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I am now over at Efx3 so do come and find me there - new poems coming!
http://rhymester.efx3.com
Click the link to find me!
05:13 - 19 July 2011 - {138} -
From 6th to 13th of April, I went with my friend Steve to North Cyprus, This is the North half of the island for some time now (illegally) occupied by Turkey. As it is not recognised by the rest of the world, we had to fly to Istanbul, Turkey and change planes. I was surprised how modern the Muslim North Cyprus was with its trendy shops, western clothes and lots of new cars about. The island has an interesting history going back to the crusades, and we saw an impressive castle with three levels around a mountain top, plus various abbeys, churches and mosques. We also saw Salamis Roman ruins. We were staying in Kyrenia the northern capital which has a big castle and pleasant quaint harbour. We also visited Nicosia, the capital of the southern Greek half of Cyprus. We went on a lovely wildflower walk in the mountains just inland from the North coast, which is very pretty and colourful in springtime.
As the trip was organised by one of the classic-car clubs I belong to, we visited various vehicle museums and private car collections too. We took part in a 2-day rally where our group had the use of old cars owned by a local club. We had a 1968 Ford Cortina mk2 1600E which went well after replacing the starter motor which wouldn't work.
Here is a selection of photos from a very enjoyable trip.
Kyrenia harbour & castle
St. Hilarion castle
Salamis Roman ruins
Nicosia
A courtyard in ruins, Nicosia
Wildflower walk
5-star accom. (once?)
The Ford Cortina 1600E we borrowed for the rally- doing the slalom
05:39 - 26 May 2011 - {483} -
As it continues to be cold and Wintery here in S.E. England even now in March, I find I am still not going out much, or doing much. So I have no exciting travel or activities to report. I went skiing as usual which was good, but didn't take many photos this time. Since Christmas I rattled off NINE new poems for something to do. These have pretty much exhausted my remaining ideas and bring my total to 97 poems. I will make sure I get to 100and then may stop, unless inspiration returns; (who knows?) I have posted three previously below this one, so here is another from my latest batch.
93. WE ARE INDEED ----- !
When living in a loving house,
With comfort and with room:
With good food and with merriment
And rarely any gloom.
In a life without threat, when few matters are importunate,*
We are privileged, and we are indeed ----- FORTUNATE!
In moments when we triumph;
When our mission ‘strikes a chord’;
When we vanquish rising darkness;
When we wield a righteous sword:
When ignorance is banished: To new renaissances we strive.
We shine, and we are indeed ----- ALIVE!
If our life has times euphoric,
With sweet adrenalin and thrills:
Gained experience and wisdom
To avoid potential ills.
Then, later, happy children, who our legacy will build.
We can ask for nothing more, we are indeed ----- FULFILLED!
In those moments when we are lifted;
In those moments when we soar;
When we connect with the spiritual;
When our senses fill with awe.
We wonder at our progress from origins so lowly;
We are humbled, and we are indeed----- HOLY!
We ’ve come from struggling groups of hunters
And from gatherers, to farms:
Tamed wild hostile environments;
‘Knowledge’ our call-to-arms.
Overcoming darker instincts, we have survived against the odds.
Now, reaching for the stars, we are indeed ----- GODS!
© Barrie Cannon. (2hours) Fri. 14th January 2011.
* importunate = untimely, burdensome, resistless
05:08 - 6 March 2011 - {2} -
Because there is a memorial day on January 27th for all victims of genocide since the 2nd World War, I am re-posting a poem I wrote 5 years ago about a victim of Auschwitz death camp. The poem was started after I saw a TV programme about past-life hypnotic regression. A woman under hypnosis supposedly went back to a previous life as a victim of the Nazi holocaust. Her reactions under hypnosis were so harrowing that I can believe them to be true. I found it hard to do the subject justice and didn't finish the poem/her story until 16 years later.
For the memorial day, I recently read out some survivors' poems on the subject at a local library, and included this too. I thought I would post it again as a reminder of what can happen when power and prejudice get free reign.
1943
Are these my fellow countrymen
Who slash our culture’s threads?
Can these be our neighbours’ sons
Who drag us from our beds?
The innocent in millions are dragged from near and far,
To suffer for the sin of birth under a different star.
A childhood full of love and wonder
Taunts my every thought.
A future once assured and safe
Is now reduced to nought.
The family who once nurtured me were forced upon the train
And pulled apart forever in the fear, the crowd, the pain.
‘Freedom through work’,
This lie to us they say.
The sick, the old, the babies,
Are ‘sent on’ right away.
