Kiwi Beer and Bits

[k9kiwi]

The next shots show the Mk I front section at one of the English museums (Lanc will know where)

Notice the interior green, and the colours used around the escape hatch, completely different to the normal gob of Camo paint slapped on by modellers.

Also note the handle for opening the side window, a bit of heat stretched sprue bent to shape on the inside of the canopy goes a long way.

 

[the lancaster kicks ass]

i heartily concour with most of what you've said- apart from the Mk.XII lanc, care to elaborate

edit- the lanc nose section will be the RAF Museum London's example..........

 

[k9kiwi]

Late war Mk XII. Some had ali tubing and full external frames in stead of Spruce wood. More prevelant on post war models tho.

Following pic is the Mk XII at Auckland MOTAT Museum. from kiwiaircraftimages web site.

Note the lack of DF loop, although the blister for it is visible in the top of the canopy.

 

[the lancaster kicks ass]

that kiwi lanc's a Mk.VII, there is no Mk.XII............

 

[k9kiwi]

Bugga I was one X out. (I was meaning the 12 version.)

Been a LONG day so far, I was up with 2 1/2 year old boy with Diahhrea at 0400 this mornin.

Could say it was a sh!tty start to a day. Still it only took a couple of hours before he ran out.

Pump fluids in one end, and wait 5 minutes.

 

[k9kiwi]

How to get from A to B easily.

 

[k9kiwi]

The day someone finally realised that Lancasters didn't operate in the PTO.

Followed by a common response.

 

[k9kiwi]

A tanker responding to a bush fire at one of our Voli Brigades in Kiwi Land.

The driver was taking a bend when something gave way and over the bank she went.

Loaded with 6,000 gallons of water it could have got ugly real fast.

This is where she ended, with 2 crew that needed ropes to get down and new nappies.

 

[k9kiwi]

Worn with Pride.

 

[k9kiwi]

to true...

 

[k9kiwi]

Internet Protection ??????

 

[Wildcat]

K9 here are some pics I thought I would add, you may or may not have seen them.

 

[the lancaster kicks ass]

haha, as a farmer's son i loved the feck off bales the most.........

 

[kiwimac]

Like the pictures!

Of course, life here in Kiwi-land is simply idyllic (if you can avoid getting badly sun-burnt)

I didn't!

 

[k9kiwi]

About that bloody fast too Mate.

Damn Ozone hole.

Can everyone North of the equator please stop Farting.

The methane emissions are turning us into Crispy Critters.

 

[kiwimac]

k9Kiwi,

yup, I wasn't fast enough with the old sunscreen. Man, did I burn!

 

[k9kiwi]

Just a general rambling here no picis.

So the Thread Nazi's can go take a flying if its not the "right" place. Its my thread and I'll wash it as fast as I want.

Another bad call last night, with a cut out of 2 people whose car had emraced the power pole on a country road. The wonders of alcohol and cars is they mix badly.

Kiwi Land has a funny wee tradition that started in the late 70's on the road to Tauraga from Auckland.

Someone erected a white cross on the side of the road after a fatal traffic accident.

All around the country now there are white crosses dotted along the side of the road. Some with engraved plaques, often fresh flowers show the aniversary day for you.

You can tell a bad section of road or a nasty corner, the crosses grow in number as a silent warning to take care here. One corner I know of had around 17 crosses on it when I last went through it about 5 years ago.

You can always tell when driving on main routes that you are coming up to a country Pub, the crosses increase in frequency, and fade away in number after you have passed by. "Now why is that" I wonder mockingly at Kiwi's propensity for doing the number one stupid thing.

Roading authorities have tried to ban these mute testimonies, and failed. they re-appear after being taken down, Kiwi's as a group have decided they are a sacrosanct monument and should remain.

Certain crosses on certain roads have more significance than others to those of us that answer the sirens wail in the middle of the night. Thats just the way it is.

They have tried to stop some of us from putting them up on more notorious sections of highway, and failed. The public outcry was not worth the effort.

And the most bizzare part is that the corner mentioned above is probably the same as when i last drove through it. They might fix it in another 10 years or so.

I hope so.

 

[k9kiwi]

And if you want to know what it is like, this is written by a Voli FireFighter from Plimmerton VFB.

I have had the pleasure of supping ales with some of the members of this Brigade, including the Author.

First off are his notes about the story.

------------------------

Several years ago I wrote this true account (at least, true as I saw it) of a motor vehicle accident ("MVA") on State Highway One just north of Plimmerton. It was published in the New Zealand Listener, and on the internet on several sites around the world. I have received a number of messages from people who felt positive about it, including a school in the United States who are using it in their anti-drink driving classes, and a paramedic whose wife said that it allowed her to understand his work for the first time.
If you have an educational use for "MVA, 1am", please feel free to use it.

Tony Sutorius

------------------------

MVA 1 am

Frantic scurrying in the back of the truck, bunker coats, reflective jerkins, latex gloves under our leather ones. Suddenly there, all leaping into the black unknown through our different doors. Grabbed the High Pressure hose from its reel, undid its brake, dragged it like a mad ******* towards the knot of police and stopped drivers who were standing on the roadside, looking down into the deep ditch where the car was bound to be. Late model, white, balanced precariously about 45 degrees over on its side, straddling a narrower but even deeper ditch. The ringing cold air betrays the darkness - "Three trapped! Three trapped!".

