Nice Weather For DUKWs

Conrad Narrowed His Eyes, Menacingly -
I don't know why people narrow their eyes in order to look menacing; perhaps it means they give away fewer non-verbal cues about their state of mind?  Or, does it cut down on the visual stimuli coming in from the outside world, so they can concentrate solely on the object of their dislike?  Or, then again, is it a cliche from the world of Hollywood and the cowboy flicks of it's golden age, when a man squinted in order to reduce the glare of sunlight, the better to accurately shoot his opponent full of hot lead?

"Fill yore hand, you sonovafemaledog!"

     In that case, wouldn't they be better off with sunglasses?
     Anyway, none of that has to do with Your Humble Scribe's usual testy affirmation that, no, there is no spelling mistake in the title.  DUKW is a proper name.  You'll see.
     For Lo! (or even Saint Lo!) we are back to Normandy in 1944 and the Battle of the Build-up, which by this time had been going on for over two weeks, as the Allies sought to outdo their Teuton foes.  Things came seriously unstuck for the Amis from the 19th June onwards, as an especially severe summer storm hit the landing beaches, preventing unloading or transhipment of cargoes, and throwing the reinforcement schedules quite awry.

What it should have looked like

     As you can see from above, the Perfidious Allies had solved the problem of capturing a port intact by simply bringing all the components cross-Channel to make one from scratch.  This was predicated on the weather remaining reasonable, which - bad weather!  naughty weather!  no cake for you! - it did not.  The storm did considerable damage, completely wrecking the South Canadian's Mulberry harbour.  Art?

The vista of violation

     This is where the South Canadian's formidable "Git 'R' Done" attitude came into play, aided by the DUKW, which is code for D = designed 1942; U = utility; K = all-wheel drive; W = dual rear-axle.  Art?
      
                      Coming ashore                                                                             All at sea
     The "Duck", as it was inevitably known, was an amphibious truck that could make way at sea, take on a cargo, drive ashore and continue whizzing about like a normal truck, before taking to the briny deeps again.  It even had the ability to alter it's tyre pressure to cope with soft sand.
     You can get some idea of South Canada's immense productive capacity when you are told that they built 22,000 of these puppies, and they served globally.  They were able to keep supplies rolling ashore across the Normandy beaches in bulk, consistently, meaning that the lost Mulberry's logistical capacity was immediately replaced with very little overall loss.  Logistics, you see: dull, unromantic and not at all glorious, yet utterly vital.

A life on the ocean wave.  Note lack of traffic lights, white lines or interfering wardens.

     They proved useful all across the European theatre, since the wretched Teutons were always blowing up bridges to try and slow down their pursuers.  Ha!  As if that could offset the strategic mobility of the Duck!

Hmmm.  Are we sure about this one, Art?

     Okaaaay, motley, one end of the cable is attached to your harness, and the other end is attached to that Challenger tank about to go over the assault course.  Don't worry, there's so many obstacles and such deep mud and trenches and barbed wire it can't go very fast.*

An Ode To The Code
Well, when I say "Ode", that's just because it rhymes.  Were I to instead say "A bad-tempered rant involving the wearing of sackcloth and ashes, tearing of hair, petulant sulking and all the behaviour that comes with throwing one's toys out of the pram", that would be more accurate yet also very hard to make a rhyme with.
     Anyway, I have my usual quibbles about the MEN Codewords.  SIT BACK DOWN!  This is a fascinating slice of life, or at least the English language.
     "QUITTANCES" was one answer.  What on Earth?

An hideous mutant quince hybrid?

     Not at all.  It is a legalistic term that means to be freed from financial obligation or debt, and I've never heard of it before.  Conrad doesn't think using obscure Victorian legal jargon is fair, exactly.
     "LAITIES" was the next one.  O come on!  This is really reaching: it is the plural of "LAITY", which is a collection of lay not ecclesiastical people.
     There.  I have held forth.  You may go make a cup of tea.
      
                                                              Laities


Bear With Me On This One -
It takes a bit of explaining.  As background, recall if you will that Greece got into terrible financial trouble as a country a few years back, and then got bailed out by the EU.  This was despite a national poll saying that they'd rather suffer the financial fallout than the stringent conditions going with the bailout.
     Fast forward to today.  If you go walking through the streets of Athens, you may well see this and hear that very same cockroach talking to you.  Art?

Not a lot I can say about this, is there?

     This bizarre situation comes about because a couple of Greek art students felt that their fellow countrymen just weren't talking to each other, as a consequence of all that financial stuff.  So!  They used hidden microphones and surprised passing Athenians into having conversations.** With a sentient talking cockroach.  Yes, really.  Which they swear blind was inspired by Franz Kafka's short story "Metamorphosis", and not at all by that chatty little chap from "Doom Patrol".

He's there.  A little in the shadows, but he's there.

     Name's Ezekiel, by the way.  A bit of a ham, to be honest, much given to flinging his arms wide.  Still - cockroaches, eh?
     Anyway, back to Athens.  Their talking cockroach did indeed foster talk between Athenians, since talking to a cockroach is a well-known method for breaking the ice between strangers.  One of the hot topics, however, was NORTH MACEDONIA!
     There you go, that's Conrad, still annoying Greece.

Greek and angry!

Finally -
<sighs> another word that surfaced in the arid mental wastelands of my brains.*** To wit:
HOROLOGIUM.  A real crossword-clue word.
     It has two meanings.  The more obscure one is a collection of time-keeping instrumentalities, such as the clepsydra or water clock -
     Here an aside.  The Barf of Avon is sometimes criticised for having an anachronistic clock in "Julius Caesar", yet these were real things that had dials and gears and shizzle - Art?

Water clock

     - or it can mean an astronomical constellation, described by some French astronomer way back when.  Art?

You have to use lots of imagination to see a clock.

     And since I am peckish and we have surely hit the Composition Ton by now <checks - heck yeah 1158 words!> it is time to wrestle Ezekiel for the contents of my lunch box!

*  This may not be entirely accurate.

**  No information on how many "surprised" Athenians suffered cardiac arrest
***  Plural.  One brain for everyday, one for Sunday best.