We issue clothing from the dead to those about to go,
Who first must take a ‘shower’ under the constant chimney-glow.
My little fifteen year old friend
Kicked to death before my eyes.
She asked forbidden questions
That our darkest dread denies.
If we issued clothes to the workers ‘Eastward bound’,
Why we saw the same clothes coming round and round?
Oh, this hideous perversion,
This mockery of life.
Who could plan a world like this –
Such torment and such strife?
“Is this really happening, can someone tell me how?
My dearest ma and papa – where are you? – Help me now.”
Stripped of identity, dignity and ties,
A naked, frightened flotsam cowers.
We are no longer human beings in their eyes -
And they, most surely not, in ours.
Further months of degradation,
Cruel and jeering guards.
Disease, cold and starvation,
Break my psyche into shards.
A work-detail outside the camp, gave me a chance to hide,
A futile hope against the odds, but certain death inside.
It didn’t take the guards much time
To notice my escape.
The horror now is just outside,
I cower, my body shakes.
Those guttural voices mocking, - this beast without a heart;
The jackboots on the cellar steps, - my mind is split apart.
A wrench, a snap, and I’m floating, -
Hovering, above a strange scene.
A gaunt, pitiful wretch dragged from hiding –
But I’m separate, detached and serene.
At last free of the suffering,
The emptiness too vast to cure,
I look down upon this frail, snivelling wreck –
Despise it for what it made me endure.
Yet, I am strangely compelled to follow,
As they drag her away, filled with dread.
Yet, horror, - I am NOT free, NOT detached,
Dragged behind by some invisible ‘thread’.
The spirit watched, - confused, distraught,
As it heard this girl speaking its thoughts,
“No, no, - don’t take me, take her! ----
It’s HER you want, can’t you see!
Look at her, - pathetic rotten little Jew,
Take her, - she’s nothing to do with me!
NO, NO, - NOT ME. – Why do you take me too?”
The attempt to escape her very self, was failing,
The spirit drawn slowly back to the little body wailing,
---- And certain death.
The guards merely laughed at her rambling and flailing.
Stripped of identity, dignity and ties,
A naked, frightened flotsam cowers.
We are no longer human beings in their eyes -
And they, most surely not, in ours.
© Barrie Cannon
Up to verse 4 – Autumn 1989 - Completed - March 24th 2005
03:42 - 20 January 2011
Although I have TWO MORE new poems to blog, making five in quick succession, a friend who reads this blog said he wanted to see some new photos; (obviously an uncultured fellow!). So, for him I now post the following photos from my trip to Florida last November. I visited all the Disney theme parks and was amazed how realistic all the recreations of different parts of the world were. Epcot is the obvious example as its whole purpose IS to create a variety of foreign 'worlds'. As it happens one area it doesn't cover is the Himalayas. However this is done at Disney's Animal Kingdom park, around their 'Everest' rollercoaster. As in Epcot, this area is very realistic and is just like Nepal. I know -- I went there in 1988. These photos belie the fact they were taken in a theme park.
04:34 - 14 January 2011 - {10} -
Yes, He's done yet another one!. As happened last year, I find that having stopped writing during Summer months when more busy I find myself starting again in the Winter out of boredom. After Christmas and New Year have gone, it all seems rather dull, so I start writing as a creative outlet & to keep the old brain-box 'sharp'. This then is the 3rd poem in quick succession, as you can see below.
This one was a bit of a struggle, as its another of my philosophical ramblings which made it hard to put in poem-form. As a result it is probably rather 'dry' and 'heavy' and not emotional as poetry should be. I had been making notes throughout 2010 for it but couldn't get it going. Nevertheless after bludgeoning it over four days it came out OK in the end.
Its about the fact that all breakthroughs in thought and science have merely been the next logical step, and several people at once are exploring the same possibilities, unknown to each other. Therefore even our geniuses are 'replaceble'and we are ALL insignificant, as progress follows a logical path.
I expect the best thing about this is the title, haha!
WE DIVINE INSIGNIFICANT
Some say that we are ALL precious
And that every person counts,
But this becomes less likely
As we breed and increase our ‘amount’.
Repetition makes each one’s impact less
And makes each being less paramount.
Every facet of existence
Is covered a thousand-fold;
Every interest and talent
Is pursued by thousands of the bold,
In a wish to take them higher
And create the next threshold.
The human path is like a ladder,
Each rung showing us the next.
Things once thought impossible
At last become much less complex.
Pioneers unravel mysteries
That for so long would perplex.
