If I Were To Say "Crusader"

I Can Guess What You'd Be Thinking

"O yes, Richard the Lionheart and Outremere and Saracens and Jerusalem," said in a confident tone.  Confident yet WRONG!  No, nothing to do with the Holy Land and knights in armour, Conrad thinks you've been watching "Kingdom Of Heaven" too often.  Art!

     That's yer Edward Norton under the mask there, and he never took it off, so nobody knew who he was, unless they hung around and read the end credits.

     ANYWAY you might also speculate that Conrad, being unhealthily obsessed with matters military, might be yarking on about 'Operation Crusader'.  Hmmm how can I say "NO" loudly yet diplomatically, because you are still WRONG! if getting a bit warmer.  Only by a few degrees, mind.  For Lo! we are back on "The War Illustrated" issue 146, jumping the gun by a couple of days as it is currently January 20th and this issue is dated January 22nd, which, if Art will put down his plate of coal -

     This chap (General Giraud) was the runner-up in French North Africa, as De Gaulle had outmanoeuvred him and become Top Dog (eventually).  However, at the time this photo was taken he was still a big cheese.  Art!

      This is the Crusader I was banging on about.  The model had been in service for over a year at this point, and a lot of their problems with reliability had been ironed out by this time, some of which were due to it being rushed into service without proper development.  As mentioned in the text, a Mark II with a six-pounder gun was in service, a gun which would turn any Axis tank inside-out at ranges of up to a mile; this is the model that Keith Douglas commanded when he wrote "From Alamein To Zem Zem".  The crew are either about to retire to sleep under the canvas lean-to or have just gotten up; probably the former as if they were getting up they'd also be brewing up.  You have a shot of a crew mounting up, a technical wallah having a gossip with some gels, and more Crusaders demonstrating their ability to go like stink.  Art!

     These are Luftwaffe aircraft either captured intact by Perfidious Albion or cannibalized from numerous captured unserviceable airframes*.  The top one is a Junker 87 "Stuka", the lower one an Me109, both now in service in what was nicknamed the "Rafwaffe".  These aircraft would be flown and assessed by Allied pilots to determine performance, characteristics and any potential weaknesses.  E.g. for the Stuka, "It can be shot down by a man in a glider armed with a catapult".  Conrad exaggerates but slightly.

     Motley!  Go fetch a bag of sand and a camel, for I feel like replicating the arid desert wastes of North Africa.

Progress To Date

Okay, I've finished watching "Into The Night" and they just had to leave it on a cliff-hanger ending.  Who does the mystery submarine belong to?  Can the Norway party get back into the cockpit?  They just offed three leading characters, are they going to get rid of any more?  What is the significance of the rat?  Will there be a Series Three?  If the Ruffians didn't blow up the NATO planes, then who did?  No word on a renewal.  Yet.  <crosses fingers hopefully>.  Art!

In a closed bunker system with poor AC, breaking wind was a severe offence

     In other news that has nothing to do with air-conditioning or bleak existential thrillers, Conrad proceeds apace with his jiggysawing.  Art!

     This one's pretty easy, there's lots of detailing and there are only 500 pieces.  After this perhaps that one of the Moon, which only has 250 pieces.  Probably get it done in a single lunchtime!

Caught Red-Handed And Branded

Back in the day, cattle-rustling was a persistent drain on the profits of the stockmen and ranchers who fell victim to the rustlers, which was a euphimism for 'cattle thief'.  Cattle were big money, then and now, so any rustler caught in the act could expect quick, summary justice that would probably include small bits of metal moving at speed.  And if not that, then the nearest tree would acquire an un-natural dangly fruit.  Art!

     Yes, another picture by C M Russell of rustlers being rudely disturbed.  There's more to this subject, so rest assured we will be re-visiting it.  O yes indeedy!

     
Meanwhile, Back In An Un-Named Northern City ...

Another less-than terrifying extract from "Tormentor", where a frankly out-of-his-depth Luma is conferring with religious authorities.

               Trying his best to recall, Louis gave an approximate location: north-west, near the big wall that fronted the A57, behind a stand of pine trees, the middle stone of seven or so.  The priest bustled off for a few minutes, leaving Louis puzzled and the vicar pondering.

               ‘I’ve just rung Rogan, at Saint Aidan’s,’ explained the priest when he returned, consulting a scrap of notepaper.  ‘He looked up the tombstone and the deceased.  “Monica Belling, age twenty seven.  Drug addict and prostitute.  Died from AIDS.”  What you’ve just witnessed, young man, is exactly what “Marjory” told you.  As we see ourselves, so we are, spiritually at least.’

               That jibbed with the lecturer.

               ‘What!  She was a rotting zombie!  Who on earth would see themselves like that!’

               ‘Ahem,’ interrupted the vicar.  ‘Not consciously.  Consider a woman enduring the abasement of prostitution, and the horrors of drug addiction, and probably knowing that she would soon be killed by a terminal disease.  She constructed that ghastly image in her subconscious, Louis, bit by bit.  The physical body died and the monster she created of herself remained.’

               Half-unbelieving, Louis looked between the two clerics.  Father Geoghan pointed the stem of his pipe at the young man.

               ‘Did she try to attack you?  Chase you?  Appear in your house later that day?’

               To all of which the answer was “no”.

               ‘That’s not an evil spirit, Louis.  A lost one, perhaps.  Did she try to communicate?’

               Louis remembered the awful howling.

               ‘Well – now that you mention it, she tried to say something.  I thought she was about to dine out on my brains.’

               The priest shook his head sorrowfully.

               ‘Ah, truly the Lord works in mysterious ways.  My belief is that this spirit is trapped.  She wants release, Louis; release, not to dine on your brains.’

               The vicar smiled in a lop-sided way.

               ‘Too many zombie films when you were young.’

     A sin you could definitely level at Your Humble Scribe.

Shall We?  O Go On Then

Here's another wave-washed lighthouse for you: the Nividic Lighthouse.  Art!

     This is another of the lighthouses off the shores of Brittany, which took much longer than usual to construct: twenty four years (!).  Not only that, it was designed to be un-manned, with any essential equipment being sent over by cable car, presumably with a couple of artificers to carry out maintenance.  Art!

Cable car columns

     I have scoured teh Interwebz for a picture of these cars in operation and cannot find any, which I suspect might only be alleviated were I to purchase a large and expensive book about French lighthouses.  O well.  Let's have one of all three in the same shot, shall we? Art!

     Today it runs on solar power, and has a helipad for any visiting engineers.  Which is all fine and dandy and modern and shizzle, but Dog Buns! I'd like to have seen those cable cars in action.

     And with that, we are done.  For today, at least.  In fact the weather is so bright and sunny that a walk with Edna beckons.

*  I use this word as it makes me sound as if I know what I'm talking about.