A figure in street clothes runs, grabs Ian, demands a scoop stretcher. "We don't carry those, ambulance'll be here in a minute". "Jesus! Every decent fire engine's got them on! ****!" he accuses, plunges down the bank again onto the unstable car. The police seemed too preoccupied to care, so we leave him there, carry on. For now we won't dispute his ownership. I run back to 351, find the heavy rescue line. Returning with it nearly ran straight into by a guy with a skinhead, covered in blood. Two ambulance guys and a cop grab him, guide him away. "I need to go back down, I need to go back!" The driver? His eyes wide, really wide. Sirens approaching from all directions, helicopter or the thought of one in the distance.

I slide down the steep bank, but loose control, crash towards the bottom, skittle two firefighters - yelling, they think the car is falling on them. They forgive, I don't... Who the hell am I? ****ing ****! Who the hell am I?

My job to ensure the car doesn't tip over onto the rescuers working around the low side. Tie a heavy line to the central roof support, yelled for every free person on the scene to hang onto it. Someone hears, frantic action, tension in the air, tension on the line. Later its necessary to cut the roof off, the line being shifted to the back roof support. I call for the centrepunch to break through the rear quarterlight window, the only unsmashed window in the car. I realised then that there was another kid in the back seat, so I got a blanket to protect their face from the breaking glass.

For quite a few minutes we cover him, touch his shoulder, talk to him. I stare at a deep cut in his arm for several seconds before I slowly realise why its attracted my attention - its not bleeding. Should have realised this boy was dead, but no-one told us. Pull the blanket completely off and see the deep wound in his back where his spinal column had been. We cover him again, but a bloodied hand and one foot in its pristine Doc Martins boot are at such unnatural and strange angles the blanket is too small to cover them.

Three probationary firefighters, never seen anything like this before. We keep talking to them as we have time, trying to help them focus on what they're doing... every few minutes I look again and find them staring at the body, or at something in the distance I can't see. Their lives will never be exactly the same - not worse really, just not ever the same. Something taken, something given. Perhaps they already knew.

Working with the heavy, awkward Jaws of Life... cutting the roof off... it's necessary to move one of the oxygen bottles... the only place it would be out of the way was the back seat.... an older fireman reaches over and places it in the arms of the dead boy.... "don't think he'll mind" he mutters to himself, smirking embarassedly when seeing I've heard him.... two half laughs.

Two most seriously trapped, both front passengers, the girl on the boy's knee. Now utterly wedged between the seat, the crushed wreckage of the dashboard, the wall of the ditch the car had come to rest in. A deathly embrace. A woman's whimpering and faint screams, continuously for the hour it takes to get her out. Its a good sign, she's got the energy to fight.

"Leave me alone! Leave ME! I'll get myself out! LEAVE ME!!!!".

A bloodied arm shoots from the wreckage, grasps a fireman by the collar, has to be prized off. We are hurting her so badly, so very very, very badly. We're her friends, her worst tormentors. Words of rationalisation in the air, thoughts in every head, rebellious notions in every guts.

Both with broken legs, severe internal damage, many less serious injuries. Chantelle, the woman, had bit her lower lip almost completely off. White teeth showing through fruit pulp flesh. Both covered in blood, some their own, some from their dead friend who must have been crammed up against them both immediately after the crash. A knot of ambulance officers crowded in amongst it all, their bright yellow jackets heavily stained with blood and other body fluids. The milky white roof lining lying on the grass, a very large, visceral stain in one corner, still liquid.

Finally we get the boy out too, carried his stretcher awkwardly up the steep bank to the waiting helicopter. Brown bottle glass crunches underfoot.

At least one dead, probably more by today. These six kids chose an unnewsworthy way to be irreparably damaged and to die. You probably won't hear any more about it. Maybe it'll get a paragraph in the Post tonight. Shame there wasn't a cute dog in there to rescue.

Crushed cars don't have simple angles.



Postscript:

As a carload of six drive north a man thrashes through a horrible dream... a young man is going to die, nothing can be done. Nothing can save him. He wakes suddenly, sweating. Ten minutes later he still lays there, wondering what it might mean. He's seen a lot of real death that hasn't affected him like this dream has. The familiar thin fire siren whine steals into the room. He pulls the blankets over his head like a child. "Aren't you going?" asks his wife, rolling towards him. "I can't!" he says, "He's already dead - there's nothing I can do. I can't go to this one". Its 1am.

A probationary firefighter has just got home after his first real fatality. He moves awkwardly, afraid to touch anything with his hands that seem to him pulped now, fruit pulped like those lips. He's afraid of leaving bloodstains where he touches. His fingers look normal, but he's caught it somehow. Everything hurts

 

[k9kiwi]

And yes, it is like that.

Seemingly disconected, surreal images in flashing lights, sweating like a pig working 20 kilo (40 plus pound) Jaws in the middle of winter, trying to keep yourself and crew safe. Trying to get the job done as fast and carefully as possible.

Peeling kit with blood off afterwards to go in a Bio-Hazard bag and be sent away for cleaning.

Having a quiet chat amongst yourselves to square it away, then back to home and bed.

In the morning the young son is playing, the weathers good, and the rest of the world is humming along on a normal relaxed Sunday. Family members and friends pop in for a visit, you feel they are from some distant planet.

Can't you see I am not clean anymore.

It's just you and a few others that are out of step with reality for a while.

Scars remain.

 

[k9kiwi]

My last comment on this.

I like drinking Beer.

I don't drive afterwards, even after one bottle.

Couldn't live with myself.

If any of you think differently, me or someone else like me MIGHT be able to sort your mess out when it happens.

Because it will.