Against dull stagnation we stand in defiance,
Our progress due to our need for self-reliance.
Curiosity to know, is the ‘mother of invention’
Necessity to grow, and easier living, our intention.
But are we really ‘standing on the shoulders of giants’
Or is each ‘rung’ merely logical on the ‘ladder of science?’
We deify our geniuses,
Still alive, or long-since dead;
Claim them divine or unique ---
Hold them in reverential stead.
But NO-ONE is irreplaceable
As has been so often said.
For each hero we call ‘genius’,
There were others in the wings,
Who also saw the next step
And worked on similar things.
It ’s chance who gets it right, and first,
And from whom next progress springs.
Many strive to be beneficent,
All with varied potential;
But are our heroes SO magnificent
To be held so deferential,
When perhaps they ’re insignificant
And progress just exponential?
Some may find my ‘truth’ unfaceable,
Though I think my theory sensible.
I have no proof on which it ’s baseable
And some may find it reprehensible.
To say the ‘great’ are still replaceable --
That really we are ALL dispensable.
Whatever deviations the human path may take,
The distant outcome will always be the same.
The sequence of discovery cannot make mistakes,
But of every breakthrough’s ‘triers’ only one will get the fame.
It could have been one of the others that gave old ways a shake:
It ’s only chance that gives us the memory of which name.
© Barrie Cannon 6th - 10th January 2010
04:31 - 10 January 2011 - {2} -
VOICES
I rattled the poem below off over a couple of days, which brings my total up to ninety poems.
You often hear in stories from history, or in the Bible, or even in courts of law of people claiming to be driven by 'voices in their heads'. It seems to me that this cannot normally happen unless the person is mentally ill, i.e. schizophrenic, or similar, where the brain doesn't funtion via 'normal' pathways. Or people who are deluded who have a need to be special and 'chosen by God'. Or finally as an excuse by sick individuals who have committed sickening crimes against others, (--"the voices made me do it!")
Nevertheless, although 'voices in the head' is (generally) no more than our own imagination and thought process, I thought it a great theme and 'hook' for a poem, So here below is the result of such musing. I don't THINK I'm mad (just eccentric, maybe, haha!) Hope you like---
VOICES
I hear voices
Carried on the wind,
Where all dead souls are borne away;
Where all new life begins:
Swirling in the spirit dance
Eternity destined.
I hear voices
Shouting from the stones.
Built by lives of hardship,
That call me from their bones,
And tell me of those darker days,
Thankfully now flown.
I hear voices
That beckon from the ground.
Their joys and sorrows through the ages
Make an awesome sound.
They demand I justify myself
And my aimless drifting ’round.
Sacks of chemicals and water
Made these voices through the years:
Electricity and elements
Make the ‘music of the spheres’.
Sailing through impression and sensation,
Ecstasy and fear.
We are just the latest permutation
‘Tuning in’ while we are here.
I hear voices
In the whispering of trees;
Echoes of our ancestors
Riding on the breeze:
The layering of ‘spirit-breath’
All eddying with ease.
I hear voices
Swirling in the air:
Past contempts and passions,
Sufferings and cares.
Sometimes howling, threatening;
Sometimes whispered, fair.
I hear voices
In the crashing of the sea;
In the sucking of the undertow,
Calling out to me.
So many drowned and taken down,
Who cry eternally.
I hear voices
Singing in the wires,
Striking chords within my heart;
Emotions set afire.
They take me from the lowest depths
To the loftiest of spires.
Sacks of chemicals and water
Made these voices through the years:
Electricity and elements
Make the ‘music of the spheres’
Sailing through impression and sensation,
Ecstasy and fear.
We are just the latest permutation
‘Tuning in’ while we are here.
© Barrie Cannon (2hours) Tues. 4th & Weds. 5th January 2011.
03:33 - 5 January 2011 - {2} -
It has been 11 months since I last wrote a poem, even though I still had a few theme ideas, I haven't had any inclination to write since the last four in January, even though I have a stated aim to reach 100 writtem poems. (I had got to 88). Its been EXTREMELY cold here in England (coldest November I can remember AND with much snow), and I've been stuck indoors. SO, I thought I'd finish off an old song lyric from my old group days (for my lyric archive) and straight afterwards did the poem below in around 3 hours. It was gratifying to know I can still do it after a long gap. Hope you like it. Its about the decline of religion here in the U.K.- no bad thing in these more enlightened times if you ask me.
