Exerpt from a poem in progress

Some nights ago,

when I had taken more wine than I should,

I stood outside my tent, as was my custom, gazing at the stars.

They were as friends to me,

and many I called by name when they appeared.

Night upon night I watched them rise and set,

I knew their movements well,

their times and seasons too

For many a year they led me through the desert dark

About my trade

And by my dial told the hour of prayer

Showed me the way the holy city stood

Oh! How I made my children laugh

As I recounted tales told in the shining shapes

Embellished as they were – well any father would!

And how their laughter brought such joy to me.

But more than this:

For nightly did I ponder on the meaning of it all

The very nature of creation gripped me so

So there upon this night I stood again

And watched as ever,

wond’ring as I did

Now, if I dreamed, or had some inner sight

Or truly did all that I think I did

I cannot say

But what I now relate seemed real enough

For I was touched, I vow

By God himself

And howsoever matters not to me.

Big Boys Toys - Playing with Jets

I've been very lucky in life, in many ways...

I always liked aircraft as a boy, and when I joined the Royal Air Force, I naturally had quite a bit to do with planes, which for several years was wonderful. Later, after the RAF, I worked with smaller planes, as a parachute instructor, but eventually that had to end too.

So imagine my joy, at the end of the Millennium, when a vintage British jet fighter, a Hawker Hunter, appeared at my local airfield, in private hands. This machine was almost 50 yrs old when it arrived, and is an example of the elegant aircraft the British aircraft industry used to produce.

In service I never worked on Hunters - I missed them by a couple of years - and finally here was a chance to get to see one close up.

But wait, as they say - there's more!!

The new owner, a former fighter pilot, and now an airline pilot, decided that he wanted to fit a live ejection seat, which would literally fire him out of the plane in an emergency, and naturally he needed a good parachute too. Enter John the Parachute Man....

The parachute assembly I was given to prepare was rather old, and the harness really needed replacing, but I wasn't able to procure a new one at a sensible price. Nor was I strictly qualified to make a new harness, but I WAS qualified to *replace all the webbing on the old one*, if you get the idea...:) The end result was entirely acceptable, and the owner was delighted.

Preparing the ejection seat was a task to be done by an expert, and an RNZAF armourer, Glen, took on that task, and I got to help him - imagine playing with stuff like that. Many a night was spent in a gloomy hangar helping Glen dismantle and test the seat components - a mixture of clockwork and gunpowder, more or less, until the device was ready for installation.

John and the *Hot Seat*, Easter 1999

We finally installed the seat on Easter Day 1999, a tricky operation which we later streamlined. It was to be another year before the Hunter made her first flight in New Zealand, and since then she has been an airshow favourite, not to mention the fastest plane in the country. (and the only ejection seat too, military or civilian!!)

The Hunter is supersonic in a shallow dive, and when she makes a fast pass, she creates a distinctive *blue note* that can only mean a Hawker Hunter.

Click here for the sound of a fast airshow pass by this Hunter. (will open a new window)

From time to time I get to help prepare the plane for flight, and help with engine starts, usually holding the fire extinguisher. I suppose I'm a self-appointed crew member really, and although I don't own any part of her, I still call her *My Hunter*.

I've been very lucky in life, in many ways - imagine my luck as an ageing civilian, to get to play with jets!!!

Defending the Pope

Photo Copyright © L'Osservatore Romano - Tutti i diritti riservati - All Rights Reserved

A month or so ago, I found myself in the curious position, as an Anglican, of defending the Pope.

A Turkish correspondant was incensed by reports in her newspaper that the Pope had insulted Islam. Since the news had not yet broken in my media it took a number of ventures into Google before I began to grasp what was happening. And it took considerable effort to persuade her that, as far as I could tell, the Pope had made a rather complicated statement which had been immediately misreported. I predicted crowds in the streets, and burning flags, and was almost right.

Over the next two nights I struggled to pacify other correspondants on the same subject.

Perhaps it shouldn’t matter to me. The Office of the Pope is large enough to handle the flak - to control the spin, you would think. And I could say that as I’m Church of England, the Pope doesn’t speak for me. On reflection, however, I’d rather he spoke for me than, for example, George Bush, if only on the grounds that the Vatican isn’t likely to start a war any time soon, and hence the Pope is less hazardous to my security.

The trouble is that once again the hornet’s nest is stirred up, and security again becomes fragile in certain regions of the world. The words have been spoken, and can’t be retracted. It’s clear to most intelligent non-muslims that there was a context to the Pope´s remarks, but that they were not a direct attack on Islam.

The trouble is too that there are some very thin-skinned people out there, and many of them seem only too keen to feel offended at the least excuse.

