A Polish girl was seen singing "O moj rozmarynie" to a sprig of rosemary while making dinner on 4 August.
On June 5th and 6th we attended MAAM's annual WWII Weekend, biggest event of the kind in the US. This huge show accommodates 1700 re-enactors, sixty-some-odd WWII planes, a bunch of authentic military vehicles, and many WWII veterans. We went dressed as the Polish Resistance of the Warsaw Uprising.
Listen to the beautiful sound of those engines... This is the Helldiver, the Dauntless, and the Wildcat, warbirds of the Pacific, flying in formation. They make a terrific noise as they fly overhead, a sort of rattly-banging radial-engine roar. The planes do the craziest stuff, like flying upside down over the crowd.
This year there was a parachute drop from the C-46 Commando transport plane. It was real amazing to see 'the stick' float down just like in the books. Said one paratrooper in France to another, "They say Napoleon was the greatest soldier who ever lived." Said the other paratrooper, "Tell me, where did that guy ever jump?"
Here comes the Curtiss P-40 Warhawk! Isn't she pretty? These birds were flown by a group of volunteer American airmen, 'The Flying Tigers', in China.
This lumbering queen of the skies is a B-17 Flying Fortress heavy bomber. Look at her props whirling as she thunders by, glinting in the bright June sun. During the whole event authentic airplanes are continuously passing overhead.
The airplanes that don't happen to be flying at the moment are parked at sundry intervals on the freeways, and goons can just walk up and pat them fondly, getting grease on their hands.
We wandered around the encampments and met the real Polish re-enactors:
They had some nifty old rifles, which the 'Jan' and 'Maxymilian' were glad to take in hand, as the Polish Home Army was badly equipped. There's the Polish flag in the background, and beyond you can see a transport plane and the British tents.
We went down to the Russky camp, and the partisans did a little strumming and dancing.
At intervals throughout the days the Scottish, British, and Australian troops marched by, to the wailing of the bagpipe.
Here go the troops on their way to the front. At the start of the first day many of the antique military vehicles barreled past in a convoy, smelling of gasoline smoke and oldness.
We all got to try out this lovely OD bicycle in the Pacific theater.
During the skirmish in the French Village the Germans are evicting the French Resistance from its headquarters. However, in subsequent battles, the GIs came to the rescue and won.
In the main Hangar are long tables where you can meet Veterans...
I was astounded and excited to meet a real live Polish Resistance member, Julian Kulski. He was in the resistance when he was only twelve! Read all about it in The Color of Courage--sure to be a terrible, thrilling tale. He returned our salute:
In a little olive drab shack we had a chance to get away from the crowds and speak with another WWII veteran, George Moore, who recounted his Battle of the Bulge experience for us.
This is a really great event (conglomeration, happening, festival, show). One can just wander along the freeways all day. Oh, look, a B-25, let's go pose with the propeller. Oh, there's a WWII veteran watching the show, let's go meet him. Look up! A Corsair is flying overhead! Isn't it pretty? Watch out, that jeep is going to run us over...
This is the one-and-only flying Superfortress in the world. Also notice that all the flags had forty-eight stars.
Are you coming next year?
(for more information, read Mother's blog)
Posted by Mary Rose
The day before yesterday I was confirmed. It was wonderful. Everybody's favorite bishop did the confirmation, gave two wonderful sermons and said the Mass. Everything smelled like chrism and incense. There were poinsettias everywhere, and half a million altar boys, including Jo. And of course the schola sang the Veni Creator and the Te Deum and Jon played a great li'l post. It was all marvelous, even when I was sure I was going to fall over in a dead faint (I didn't). I took the name Edmund Campion, and the bishop didn't even change it to Edmunda or somethin, ho, ho! Lydia was my sponsor. And the intelligence officers were way too busy to test us, so Lydia tested me. (I keep making references to Sgt. York and you aint even noticin, ho, ho!)
I first read about Edmund Campion in the vision book about him. Then I read Tyborne and the Gem of Christendom, and Come Rack! Come Rope! and then I was just about decided to choose him. So I did, because...(of something like the following)
He wrote heresy-bashing things.
He is so amazing.
He was a Jesuit.
He was a martyr.
He could have been good Queen Bess's head honcho, but instead he was Christ's Champion, ho, ho!
He was so educated.
He sought for the reeeeaaalll Truth.
He sang the Te Deum when he was condemned.
His last words were a prayer for Queen Elizabeth.
He was so eloquent.......(takes out handkerchief and cries salt tears)
He was called the Gem of Christendom.
He became a priest just so he could go back to England and help the recusant Papists, and he knew what his end would be all along.
He really loved England.
Queen Bess said so herself, ho, ho!
He really loved the Queen.
He really is so amazing.
We're supposed to be saints too.
Now is the end of the playing.
THIS IS IT, MEN.
Get out.
Let's go!
posted by Mary Rose Edmund Campion
Happy feast of good Sinterklaus, Mikulas, Nicholas, etc.! Did you get cigarettes in your combat boots like these GIs or did you only get oranges and peppermint sticks? Or both, or neither, or something else? Or do you happen to live in the nineteenth century instead, in which case, did you get horehound candy in your high button shoes? Anyways....
In case you were wondering, I did finish my novel on time.
