with spats does not look out of place, either. Biggest stunt was the fitting of the high wings into/with the wobbly vacu canopy, though, and while this was a really complicated affair I am very happy how it turned out, and it’s even quite stable/rigid, thanks to the Hs 126 support struts. And the complex paint scheme effectively hides some flaws…
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!
Tile grid background. Suitable for website backgrounds, scrapbook and papercraft projects, retro designs and more.
Lots more free resources on my website!
Larger versions of this resource and more color variations available here:
creativemarket.com/rosebfischer/1482361-Colorful-Grid-Dig...
I found this nice background in an hotel room during my last trip... and took some picture
Strobist : Luckly I always have a white umbrella with me. Used it on camera left , just out of the frame. Some fill from a white wall to camera right.
Blue Background graphic available for download at http://dryicons.com/free-graphics/preview/blue-background/ in EPS (vector) format.
View similar vector graphics at DryIcons Graphics.
A 7 part series of Twitter backgrounds with a Typography theme.
imjustcreative.com/free-typography-twitter-backgrounds-se...
Grunge textile background
You can find and purchase/license this image and other my images at high resolution at microstosk agencies.
See links to my portfolios on my homepage: skobrik.com