Norfolk and Suffolk Aviation Museum

Tuesday 20 August 2002. We left Billingford Mill and headed for our next source of interest and wonderment. Which we found at a disused World War II aerodrome, now a museum. With free entry no less.

The Norfolk and Suffolk Aviation Museum turned out to be an absolute gem. This part of England was home to many squadrons of the RAF during World War II and saw much action as the German Luftwaffe either flew over on their way to or from bombing raids, or flew intentionally to RAF bases to knock them out of commission.

There were displays of aircraft standing all around representing many different periods and many different countries' air forces.

Given that Suffolk and Norfolk were on routes used by the Axis forces to and from bombing raids and that many of our own returning fighters and bombers would be trying to get back whilst shot up and badly damaged, the surrounding countryside has more than its fair share of crash sites, some of which have been excavated. Here a pile of twisted and battered aircraft parts, laboriously dug out of the ground were stored, some awaiting appraisal and identification.

A Vickers Valetta C2 used for VIP transport with the RAF in Malta, Egypt and Cyprus. The Valetta entered service in 1950, replacing the DC3 Dakota.

This aircraft was open to visitors and I went inside to take a look. This is one of only eleven aircraft built. The C2 was a specialised VIP transport. The bulk of the RAF's Valettas were C1 variants which had been designed for a number of roles and internal configurations, including troop carrying, wounded transports and glider towing. Internal fittings were made to be easily removed and fitted as required for different roles. Production of the C1 totalled 211 aircraft.

Inside the C2, the seating was arranged to face the tail of the aircraft. Typically they could seat between 9 to 25 passengers.

Every passenger comfort catered for... Ventilation controls and outlet and a button to call the steward's attention.

More displays could be found in the museum's large buildings. Gun turrets from medium to large bomber aircraft.

Tail gunners in particular were extremely vulnerable. Squashed into tiny turrets with knees up at chest height, there wasn't much chance of making a fast getaway in case of disaster, and after several hours cramped into position, you would be very stiff, freezing cold, and grateful of any assistance to get you out and straightened up even when the plane landed without having seen enemy fighters.

There's no such thing as a junk corner in a place like this - just collections of, as yet, unidentified parts and items without context.

This Spitfire wasn't a real aircraft, but was one of the many replica props built for the filming of the 1969 movie, The Battle of Britain.

There were many glass cases filled with Airfix or Revell 1/72 scale plastic model aircraft and I could have happily stood drooling over the many kits I remembered building as a boy.

The Gloster Javelin was the world's first delta winged twin jet fighter. This example dates from 1958 and was used to support the Zambian Government against Rhodesia.

Great Yarmouth 2002 Index

Beer Village in Devon

Friday 13 (eek!) August 1993. We have travelled from our campsite to Beer, just a few miles to the east of Sidmouth and on the edge of the Jurassic Heritage Coast.

It is a very old village. At the time of the Domesday Book survey in 1086 it had 28 households. It now numbers over a thousand inhabitants. Tourism is its main source of inclome these days but lace making, quarrying of its chalk and flint cliffs and smuggling were all local industries at one time or another.

It is a delightful little village. I was kicking myself for forgetting to pick up the sketch pad which was still in the tent back at Sidmouth. The name of Beer incidentally is nothing to do with the drink, but derives from the Old English word Bearu which means a grove (a group of trees standing so close as to allow only the bare minimum of shrubbery or other growth between them).

A small stream flows down the main street, channelled into an open stone conduit that is far too modern looking due to the extension of the modern footpath to its edges. Here and there are stone structures housing a pump that could be used for washing or drinking. It would have been a risky thing to do perhaps. Before the conduit, the stream used to run down the middle of the street, spread wide and shallow, yet joined by each household's effluent and the guts of fish that the village women would sit outside, cutting out of the fish and flinging into the stream in the hope that rain would soon swell the stream making it strong enough to carry them down into the sea. The street smells much better these days I should imagine.

The village today is extremely lovely. In fact almost no matter which way you turn, whatever direction you look, you could take a pleasing photograph. The buildings are mostly made of local stone and faced with the glassy flints that are found within the chalk caves of the quarry.

