Flying Machines

Flying Machines It’s Father’s Day and the Hamilton Airshow has been buzzing around our house the whole weekend long. I’ve seen all sorts of planes fly overhead before but, something about these magnificent flying giants stirs my spirit. I hear the rumble of the Mitchell and scan the sky ahead of the place where I think the sound is coming from. The silhouette, so easily identified; two prop-engines, stubby body and twin fins on the tail, seems to crawl across the sky. And then I hear a deep-throated growl. This silhouette, unique to North America, is longer than the Mitchell’s, with four prop-engines and the same distinctive twin tail; it can only be the Lancaster. Unbelievably, incredibly, its enormous bulk lumbers above and somehow stays aloft. The air itself reverberates as this amazing, mechanical marvel executes a slow banking turn, directly above my head. The noise is deafening as I recall Dave telling one of the very few “war stories” he ever shared. Being on a base in England, his squad, having loaded bombs onto twenty Lancs during the day and then waiting through the night for their return. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, then silence. Finally hearing the next day that the twentieth crew had ditched in the channel. I can’t imagine the fear and awe that hundreds of Lancs flying in formation would evoke. The sky is quiet now. All the fathers and families heading home to their BBQ celebrations knowing that these two old warriors and their crews are safely home tonight too.