89. CHIMING THROUGH TIME
A sound so old, of great joy and fear;
Bells called all people, from far and near:
Peeling and tolling,
Ringing and rolling
Their joyous clamour down hill and ’cross vale.
Centuries have passed;
The belief had held fast:
Each new generation seduced by their tale.
A ringing reminder of a concept so bold,
Of a creator’s will, --- such a powerful hold.
They gave a sense of community
Plus a sense of immunity
From eternal oblivion, or worse, our damnation.
They spread guilt and dread;
Tales of raising the dead,
And that goodness will lead to our final salvation.
Ringing out a timeless glory;
Singing out that holy story.
So many now question; old spells cannot bind:
Just a handful of followers time left behind.
Now few come and listen,
Though some eyes still glisten.
Weak voices waver that once raised the roof;
Plaintive and hollow,
Those remnants who follow:
The lost congregation now demands proof.
Through education and global awareness,
Our welfare-state’s promoted fairness;
The bells now fall on deaf ears:
A Sunday lie-in is more dear.
Science now answers old questions with ease.
For aeons they’d chime
Endlessly sublime;
Now echoes of a fantasy adrift on the breeze.
These beautiful buildings are saved at great cost,
Monuments to naiveté, their purpose now lost.
Ringing out a faded glory:
Singing out a jaded story.
The prayer-books and hymnals gather dust on the shelves:
Ailing and recumbent,
Failing and redundant.
NOW, for whom do the bells toll? They toll for THEMSELVES.
© Barrie Cannon (3hours) Thur. Dec 2nd 2010
07:03 - 3 December 2010 - {4} -
Here are a few more photos from my sports-car trip to Sth of France
Moustiers St. Marie
Ronarts line-up ouside chateau of a vineyard we visited
are you sure this is the right road
on a beautifull sheltered river walk
a lovely modern sculpture at Gassin 'Im Plosionne'
01:36 - 30 November 2010 - {0} -
I am long overdue for a new entry about my escapades. This is two months past now, but hope its of interest.
In Mid September I went with friend, Steve in my RONART W152 sports car on a 16 day trip the the Sth. of France with the Ronart Drivers' Club. There were eight of these Jaguar Specials all together including two French owners who joined us, and who generously entertained us at their lovely homes. As is usual on these trips there were car problems. Every car from England had problems, and mine was perhaps the most troublesome. Firstly, my brakes started staying on and not releasing. This got worse till the car was locked-up solid. In spite of trying to fix this before leaving. The problem returned and after trying various cures to the vacuum servos it turned out to be the master-cylinder piston not returning. We fixed the problem by attaching springs it, after much dismantling to reach it. After that the car behaved erratically by stalling and running rough. We ended up yanking out all the electronic ignition next, replacing it with an old style distributor of one of our French owners. It made little difference. On the journey home, and since, it was back to normal. I think it was just the extra heat down there causing an wiring problem. Other cars had other problems but we all kept going and had a great holiday anyway. We stayed at the holiday villa of one of our part in Draguignan, near the south coast.
The weather was good with only one day of rain plus a shower in St. Tropez. HAVE A GUESS HOW MUCH A PINT OF BEER COSTS OUTSIDE THE MONTE CARLO CASINO. 13 EUROS-- THATS ELEVEN & A HALF POUNDS. NO WONDER THEY CALL IT THE MILLIONAIRES PLAYGROUND. (They DID give us some free(?) olives though!
Here are a few photos to give a taste of the trip.
My car at Moustiers St. Marie
new exhaust box. Pretty cool, eh?
Monaco
Looking down on Monte Carlo
me at St. Tropez
01:46 - 28 November 2010 - {1} -
The library service of my local London borough council (Havering), publish annually an anthology of poems by local poets. This was the first year I was aware of this, so I submitted one and it was accepted. Due to the limitation of space restricting it to one page-- about 20 lines, most of mine are too long, usually being two or sometimes three pages long. My choice of short enough ones was limited. I finally sent in one of my very earliest ones, written as a song for the group I played drums for way back in the 1980s (Exhibit 'A'.). They did use the song for some time but it was a shorter version. The poem is called 'Relentless' and is about the eternal struggle between land and sea for dominance. Here are pictures of the book cover and the relevant page, but in case its too hard to read I have posted the poem underneath too.
All the poets in the book were invited to a presentation of a free book presented by the local mayoress, and all poems were read out to the audience by two local actors, one male & one female. My poem's verses were read by the man and the choruses by the woman. They did it well, but It was strange to hear it read out publicly by other people.