The West as a whole frequently has to sit back and take a great deal of abuse from the other side, without flinching. True there are random acts of violence, which to those affected seem major, but so far we in the West have not taken to the streets by the thousand to scream and wail, burning effigies and flags by way of protest - perhaps we should.

But in the meantime what of the Pope?

Well the poor old guy had to apologise.

Several times.

He was even under pressure to apologise for his previous apologies – demands coming from people who really had no idea what he said in the first place.

Am I the only one who thinks that the Pope´s first words when he began to reply to the criticism should have been: “Listen, I wasn’t talking to you......”?
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Go with the flow

It costs so little to make someone smile.

Sometimes just the ability to share a joke, to laught at yourself.

To go with the flow

A Year in Our Lives

Alvaro Samaniego came, accidentally and delightfully, into our lives in January 2004. I was a helper at the AFS exchange student arrival camp at Huia, and as the days went by, droves of eager young students came were orientated, and left, as ever. But one young man, from Paraguay, was without a family, because his visa had been processed very late.

At our leader’s meeting the call went out for a temporary home *for a few weeks*, and I decided that this lad should stay with Michele and me until a permanent home could be found.
Al was delighted and even more so on the way home, when we got into the nearby Ardmore air display, and walked around the planes behind the show line – handy contacts from the start….

Our accommodation wasn’t exactly luxurious, but Alvaro handled it well – after all, it was only *for a few weeks*. He settled in quickly, was enrolled at the local high school, and began his AFS year.

He was immensely likeable. Starting off a little shy, he quickly showed as a private but not secretive boy, intelligent and humorous, resourceful and independent. In short, almost perfect!!

By the time Gateway Camp came, and no other families had come forward, we had decided that if he wanted to, Alvaro could stay with us for the rest of the year. Our Support Co-ordinator acted as ambassador/diplomat, sounding out Al about staying permanently with us. His face was a picture of happiness as he accepted us.

Al fitted into our domestic life so well that he could easily have been born into it. He rapidly got used to our erratic mealtimes, and our TV habits, and although he spent a fair amount of time entertaining himself, he also sat with us often, and chatted – asking questions and listening….

Al had a go at many things in his year. He did both Soccer and Rugby training, and found a berth at the local Leisure centre, where he worked out several times a week. By the time he went home he had gained quite a bit of weight, put on a lot of muscle, grown taller and stronger. He sailed with the Spirit of Adventure, and took the South Island trip, with all the extras.

But it was the things he did with Michele and me that stand out. He was mad on Rugby, it transpired, and his hero was Jonah Lomu. On the day that Jonah's autobiography came out, I took Al to the local shopping centre, and discretely bought a copy of the book. He was delighted. But then I said *do you know where Jonah is now? - He’ll be here in 20 minutes to sign the book!* Al was ecstatic – he was second in line outside the bookshop (politely giving first spot to a lady) when his hero walked in, shook hands with him and chatted as he signed.

But then the All Black games began, and Michele learnt that the A.B’s were coming to the Museum for coffee after training one Saturday morning. With highly contrived mystery, and a hidden football, we took Al along. His eyes nearly fell out when he saw All Blacks walking past. He took the ball around the team for signatures, and even got the team Coach to sign. What a day for all of us!!

The night was good too – with his friend Marcelo, faces painted black and white, he cheered on the team to beat England at Eden Park. Actually, he only missed one North Island game because he didn’t know where the stadium was.

When Michele’s father fell ill, in September, Al’s liaison family, Lynnette and Michael, came to the fore, and happily looked after Al for us until we settled down again. They were the perfect liaison family, and Lynnette thought the world of Al

The year rolled on, and soon it was Christmas time. We all took a long trip north, all the way to the Cape, and he loved every minute of it. The trip terminated at the end of stay camp at the Hokianga, and a great time was had there.

And so finally to the airport. All the photos, all the usual goodbyes, which never get easier, even with practice. And then through that wicked doorway that swallows up our students every year just when we wish they would stay. Our last picture of Al shows a young man looking eagerly ahead – walking through the doorway towards his future.

(This is Al’s entry in the 2004 AFS Yearbook)

¨Being an exchange student it’s something really difficult but at the same time something great. My parents always supported me when I wanted to come to New Zealand, and I’m very grateful for the effort they did and this great opportunity they gave me because it changed my life.

Being in New Zealand has been a great experience so far, I learned a lot about their culture and I also grew up a lot as a person. I also want to thank my host parents John and Michele who are always taking care of me, with them, although I’m far away from Paraguay, they make me feel at home.

Luckily I have made a lot of friends and they made my experience way easier. It would’ve been something missing without them.