The road becomes steeper as you approach the beach, which is shingle. A part of the cliff at the side of the road and fronting onto the beach has been turned into a large platform, now a great place to sit on the benches provided to gaze out to sea.

It looks so innocent, yet during World War II when invasion was thought to be likely, it disguised the entrance to a gun emplacement, given away by the broad slit in the cliff face below it which allowed a wide field of fire cover the beach on which enemy troops would have been likely to land if an invasion had gone ahead.

The shingle beach looking east. The limestone cliffs were quarried from at least Roman times and perhaps even earlier. A thirty foot (9.14 metres) layer contains fewer flints and is the main seam for quarrying. The stone can be easily cut in any direction when first quarried but exposure to the air makes it go extremely hard. Stonemasons would therefore work within the caves to shape the stone before it became harder and more difficult to saw and sculpt. Windsor Castle, Westminster Abbey and St Pauls are just some of the buildings that are built of it.

The beach looking west. There is no harbour here. Boats are dragged up the steep shingle slope, now by chains connected to engines and in the past by a capstan high on the beach which could be turned by up to 20 people so presumably was capable of hauling quite large fishing boats up the beach. The shingle makes for uncomfortable walking but here and there are long strips of rubber forming paths. They turned out to be old converyor belts that had become too worn for their original purpose, when I enquired.

We had lunch in a tea rooms. Is there anything as satisfying as taking a break in a traditional tea rooms rather than a common cafe? Perhaps there is no difference but a tea room always seems a bit more refined somehow. This one was licensed too, so we went for a refined booze...

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Blackpool's Jubilee Air Show (Part 1 of 2)

Back in 1977 everything was labelled "Jubilee". It was the year of the Silver Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II and after a period when the Royals were out of vogue all of a sudden Britain could not get enough of them. The entire country went red, white and blue and Blackpool celebrated with a Jubilee Air Show, held at and over the Squires Gate Airport over the weekend of 28-29 May 1977.

The airport was not as busy then as it was to become. Apart from the Isle of Man, round the Tower and the occasional mail planes, it was fairly quiet. Quiet enough at any rate to hold the air show overhead with just a couple of regular flights taking off or landing between displays.

I was there myself and yet when I look back at these photos I took almost 40 years ago, I'm amazed at the carefree, let the punters walk round the aircraft atmosphere that there was. Yes there were a few barriers - even then, Health & Safety was not about to let people wander about the runway. But they could could walk around very close indeed to the aircraft including some which would have display slots during the day.

As witness the crowd around the Fairey Swordfish - we'll have a closer look in a minute - during one of the pauses in the programme to allow a local plane to land.

There were two Spitfires flying that day, one of which was licensed for a full aerobatic display and the other which was allowed to fly up and down alongside the row of spectators at the barriers but without doing any loops or rolls.

The Avro Lancaster, probably Britain's most famous World War II bomber, was there in the shape of the City of Lincoln which flew during the day and when not airborne was parked close to the barriers.

The Fylde Radio Controlled Models Society had laid out a display before the Lancaster. I think there was a smaller version of a Lancaster there. They too gave display flights of their models as part of the day's programme.

A few shots of the Lancaster...

It had been built right at the end of the war, too late in fact to carry out any hostile missions. Instead she was put to use undertaking aerial surveys over Africa until 1952 when she returned to the UK to face an initially uncertain future. Luckily she was spared and restored and joined the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight in 1973.

The Fairey Swordfish was one of last biplanes in service with the British armed forces, serving in the Fleet Air Arm as torpedo spotters and dive bombers. Already considered obsolete by the start of the war, the 1936 Swordfish never-the-less had great successes in their field and served right through to the end of the Second World War both in Europe and the Far East.

The photos here have been scanned from prints, the negatives having been lost I'm afraid. Yet another of my collection of photo albums from the year 1977.

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The Perks Family Photo Tin

I've spent a few hours recently going through an old toffee tin of photos from Fran's side of the family. I suspect a lot of families will have something similar. Maybe an old album, maybe a box, maybe a biscuit tin... It contains photos going back to at least the 1930s and possibly 1920s. Some of the people shown are totally unknown and with next to no chance of finding out who they are unless someone reading this recognises a great aunt or whatever. Some we do know. The main characters binding them all together are this couple...

