What's new reader?

Another week etc.

Weather has been unseasonably good up here in the North Blah Blah Blah.

Well that is the niceties out of the way.

On Friday I met an unusual lady. She told me she was the mother of 10. Let me repeat that, I said TEN children. This lady was in her eighties and going still going strong looking after a multitude of great grandchildren. Bringing up 10 ankle biters??? I love my 2 sprogs dearly but I just couldn't imagine multiplying it all by five! Actually this lady was the 4th person last week that made me double take when I saw their birthdays. I had them down as much younger people. Anyway we got talking about how people seemed to be more indomitable back in the day. I told her the story of my Great Grandmother who raised 3 kids on her own after my great Grandad was killed in an industrial accident. Back in 1908 there was no compensation so she was on her own. The fact that she was capable enough to survive in the East End of London with no help (in such ways that I have had)and thus ensured my eventual survival is such a testament to her fortitude.

We talked some more about entertaining young children and the conversation crept on to a subject I have written of before. Namely people getting into difficulty inside Vulcan bombers. Here is a pic of one to remind you.

Now there is, not far from me, a preserved example of such a plane. When I went there is was closed off. I could walk underneath (curiously scary experience!) and all around but they did not let people inside. Darn. However my intrepid octogenarian struck lucky when she took her little horrors to see it.

A man was inside carrying out some sort of preservation work and was exiting the aircraft as our group arrived. He said they were welcome to go inside and have a look see for themselves. And so they did. my lady did comment how "snug" the fit was inside and just what the crew went through to use these things. However exiting the aircraft was a problem for my story teller. The builders of the plane, glorious though it is, made little means of escape for it's crewmen (save for the pilots of course who had ejector seats). In an emergency the plan was pretty much sort of, just fall out. Of course there was the small matter of re-attaching yourself to your parachute and once suitably harnessed the best you could manage was a sort of hobble to the exit. You then literally fell on the now open (hopefully) exit and hoped your altitude adjusted rip cord remembered to open at 12000 feet as per instruction manual. So if the manufacturers had paid so little attention as to how valuable crewmen would escape their creation imagine how much thought they had put into getting octogenarian ladies out of their cockpit. And thus my intrepid explorer found out the hard way. She didn't go into details but if a show you a picture of a hatch open you might get an idea of the problem.

After some time she had to send her grandchildren back to the office shouting "Grandma's stuck in the Vulcan!". The thought of an octogenarian wedged into some unspeakable part of the museums pride and joy brought enough bodies running that they were able to conjure up some means of escape. Don't worry they didn't use the ejector seats.