If you see any big white birds with invasion stripes painted under their wings, you know you've seen... a Snowy Owl. They are invading the Nor'eastern US. They have established a beachhead in New Jersey.
Just Sayin'.
posted by Mary Rose
Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing...
posted by Lydia
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings....
Howdy, you fo'c'sle hands! It's almost November!!!!!!!!!! Nanowrimo is upon us, whether we would risk it or no. Tonight is the night when writers around the world write out the title page in their notebooks, head the first page with AMDG and write the long anticipated date: 11/1/13, at 11:55 PM. Tonight is the night when writers around the world cease their eager chatter as the clock strikes twelve and the world echoes with the sound of the first pencil strokes and the first clacking of keys of the newest novels. Tonight is the night!!!!!!
But other than that.....I have drawn a Fighter base swarming with men in Air Force Blue, as they all shout and talk loudly to keep their minds from what lies ahead or smoke their pipes and cigarettes reflectively thinking on that very same topic.
Royal Air Force Pilots again! (saith you) However, there are eighteen ground crewmen. It was especial fun to make their faces all grey and the shadows of the Mustangs, and to try to give it all a cold effect. Did I succeed? Also the pilot lighting his fag with his lucifer was fun!
Besides, gifted was the poet who said: Never was so much owed by so many to so few, or something like that.
One of the great American fighter aces (in England) Robert Johnson, having flown two five hour sorties in a day:
"It was really quite a lot, when you stop and think that my breakfast was a piece of brown bread and peanut butter and a cup of really heavy stuff they called coffee. We came home, had a quick sandwich and a little shot of whiskey, and then back in the airplanes and off we'd go again. We'd come home and flop on our beds with our clothes on and never moved again until they waked us for another mission early the next morning."
Here's to the Fighter Pilots who flew two five hour sorties a day!
Here's to the Bomber crews who nearly froze in their B-17s!
Here's to the Mechanics who kept 'em flying!
The above is a bonus, the back of the picture.
There'll always be an England, and England shall be free, if England means as much to you as England means to me.
posted by Mary Rose
She was sleeping on the couch. And Mother picked her up to take her to bed. And she wanted to get down. So Mother put her down, thinking she wanted Pa. But instead she went over to Lydia's fresh pan of Peanut Butter fudge. And she stood like this.
(Alas, she got none that night.)
posted by Mary Rose
posted by Lydia
One day in August a huge wasp came in through the hole-in-the-screen and it was captured and photographed and all of Scotland Yard strove to ascertain its identity. It was but days after the emergence of a parasitic wasp from the last swallowtail chrysalis, and the public was aroused, tense and suspicious. But this curly-horned insect was never identified, and it was released after several days. It staggered forth in amazement at having regained the wide world, beyond all its wildest dreams and surmise.
On a bike ride near the close of the afternoon, surmounting a long hill, one is met with a smell of beasts, and a sound as of 'horns in the hills ringing'. And there can then be seen that it is a melancholy herd of black cows mooing. In their field, the wandering fowls afoot are not chickens, they are vultures. More vultures kettle overhead. Returning home from biking, after a long hill from the other way, the cows come in sight again, and the sun sets behind them and the mountains. Alas! for those who have not mountains. Their cows are only cows.
If you put on the Ring the world becomes a blur and only the demons are clear.
Aiya Earendil Elenion Ancalima!
a light in dark places...
There are still monarchs, even in this free republic.
The city streets may not be poetical, but that does not diminish their picturesquity. A tree always improves the view.
In the road, there are places in which the black stuff has a hole and through said hole can be seen bricks building the aged streets, of cities in the days-gone-by. When we see this we say, it is a Relic of Mediaevalism.
The road sign says 'Susquehanna St.'. Some rivers have wild names, Susquehanna and Schuylkill and Monongahela. But that is not to forget the 'blue Juniata'.
A man in the garments of centuries past stood in the sunset with pewter buttons and a baldric and a sword. The sword was not sharpened, but it could be, in case the invader came.
But there are no more tales told tonight, nor music played, except for by the crickets and their kin.
posted by L.G.T.
Sharkey: (aka Saruman, The Tree Killer, &c) Leader of the gang. Wears dirty brown overalls and a baseball hat. Preferred implement of destruction: Chain saw. Drives a black pickup truck.
51: An old man, stooped from years of bulldozing. Wears a baseball hat and a chequered jacket. Famed for infamous deeds and for the quote about his job which gave him his name: 'I been doin' this 51 years, and it gets worse every year.' Preferred implement of destruction: bulldozer. Drives a red pickup truck.
'Tomato Face' Bill Ferny: New member of the gang. A tall man with a red face, a beard and sunglasses. Preferred implement of destruction: giant shovel machine. Drives a green pickup truck.
Worm: (aka Grima) Wears a baseball hat and a dark jacket with the hood up to conceal his face. A small, slinking character. Seldom seen to do work, he sticks to Sharkey like a deer tick. They say he was once a man of Rohan, but it is not known how long it has been since Saruman bought him. Preferred implement of destruction: unknown. Apparently doesn't own a pickup truck.
***Once upon a time in a bonny land, when there was 'more green and less noise'..
"Every tree has its enemy, few have an advocate."
-J.R.R. Tolkien
"(Too often the hate is irrational, a fear of anything large and alive, and not easily tamed or destroyed, though it may clothe itself in pseudo-rational terms.)"
posted by L.G.T.