This is Robert Walton Perks, who we shall call "Bob" from now on. In this late 1930s photo, taken by a Walkie-Snaps operator in Blackpool, he strolls along the Promenade in front of the Central pier with the old 1930s lifeboat house behind him and his sweetheart, possibly by then his wife, Margaret (Peggy) Birch. This is Fran's mum and dad.

Some of the photos - as will be the case with many such collections, thrown together loosely in a tin or box - are in a bit of a state. Many are torn, scratched, dirty. Some are fading to white. A few were not properly fixed during the processing and are fading to black! I'm not expert at this, but I've managed to repair some of the damage to bring back some of the lost detail.

We're not really sure who this lady is. We think it's 1930s. She bears a bit of a resemblance to Ellen Brophy, Fran's Great-Aunt. If it is her, she was instrumental in bringing the young Peggy up as a child.

Here's a family photo, taken after a wedding, judging by the button-holes worn by many in the photo. Perhaps the bride and groom are the couple in the centre of the photo, Clifford Barker and his wife Edith in the cloche hat. Ellen, Edith's sister, is standing next to her in the photo and I wonder whether the little girl, right at the front, is a young Peggy.

In the 1970s I used to collect football coupons, calling in every week to Ellen's house who always asked me in and made a fuss of me if it was raining. At Christmas a glass of sherry would be pressed into my hand (in several houses actually - I was in danger of being over the limit even if I only took a quick sip to be polite!) Sometimes a young girl, my future wife would sit ignoring me on the sofa...

By the time I became more well known to the family Clifford and Edith were in their 70s. He was the elder statesman of the family and was always asked to give a little speech at any occasion, no matter what it was. He would always rise to the occasion, after a modest attempt to decline, saying to me, "I don't know why they always ask me..." Then he would say something flattering and appropriate to the person or couple of the moment and raise a toast to their health, prosperity (or memory...) A lovely gentleman.

By the time Peggy was old enough to work it was only natural that, as a Rochdale girl, she would go to work in a mill. Even I can remember all the mills in Rochdale. My Nana, who had worked as a mill girl used to astound me as a child by sitting with me on the upstairs of a bus, having a conversation with someone at a bus stop, simply by mouthing and lip-reading. Mills were such noisy places that you couldn't hope to hear anyone speak inside one.

Bob, seen here standing shyly next to his brother Frank, hailed from the Wolverhampton area. Born in 1918, in the closing year of the First World War, his background, I am led to believe, was a bit more basic. There's a marked difference in the photos that we think of as Bob's family, than those of Peggy's. Famously (at any rate in the memories of Fran and her brother, also named Bob) he once refused to open the door of his Rochdale home to some of his family who had come all the way from Wolverhampton to see him.

This photo could in all honesty be of Rochdale folk, but we think it is of some of Bob's family. These are what you would call good, honest, heart-of-the-land folk. They've known rough times and have come through them. And though they may well have told Granny to stay in the house out of sight, that's not going to stop her peeking through the curtains and grinning at the camera!

What a shame none of these photos has either a date or a name scribbled on the back... Many of the photos are tiny. Passport-sized dog-eared prints. They don't stand too much enlargement even if they are in focus to begin with!

This is a young Bob standing with ... well, it could be and probably is, his mother and grandmother, but we don't know.

This is quite a poignant photograph from the collection. Bob joined the Leicestershire Regiment of the Army on his 19th birthday in May 1937. His Service Certificate, which we still have, shows that he was stationed in his home country until 14 September 1938. He spent eight months in Palestine then was transferred to India in May 1939 where he spent the first and second year of World War II. On 12 February 1941 he was moved to Malaya, arriving there the following day. One year and two days later, he was captured by the Japanese.

