Welcome to the fourth edition of The Journal of The 81st Entry

The way things are going , ie very little input for the editorial staff up here at Publishing Head Quarters to get their(NHS) teeth into, this could be the last issue. I suppose we should be proud that the entry did manage to get this far in the publishing business but I would have hoped to last a bit longer than "The European ".

Illusion or Disillusion?

Tony Birchenough: disillusioned ex-brat; was 681026 A/A Birchenough A.E. u/t Airframe Fitter, 81st Entry

"Active Service!!!!"................. but still in Paradise

The Continuing Adventures of .....................Brian Spurway

Next ..................A ( pre)Cautionary Tale?

Some People Never Learn Kris Penney

A Semi- Civvy ?

The Continuing Adventures of................................Mike Stanley

Me and Mr Funny Man from the KGB

Willie Keays Eng Fitt(S) u/t

And now for something completely different!

What's in a name?

This question generated some correspondence , but only from those heroes who also sent articles in for this issue.Both Brian Spurway and Tony Birchenough cite "Haystacks" as a nickname for the Hastings, Brian also puts forward "Albert "and "Fat Albert "for the Hercules while Tony's alternative for the Brit " The Whimpering Giant" belies his real affection for this aircraft.
As they both say " there are plenty more nicknames out there ".
So let's be having you!

For a long list of aircraft nicknames, see Chris Brady's most interesting website:

http://www.chris.brady.ukgateway.net/aircraftnicknames.htm

This site is a really comprehensive view of the Boeing 737 series with other interesting items. (However I don't agree with 'Whispering Giant' for the Bristol Beaufighter. According to my well-known and much admired informant, Sgt Matt Bradock VC** DFM***, it was known as 'Whispering Death', particularly by the Sons of Nippon.)

"How t' first Yorkshire Puddin' Was Made"

Hi Waiter! Excuse me a minute. Now listen I'm not finding fault, but dear dear,
These taties are lovely, the beef is alreit, but what sort of pudding is this here?
It's what! Yorkshire Puddin'? Now cum, cum, cum, cum. It's what! Yorkshire Puddin' yersay?
It's puddin' I grant you, some sort o' puddin', But not Yorkshire Puddin', naye, naye.
The real Yorkshire Puddin' is a poem in batter. To make one's an art not a trade.
Listen to me, for I'm goin' to tell thee, how t'first Yorkshire Puddin' were made:

A young angel on leave from Heaven, came flying ov'r Ilkly Moor.
The Angel, poor thing, got a cramp in her wing, and came down at an old woman's door.
And the old woman smiled and said: "Ee it's an Angel. I am surprised to see thee.
I've not seen an Angel before, but tha' welcome, I'll make thee a nice cup o' tea."
And the Angel said: "Ee, thank you kindly, I will." Well, they had two or three cups of tea.
Three or four Sally Lunns, and a couple o' buns, Angels eat very lightly yer see.

Then the old woman looked at the clock and said: "By gum! He's due home from t'mill is my Dan.
You get on with yer tea, but you must excuse me. I mun make puddin' now for t'old man"
Then the Angel jumped up and said; "Give me a bowl, flour, water. eggs, salt an' all,
An' I'll show thee how we make puddin's in Heaven for Thomas, Peter and Paul.
When she'd got all the things, she covered her wings, and said, "Hush."
Then she tenderly tickled t' mixture wit' spoon, like an artist would paint with a brush.
She mixed up that puddin' with heavenly magic, She played with her spoon on that dough,
Just like Paderewski would play the piano, or Kreisler would twiddle his bow.

The old woman whispered; "I reckon, dear angel, the clouds that I see in yon sky,
So fleecy an' foamy, is batter for t' puddins, for Saint's who are feasting on high.
It's mixed with the rain, and it's stirred with the rainbow, and baked in the beautiful sun."
And the angel kept stirring, and smiled as she answered; "And when a star drops, then it's done."
"But joking aside," said the angel, "the secret of puddin's made here or above,
Is not in the flour or water, but the mixing. See that yer mix it with love."

And when it were done, she put it in t'oven and said to t'old woman, "Goodbye."
Leaving the first Yorkshire Puddin' that ever was made, she flew away int' t' sky.

And that's why it melts in t' mouth, like t' snow in t' sunshine, as light as a maiden's first kiss.
As soft as the fluff on the breast of a dove, Not elephant's leather, like this.

contributed by Chef de Cusine Arthur Hague.
Eat your heart out Delia!