RELENTLESS
Hard-nosed granite, jagged, claws the sky,
Digs in deep against the surging sea.
Poseidon hurls his might in ageless war,
Seeks dominion for eternity.
His ceaseless ally, Luna, coldly shines,
A force no kingdom can withstand.
Sanctuary and sanity she undermines,
Grinding nations into sand.
“March”, said the breakers,
“Suffer”, said the tide,
“Look skyward to your maker,
There’s nowhere safe to hide.
Your return has been long-planned,
All things start and end with me.”
“I’ll stand”, said the land,
“You’re sand”, said the sea.
No castle so strong, or ship so proud,
Nor new-formed island rising steep,
Is safe for long, before Poseidon –
Drags it tumbling to the deep.
Mithras, warming land and ocean,
Gives life to both in the endless fray,
Forever oversees the onslaught,
But doesn’t care who wins the day.
“March”, said the breakers,
“Suffer”, said the tide,
“Look skyward to your maker,
There’s nowhere safe to hide.
Your return has been long-planned,
All things start and end with me.”
“I’ll stand”, said the land,
“You’re sand”, said the sea.
The wayward crashing turn of tide and wave,
The heartless menace of the currents sway,
Will try to claim another life, or land,
Before the turn of dusk and day.
We gasp the precious air while yet we may,
While trying to deny our darkest fears,
But every now and then we feel the spray
And hear the roaring in our ears.
© Barrie Cannon
Rough draft September 1984 Completed April 7th 1985
10:38 - 12 October 2010 - {2} -
Yes, its been a while since I blogged, so these pics are months out of date now, but I though they were worth sharing. I have just returned from 3 weeks in the south of France in my Jaguar 'special', but wanted to post a few more nice Irish photos first to finish with that subject. I thought these were the most intertesting subjects, so i hope you like the pics. My next entry will be of the 'French sports car frenzy'! Can you possibly wait??
a traditional curragh boat turned into a bus-stop roof
a typical Irish pub.
nice coastal view near Bantry
a very early Christian church. The 11th century Gallarus oratory
a big circular bronze age stone fort; lots of these around S.W. Ireland
a prehistoric 'dolmen'
a romantic ivy covered castle near the coast
08:38 - 29 September 2010 - {2} -
In early June I went to South West Ireland with an Irish biker friend, who was born there in Cork, and also with a German work colleague of his. We went on our motorbikes. I've had mine for 20years now and just use it in Summer so its still in good condition. We took the ferry from Swansea in Wales, overnight, which arrived in Cork next morning. We camped, and toured around the coastal fiords and peninsulas of the south West. The scenery is stunning and there are a lot of historic buildings and monuments going back into pre-history. We were lucky with the weather, especially as we were camping AND on bikes. We had hot sunny weather for the whole trip, though Irish weather is usually unpredictable.
I took a lot of nice photos of various things we saw and will post a 2nd batch later. Here are the 1st seven pics.
My trusty 23year old m/ bike overlooking huge sandy beach
Exact replica of a 'model T' Ford in stainless steel, near Skibereen. Henry Fords parents were from here.
One of many prehistoric stone circles here. This one near Bantry
Amazing coastal rock formation
gravestones at a derelict coastal church
not a place for quick decisions--confusing or what?
the Healy pass, between counties of Cork and Kerry
05:35 - 12 August 2010 - {148} -
Here, as promised are some more bizarre photos from the 'festy of festies', Glastonbury which had its 40th anniversary last month. Long may it reign and God bless all who trip in it!!
my sentiments entirely!
'cubehenge'
07:02 - 15 July 2010 - {2} -
Yes, the legendary Glastonbury festival has just happened again, AND IT DIDN'T RAIN !!! The weather was the best for years. Last year was good too, so hopefully the run of bad weather years has passed for a while. This year marked 40 years since the first one in 1970, and it has since become the biggest and best in Europe, and still has its integrity and values intact. Long may it continue-- a feast for the senses and madder every year.
Here are a few photos of this year's madness.
serious worms in Somerset!
fantastic big sand sculpture
many flags -- as always
Angels guarding us
"Avast, me hearties!!"
beware the green god!
01:46 - 8 July 2010 - {2} -
I don't write many new poems these days and have only done three this year, bringing my total up to 88. I have a few started ideas that I hope to finish-- probably in the Winter when there is less going on. I hope to get to 100 eventually.
I go to a local poetry group once a month and the following poem resulted from that. There is a member who writes 'prose' and having stated my opinion that poetry should have metered structure and RHYME he did a piece having a poke at me calling me the 'poetry police'. I had to respond and wrote this the next day. I read it out the following month & we laughed and shook hands afterwards. I think it came out well for one that came from a chance situation.