Bob (next to the end on the right, front row) spent three years, 239 days as a Prisoner of War of the Japanese. He spent some of that time in forced labour on the infamous Burma Railway. Whilst not actually working on the bridge over the River Kwai, he did work with gangs cutting some of the clearings. Bob would never speak about his experiences. Just once was he to say privately to me how awful was the treatment given to the native slave workers. Given little food, they had to shin on ropes down cliff faces, plant explosives and climb back up before the charge went off. Many did not have the strength to climb back up and either fell off, or were blown up by the explosion.

Whatever else Bob saw or endured went to the grave with him. Peggy would tease him into his seventies, saying, "Oh, Bob won't talk about the war, will you Bob? What did the Japs do to you?"

"Nowt!" would come a grunt. And I couldn't help but think, "Nowt that you would want to remember..." Bob was liberated on 11 October 1945, was brought home to England the following day and was discharged from the Army in Shrewsbury in May 1946. His testimonial reads: "This man is cheerful willing worker. Honest and sober. Displays intelligence when interested in a job. For more than 3 years was a P.O.W. in Japanese hands."

We'll meet Bob and Peggy again.

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Our First Day in Valetta, Malta

Hmm, a bit of a photo-fest for my readers today! This entry sets a record for the blog so far with 32 photos attached to a descriptive entry! There was one entry with a lot of photos of record albums without much description but I'm not counting that!

It's Sunday 31 August 2014 and, after a day at sea as we sailed on the Thomson Majesty from Corfu, we dock in the port of Valetta on the island of Malta.

Once the boat is safely parked (I know, I know...!) we are eager to be off and exploring. We've not taken up the option of going on a tour today as this is first visit to Malta and having done a bit of research we reckon we will be well rewarded with just walking from the ship. And so it proved to be.

Valetta city is set on a rather high hill. We could have just walked up it, but expending vast amounts of energy right at the start of the day seemed downright silly when, just along the road a bit, there is a lift that takes you up from ground level to er... ground level... But a good twenty storeys up to the new ground level! The lift costs one euro. We thought this was for each person for a one-way trip, thus two euros for up and down, but the descent is as cheap by lift as it is to jump from the top and the consequences are not quite as drastic. We paid our euro each and were whisked at high speed into the air. Then the attendant put us down and told us not to run off until we had our tickets which we needed to get through the barriers to the lift...

The lift took us up to a sort of park. Through these pleasing arches are a garden and refreshment stall and on this side, to the right of the photo is a wonderful panorama of the port and harbour of Valetta.

The viewpoint also overlooks a battery of guns one of which fires every day at noon and at four o'clock in the afternoon. We'll be back at noon for the firing, but for now we turn through one of the arches to have a look at the garden.

Now it's no good whatsoever expecting me to say anything remotely intelligent about any form of plant life. Despite three years and a bit working in a college of agriculture and horticulture, I still refer to anything totally green as a "plant" and anything with coloured bits amongst the green as a "flower". It's stood me in good stead for 60 years and I'm unlikely to change now!

The walls of the garden afford some stunning views over the city and harbour. The harbour seems to be huge. Opposite us are two deep inlets with forts on the promontories. The city was fortified by the Knights of the Order of St John, who had been kicked out of Rhodes by the Ottoman Turks and set to with a building scheme in Valetta, determined that it should not share the same fate.

They rebuilt their strength until Suleiman sent his army of 40,000 Ottomans against the Knights, who numbered 700 knights and 8,000 soldiers. The city but not the fortress was destroyed and when the Ottomans finally withdrew having heard of the landing of a supporting Sicilian force (but without realising it was relatively small) there were a mere 600 men still standing for the Knights of Malta.

We left the garden and walked into the city, admiring the taste of the street furniture. There are several post boxes and phone kiosks around the centre of Valetta. The day was hot - at least it was hotter than Blackpool - and we started to think of finding somewhere to drink.

The land slopes away from the city centre and there are several excellent views down to the harbour far below.

Miss Franny found a Costa coffee shop - that part-time job sniffing for illegally imported drugs at Blackpool Airport has stood her in good stead... An English woman in the line before me asked for a "latte".
"Only milk?" came the cautious query.

The Bibliotheca or National Library of Malta, flanked by Caffe Cordina, itself housed in a sumptuous building, once the Treasure House of the Knights of Malta, then the Grand Hotel, then a casino.

