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Poets Corner
When I first set up this web site, I made the comment that many of the early pioneers were either into model aircraft or were engineers, before they took up flying. However, Tony Fuell also believes that many of those early flyers were also very good Poets. With this in mind Tony has asked if I could set up a page so we might all be able to relive and enjoy some of the words they strung together in verse.
To start the page off
“A SOAR POINT” by Bob Mckay 1974
Oh, I must go up to the ridge again,
To the lonely ridge and the sky.
And all I ask is a soaring kite
With a bar to steer her by.
Then a strong wind and a steep slope
With the white clouds flying
For - as we all know - unless it’s so,
There’s no bloody use me trying!Well, here we are on the ridge again
And it seems that the wind doth blow.
So all I ask is YOU HOLD THOSE WIRES
TILL I TELL YOU TO LET ‘EM GO!
The trees are bent to the wind’s lament
And the gulls are soaring high
In this here lift, if you get my drift,
Even a brick could fly!Up we go like Apollo Twelve!
Hurray! Our spirits bound!
Two hundred feet from take-off gained
As we watch the receding ground.
A plaintive plea breaks our reverie
As a voice from heaven enquires
“What I want to know
Is, how long do I go
On holding these forward wires?”
Great Aviation Quotes .
“EWES” By Bob McKay, from Wings! May (Part 1) and June (Part 2) issues - 1976.
(Tony Fuell adds: Ewart Hughes was a well known Welsh farmer who owned one of the best sites in Wales, with whom many hang-glider pilots had “moments“. Bob‘s epic poem, spread over two months issues of the magazine, well conveys the general ethos of the time… I believe it was based on a true story, but don't have any details. Try and count the “ewes“…)
PART1
Tewenty ewes has Ewart Hewes,
He eweses them to reprodewes,
If flying fewels his ewes abewes,
A lewerid interlewed ensewes!Flying dewel there we tewe is,
Rewefully the lift we leweses,
Can ewe guess which field we chewses?
Right where Heweses tewenty ewes is!Landing dewel’s tewe confewesin’
When eschewe-in’ dewe-in’ ewes in,
Our sol-ewe-tion was am-ewe-sin’,
Ewes the hedge for speed red-ewe-sin!Lest ewe have any ill-ewe-sions,
“Energy absorbed” concl-ewe-sions,
Can impart prof-ewe-se cont-ewe-sions,
To one’s personal prot-ewe-sions!Hewes approaches - bearing grudge,
Firmly “whedged”, we cannot budge,
Threwe the leaves we view his trudge,
“Heah come de judge! Heah come de judge!”Will our heroes come to a grewesome end? Will they escape Ewart Hewes's retrib-ewe-tion? Don't miss next month's exciting episode, entitled "Whewe!"
PART 2
Whewe! Continued from last month... "Proddy" and "Big 'ead" have landed in a hedge and are stuck fast with the angry farmer approaching.... now read onBut is his course undewely slewed?
It seems unstable and imbewed,
With stops un-ewe-s-ewe-ally lewed!
Indewesed by fleweids brewers brewed!Penknife out, our hopes renewe an'
Slash an' hack an' sewen I'm threwe can
Ewe believe, like "Super-hewe-man?"
(Geddit? Super hewe! Human! Ewe! Treble pun!
Oh, please yourselves!)Gettin' tewe the car's a brewet,
By tort-ewe-us circ-ewetous rewet,
Threwe breweks and bogs, our voices mewet,
Sewen leweses Hewes's stewed pursewet!Tewe mile to carry's tewe bloody far,
Tewe reach the pub where we parked the car
BUT SAFE AT LAST! - how about a jar?
(But guess hewe's waiting at the bar)!
Tewenty brewes sank Ewart Hewes,
We paid and prayed, lest site we lewes
"Oh thash allri...." came threwe the beweze!
....."ish washn't my hedgsh.....
....and them washen't my ewes!"BOB.
Bob was a great character in Welsh hang gliding - I wonder what happened to him - I lost contact about 1982 when I went to live in Brussels. I don't suppose he's alive now. He was a great raconteur and had a fund of stories about his RAF service - he flew Spitfires in Malaya in about 1948, I remember. His story about how you learned to fly Spits - turned loose at the age of 19 behind a 12-cylinder Merlin and eight loaded machine-guns - really brought it all alive. Plus, he wrote some very good poetry, even published a wee book of HG poems, which I treasured, but has gone missing from my collection somewhere along the way. So I'm having to dredge them up from the magazine. Tony Fuell..................................................................................................................
PILOT'S CREED By Mike Collis
Why do I leap and try
These wild rides through the sky?
Does not the pounding of my heart
Before the start,
The terror of Death's fall
Me appal?It does, it does, but then
Safe home on lovely Earth again
After that fragile dive
I'm twice as glad to be alive...............................................................................................................................................
'The Way Ahead' by Bob McKay
There's far too many of us now,
And more to come each week.
So when "that twit" comes asking you
Think before you speak."Is hang gliding dangerous?"
"Very!" you reply.
"Can I try it locally?"
"If you're keen to die!""Are there many accidents?"
"Every kite gets bent!"
"Where do most of them occur?"
"The end of the descent!""Does it cost a lot to do?"
"Not if it's done right".
"How much if you do it wrong?"
"Two hundred quid a flight!""Do you do it near here?"
"Yes..." you slyly say
"We have a very good site only
Eighty miles away!"..............................................................................................................................................
Title unknown By Bob McKay
Oh I must go up to the ridge again,
To the lonely ridge and the sky
And all I ask is a soaring kite
With a bar to steer her by.
Then a strong wind and a steep slope
With the white clouds flying.
For, as we all know,
Unless it's so,
There's no bloody use me trying!..................................................................................................................................
'North North West' by Bob McKay
There's a green wide soaring mountain
To the north of Katmandu,
At the foot, a little cross upon a mound,
Where a sad‑eyed dusky maiden
Tends the grave of "Mad Carew"
On the spot where his hang glider hit the ground!
Back in eighteen eighty‑two
Was the year that Carew flew
It was somewhat a spectacular event!
He would not have been the lad wot
Had the first "shot" if he had not
Slung his hammock from the ridge pole of his tent.
It was during the Monsoon
That a squall inopportune,
Blew so hard that our young hero's tent was rent!
To the earth it was well guyed, so...
It should not have come untied, no...
It should not have, but it did,
And up he went!
From his hammock, arms stretched wide
Carew grabbed the tent each side;
It was fastened to the ridge‑pole at each end.
Thus our pilot, young and callow,
Did create the first Rogallo,
It could climb and it could turn but not descend!
After conquering his fear,
Hanging there it was quite clear
One or two modifications must be done.
What he needed to control it
Was to pull down on the pole bit,
Thus he started to design a new "Mark One".
Soon the master of his craft
He would pull wires fore and aft,
His Mark One design was basically sound.
But no matter where the wires went,
First and foremost his requirement
Was to get his PROTOTYPE back on the ground!
O'er the mountain Carew flew,
To the north of Katmandu,
Then there followed a phenomenal descent,
Where the Afghans when they found him,
Bits of kite strewn all around him,
Hailed him "King sent from Allah!" in magic tent!
So although we can't be sure
Was there Mark Two, Three or Four,
Story tellers wondrous tales bring from afar.
Full of weird and magic tips
That sound strange on Afghan lips.
Such as "reflex trailing edge" and "soaring bar".
In the bar at Katmandu
Though she'd had a drink or two
T'was the Major's wife that sang the sad lament,
How the Mad Captain Carew
Was the only man she knew,
Who could do it, in an hammock, in a tent!