New Zealand it’s a beautiful and very exciting country, it has everything. Here I lived amazing moments, from the time I had to jump 132 mts attached to a rope, to having tea with the All Blacks. Those things I’ll never forget, and I’m sure I still have a lot of interesting things to do.

As I said before, this is a country that has everything, mountains, rivers, sea y pendejas locas, so I recommend to all the people who want to have a great year being an exchange student.¨

The plan was for Alvaro to return this year or next, around Christmas, with his family. He and I, and perhaps his father, would jump from the Skytower. It would have been amazing.

Alvaro Arturo Samaniego Baez died on 19th February 2006, aged 19, of head injuries, after a motorcycle accident in San Bernadino, Paraguay.

We will never forget him.

Something about Kiwis

In the ESL chatroom, where I spend a fair amount of time, I use the nickname *Kiwi John*, and this frequently causes some odd or even facetious remarks about the nature of Kiwis. Many ask if I'm a fruit, and few (but a significant few) guess that I'm in New Zealand. So here are a few interpretations of *Kiwi*, together with the right answer.

There are actually 5 definitions of Kiwi, and although one of them is very obscure it won't stop me from mentioning it...

To cut to the chase, The first use of *Kiwi* is to name the flightless bird unique to New Zealand. Also called Apteryx, the Kiwi covers several species of various sizes, from bantam hen size up to good-sized chicken. In the wild the Kiwi lives in forest and bushland, and hunts at night for grubs and insects under the surface. That's why it has such a long beak, which is unique in having nostrils at the tip - no other bird has this. Kiwis are endangered, and facing extinction.

The second use of *Kiwi* is as a nickname for a New Zealander, probably because the Kiwi emblem was used to distinguish NZ troops in the past. This is the real reason why I use the nickname *Kiwi John*, even though I'm not actually a native New Zealander.

Then we have the fruit. The confusion here comes because the rest of the world calls a *Kiwi* what we properly call a *Kiwi-fruit*! Long ago New Zealand began commercial cultivation of the Chinese Gooseberry, and the name was coined partly because of the similarity to a kiwi (brown and fuzzy), and also because it now came from New Zealand.

Fourth definition is a famous brand of shoe polish, seen around the world.

And finally the obscure one - an American nuclear reactor/rocket motor project, about which we shall say nothing, being nuclear-free and all that.

After all that, let me explain the photo: taken on a rare opportunity at the Auckland Museum, it shows Kiwi John the person with a Kiwi bird. (The bird is the brown one, and it's stuffed)

40 Years as the Crow Flies

40 years ago today I was a young man aged 17 years and 36 days.

Just a month earlier, straight from school, I had joined the Royal Air Force as an apprentice photographer, a member of 307 Entry at RAF Cosford.

The first weeks were spent learning to march, salute, carry a rifle and keep out of trouble. Not to mention cleaning everything in sight.

But we also, my group, began photo training.

At first we stayed in the School of Photography, learning some theory, darkroom procedures and studio techniques, but finally, on 10th October 1966, we ventured outside, and with a Corporal in charge of us, roamed the camp and surrounding area in search of photos.

We photographed buildings, cars, cyclists, a train, a plane, and each other.

This picture was taken by my classmate Steve McAdam.

It was 40 years ago today - when you say it fast it's not too far at all, as the crow flies.

Where do my Friends Go?

Where do my friends go?

The dots that form their words,

that detail their personalities,

itemize their lives,

rest on a piece of glass before me,

baring their souls,

probing my mind,

chatting through the night.

But where do they go?

When the dots fade, and the owners, the writers fade with them,

back into the dark space behind the glass,

fading like Djinni back into their own worlds.

Does it matter who they are, or were, or will be?

Perhaps not – no!

Their words, their wisdom,

questions and answers are as true,

as valid as though they spoke to me directly.

So what is real?

In all of this one thing I know is real:

After the emotion, the empathy

The advice, suggestions, jokes and tears.

When I have cleansed my spirit with this on-line bond

I know one thing is real:

I promise this - the dots I send are real.

John of Arabia

Well this may not be the definitive picture of me, but it's one of the best and most recent, and i took it myself!!

I'm wearing a shemaq, a gift from a friend in Saudi Arabia (thanks Melody from ESL Chat)

Sad Rose, another Saudi friend from ESL Chat was visiting Auckland in August, and very kindly showed me how to wear the thing properly, and supplied some extras which make it all the more authentic.

It's fair to say that I'm interested in Middle Eastern culture, for reasons which may or may not become clearer later.

Starting Point

Like every blogger I arrive at my first post.

Like many I am not sure what to write.

I have ideas, of course, and many things to say, but the act of opening this blog in the first place has taken my thoughts away.

I'll rest now then, and think what else to say.