The Guard's Building facing the Palace in St George's Square. This building was in the sun and the Palace in shadow...

However, crossing the street we enter the Palace. This was the Grandmaster's Palace under the Knights of Malta. Valetta was in fact named after Grandmaster Jean Parisot de Valette, the founder of the city. The Grandmasters lived here, several of them enlarging the palace. During British rule it became the Governor's Residence, then it became the Prime Minister's Office and is currently housing the House of Representatives pending the completion of a new parliament building.

The entrance leads into the Neptune Courtyard, named for a statue of Neptune that I either missed or I was standing in a totally different courtyard/palace... If so, I have no doubt someone will tell me... Off this courtyard you can look round the Armoury, with a fine collection of weapons of the Knights of Malta, though apparently only a fragment of what they used to have after the attentions of the thieving ratbags of Napoleon's army - more of whom later.

We didn't go into the Armoury or the State Rooms because we wanted to catch (figuratively speaking) the noonday gun back at the battery. On the way out through the gateway I noticed several plaques on the wall commemorating various Royal visits. The ceiling was also worth a look (below).

During World War II Malta suffered unbelievably heavy bombardment from the Luftwaffe who flew over 5,800 bombing sorties, dropping six and a half million kilograms of bombs - almost as much as the entire UK was hit with during the Battle of Britain in September 1940. King George VI awarded the George Cross to the entire island in recognition of their bravery and suffering.

We left the palace and trotted down one of the streets leading downwards towards the harbour and waterfront. We came across this memorial to Dun Mikiel Xerri who helped lead a revolt against the occupying French forces of Napoleon Bonaparte and was one of 49 men captured and executed on Palace Square on 17 January 1799. Napoleon's forces were welcomed at first as the rule of the Knights had become quite oppressive. However in short order conditions became worse for the islanders and many were starving from lack of food. Xerri protested at the treatment of the population and paid the ultimate price.

We got this far down to the harbour and realised we were going to have to climb the hill again to see the noonday gun fired! At this point we swerved sideways with a steep flight of steps leading down before us and, turning again, started to climb back upwards.

It was a Sunday, so most shops remained closed and some of the streets were quite deserted. The buildings though were very pleasing to the eye. Walking back up was punctuated by short stops and clicks from the camera shutter!

How rude...

We arrived back at the battery garden with time to spare and took another look at the gorgeous views spread out before us. We sat, thankfully for a while, enjoying a drink at the open air cafe.

About ten to twelve we moved back to the balcony over the gun battery and eventually this chap came out and attached a detonator cap to one of two guns which, since we were last here, had had their breeches uncovered (I say, steady on...) and had been loaded with a charge.

The firing of guns at noon and four o'clock carries on a long-standing tradition. Many towns across Europe would fire a gun at noon, signalling the population to sit down and eat their lunch. At times of curfew, another gun would be fired by the authorities to say "Ready or not, here I come..."

I felt sorry for this chap really. He played his part extremely well, and remained glued to his pocket chronometer to be able to pull the lanyard exactly on the dot of 12 o'clock. That time came, he yanked: and nothing. A bit of a crack as the detonator went off and a small puff of smoke.

"Misfire!" he shouted and crossed to the second gun to attach another detonator and lanyard.

Without any ceremony he yanked the lanyard and I clicked the camera shutter. The roar was loud enough to make me jump and move the camera a little. But it gives the impression I wanted with the smoke and flame coming from the gun's muzzle!

We took a last look from our vantage point and returned from ground level to ground level via the lift. The Thomson Majesty was leaving at 5:00pm and by then we had lunched, lazed about reading and changed for dinner early enough to come back up to the Promenade Deck to watch us move away from the dockside.

We enjoyed the sun and the view of Valetta from the ship as we slid past small and large boats and cargo ships. The Valetta Pilot was onboard, there to offer advice if needed and the boat bumped up and down beside us on the waves which the Majesty disdained to notice. A moment of excitement as the pilot boat pulled in, the Pilot jumped across safely and the boat peeled off to return to the port. Tomorrow we will be in Sicily at the port of Trapani.

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