PROPER POEMS. (To Rhyme is Sublime)
‘Poet’ is a word, abused by so many
With dubious talent, and some without any,
Who write without rhyme, structure or meter
And call it prose, or ‘free-form’, -- I call them cheaters.
For it ’s surely more worthy, I do believe,
Using disciplined stanzas --- in verse well conceived:
Ringing true in rhymed meter is more hard to achieve.
Prose is just descriptive writing; creative it may be,
Imaginative also, yet it isn’t poetry.
Without the discipline of structure, without a rhyming ‘hook’,
They’re just writing short stories, - they should go and write a book.
Even worse is ‘Free-form’ where they make ‘bullshit’ sound sincere.
Like a chattering monkey, or a mosquito in the ear,
Their babble hints at something that never is made clear.
They have no ‘hooks’ to remember and have no point to make:
To go and hear them speak turns out to be one big mistake.
The chance to understand their loquacious verbiage is slim
When the only person in the room it makes sense to - is HIM.
Where words issuing forth in meaningless torrent
Buffet us in shapeless wind, blown, -- saying nothing.
Their nebulous wordscapes of drivel abhorrent
Cocoon us in melodic drone, -- huffing, - puffing.
“Bathing in the aural pool of a camel’s call” ---- What is that all about?
“The carpet fell from the melted wall” ---- is the kind of twaddle they spout!
How do they get it published? Do they think that it will last?
It often seems that progress is a shadow of the past.
We need different inspired writing to push different mental triggers,
But those deluded would-be poets sometimes make me snigger;
Pursuing fractured pathways that no-one else can figure.
I’ll vent my spleen and spit my bile at all of these pretenders
And wage my campaign lyric-style until they all surrender,
And finally add some structure, -- write a PROPER poem:
Then I’ll drink their health in champagne from a massive jeroboam
I know its all subjective, -- we just like what we like,
But I say call it what it is; lets just get it right.
“You’re the ‘poetry-police’”, they cry out in ‘high dudgeon’
“You’re blinkered and inflexible, - you miserable curmudgeon:”
I’m like Hitler or like Stalin; - I should be put in my place.
“Forcing rules upon eloquence is just a disgrace ”----
But - “If it don’t rhyme then it ain’t poetry”. -- Job done! -- I rest my case!
© Barrie Cannon Fri. 15th & Sat.16th January 2010
11:36 - 7 June 2010 - {12} -
When over in Nth. Carolina about six weeks back, one of our trips was to this zoo.
It was very big but rather disappointing. Firstly, it only had creatures from Nth. America and Africa --its a bigger world than that!! Even then the African section only had a small selection of the usual more common animals. The Nth. American section was very good though with lots of creatures I hadn't seen before. Here are a few reasonable photos taken there.
12:59 - 17 May 2010 - {2} -
On my recent trip to Nth. Carolina in the U.S.of A. we drove about 180miles from Charlotte to Wilmington on the coast, where they have preseved one of their massive old battleships from the second world war. It is named after the State, as were many of their premier ships, an is in perfect condition. They stuffed it up a small creek, --don't know how they got it there; -it appears to be in a field as you approach it.
Anyway it was huge and very impressive. It has 3 massive gun turrets 2 front & 1 at back. The sides are bristling with various smaller guns and it even has its own sea-plane on deck. We got lost below decks where it had everything a small town would have; operating theatres, dentists, barbers, even a cinema.
It was torpedoed by the Japs in the Pacific but not sunk luckily. (obviously)
yours truly repelling boarders, me hearties!
12:21 - 27 April 2010 - {1} -
Here are a 2nd batch of photos of the most interesting cars I saw at the big show at Charlotte, in Nth. Carolina, fo all you older petrol-heads out there.
02:00 - 19 April 2010 - {2} -
I have just returned from visiting North Carolina, in America and luckily got back two days before the Iceland volcano's dust has stopped all Atlantic flights. The main reason for going was to visit this big car show at Charlotte's massive Nascar racing stadium. There were a lot of good old cars there but mostly from after 1940s. I prefer the older cars and had wanted to pick up a few bits and literature for my old Hupmobiles, but there were not enough vendors selling old stuff. Anyway here are some of the more interesting older cars and hot-rods. We visited a WW2 battleship on the coast at Wilmington too. I will post photos of that next.
06:19 - 16 April 2010 - {0} -
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