My Dad and The Secret Agents

My ex-RAF Dad once told me of a ‘funny incident’ that happened to him during WWII.  His air crew had flown into one of the Scandinavian countries, not realising that the Allies hadn’t reached there yet.  They thought they were in huge trouble when German soldiers came out to the aircraft but were bemused when the commanding officer handed over his weapons and surrendered.  Some convincing acting on all their parts was called for in order to appear as confident victors in the conflict, instead of a bunch of blokes wondering what the hell kind of hot water they’d gotten themselves into.

This article about war hero Eric Brown (pictured left) appeared in today’s Daily Mail newspaper in which an eerily similar incident in Denmark is mentioned.  In fact, I’d say it has to be the same incident and so I’m guessing my Dad was one of the crew standing beside this gentleman, putting on a convincing act of being cool, calm and collected.  (Sadly my Dad is no longer around to ask).

I checked Dad’s flying log today and yes, in 1945 there is a sortie listed, to Denmark, with the initials S.O.E. beside it (one of two S.O.E. missions in which he participated that month).  Although I’ve read right through his flying log and extracted lots of information for my genealogy research, I hadn’t realised the significance of those S.O.E. initials.  I only found out today that they stand for Special Operations Executive which my in-house expert here described as basically the forerunner to MI6.  (Wikipedia says: formed in 1940 “to conduct espionage, sabotage and reconnaissance in occupied Europe against the Axis powers, and to aid local resistance movements).”

Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.

I thought I couldn’t be any more proud of my Dad …

This gentleman’s story in the paper today has prompted me to start looking at specific missions mentioned in this precious flying log (like Operation ‘Varsity’) and to appreciate all over again the bravery of my Dad and all his young friends.

RAF – my Dad is on the far right (Squadron number unknown for this pic)

Painful Goodbyes

Daisy – one of our ‘cream puff’ cats passed away early on Saturday morning and I’m totally crushed.

Losing pets becomes harder, I think, the older you get.  For a start, there is that awful, awful truth that the older you get the more exposed you become to loss and unlike many other experiences in life, dealing with death does not become easier the more you go through it – it becomes harder.  Well that’s the way I feel anyway.  …It somehow compounds the pain that you already feel as each new loss brings back the emotions of the last experiences.

The other thing is that once our children are grown and have moved away our pets become accordingly more important.  They still rely on us and still need our care on a day to day basis so – again, for me – they become a major daily focus … our ‘fur children’.  It’s lovely to have someone who demands so little, needs you so much and gives so much in unquestioning love, affection and companionship in return.  Their lives, however are shockingly short – in Daisy’s case,  just one week beyond her thirteenth birthday.

I’m also here to say that the connection I (we) felt with little Dais was a two-way street.  She was extremely weak after a month of battling a virulent form of cancer, of no food and in the latter week, of very little water.  On her final morning she found the strength to call to us to wake us up just past dawn, waited until my husband was stroking her … reached out a paw to him and then passed.

And now I’m crying again. ….

Happier, healthier days

My Melting Heart

We’ve just gone through a ‘Thirty Year Snowstorm’ here on ‘Britain’s South Sea Island’. While many have revelled in the stuff, I have to say I really dislike it, if for no other reason than the effect it has on my garden (so used to the normally milder conditions).

Yesterday I was so happy to see the sun shining again and the snow rapidly dissipating…and then I noticed this little melting heart on our decking, almost as if the weather was apologising for being such a brute for two days.

(BTW, just to keep you up to speed – the uber-sicko I mentioned last time? …Removed from Flickr the day after I reported him).

I do NOT want you as a friend

***Names have been changed to obscure the sick bastards

***’FartyBartFast’*** I do NOT want you as a new contact on Flickr.  I do NOT want you ‘favouriting’ (and therefore collecting) my photos and I do NOT want to see what you have to offer …because I somehow feel sure there will be plenty more to come from you.  In fact, if I’m being totally honest, you actually spoiled my afternoon.  There I was, absorbed in editing my ‘clematis over the picket fence photo’, trying to make it look prettier, and your email has decidedly lowered the tone of the day.  In fact it’s made me angry.

Yes, Dear Diary, I’ve tentatively ventured back to Flickr-land, putting my favourite / best photos there over the last few days and yes, it has already prompted a weirdo to pop up from the woodwork, wanting to be my friend.

I can’t think why.

Over the last week or so, I’ve posted a landscape shot, a shot of some birds in the morning sunshine, various orchids and various abstract (totally inoffensive) shots of things like the roofing structure of a greenhouse and a seagull staring out to sea above a sign saying ‘CLEAR’.

I can’t think why FartyBartFast imagines I’d be interested, based upon his favourites – girls in bondage, girls with boobies busting out all over and girls with those horrid ball gags in their mouths.

It’s always best to check who is lurking as your ‘friend’ and I have the distinct feeling that this weirdo is trying to set up a heavy porn swapping site, maybe even a snuff porn site – his own, *four*, photos appear to show dead girls (one of them, alarmingly real … if her neck isn’t broken then I’ll be amazed).

What the hell is wrong with people?!

In amongst his ‘favourites’ are a smattering of innocent portrait shots that people have no doubt put up on the web of their sister, daughter, mother …whatever.

For instance, there’s one of a pretty and smartly dressed young woman taken from an official function for a well-respected Society.  The thought of this sicko salivating (and worse) over her makes my flesh crawl.

This kind of predator really freaks me out and it’s why I don’t publicly post photos of my family.  I don’t want some perv getting their jollies from images of my loved ones.

I’ve reported my concerns to Flickr – I’ve had porn freaks try to befriend me before but this chap hit a new low.  Let’s see if they do anything – I could just have been looking at real crime photos and it’s going to haunt me.

Stinky, nasty, f-ing little creep – crawl back under your rock and die.  }:|

Drift

Got wind today of a breach on a non-Wordpress site of mine … stinky little spammers.  This site was set up by the pre-brain-haemorrhage-me and I no longer have all that html gubbins in my brain.  (Not that there was very much in the first place).  I’d have to learn all about it again. … Which is truly ironic  as only about an hour before this news I’d been commenting that the up-side of all the stuff I do on the computer may be that one day I’ll pop me clogs with the body of a ninety year old but the brain equivalent of Zola Budd.

Here…while I’m licking my wounds and wondering how the hell I’m going to sort out this current mess, cue the elevator music and a pretty pink picture…

Toffee Crumble

I love orchids but despite being usually very good at remembering Latin plant names on yer bog standard garden plants, I just can’t seem to get my brain around those of most orchid varieties.  ’Cattleya’ – got that one taped, maybe because it reminds me of a bearded iris….  And ‘Phalaenopsis’ – purely because they are the only ones I have any luck in growing here at home.

The following photos came home from a fruitful photography mission some time ago but when I put them on the computer, I realised that I hadn’t a clue about the names of most of these beauties, so I got creative with their file names.

If you’re an orchid aficionado therefore, my apologies but I present to you now – Toffee Crumble, Cattleya (yay!) and Butter Slew.

Hope they brighten your weekend!

Mansart’s Gilded Dome

Initiated by King Louis XIV in 1670,  l’Hôtel National des Invalides (The National Residence of the Invalids), is a complex of buildings in the 7th arrondissement of Paris containing museums and monuments, all relating to the military history of France, as well as a hospital and retirement home for war veterans.  Architect Jules Mansart’s beautiful gilded dome stands above the chapel of St Louis (Église Saint-Louis des Invalides) and is another familiar part of the Parisien skyline.

Photo: JLMPhotoDesign