Tarac Ridge Warplane crashes February 8-10 2018 write up by Nick Armbrister



I have had an interest in aeroplanes and history ever since my dad got me into planes back in 1980. He took me up to air crashes on the Pennines/Peak District/Manchester/Yorkshire/Lancashire area of England in the early 80s. There are over fifty crashes alone here ranging from the war years and later. We also went to wrecks in the Lake District and Wales.

In 2014 in the Philippines I went to more wrecks. I Googled Bataan warplane crashes and found out about the LT Stone P-40 Warhawk and Sgt Kurosawa Ki-27 Nate dog fight and subsequent crashes. This read like something from a Battle or Warlord comic.

Over the coming weeks I put together an expedition there. I talked to Kevin Hamdorf who was one of the group who found the P-40 wreck. He gave me much info and introduced me to the guide, Noel. Without his help the trip wouldn’t have been possible.

We went to the crash area at Tarac Ridge on February 8-10 2018. This was the 76th anniversary of it. We went to the P-40 on Feb 9 and the Ki-27 on the 10th.

The crashes are over a kilometer up altitude wise. We had to hike many hours through the forest/jungle and mountain to the area. We camped at the lower campsite. There is an easier site at the top of the mountain near Kurosawa’s Nate which is less than a hundred feet below the area. Because we never camped there we had to ascend the final hour to the summit each day.

The Warhawk site of Stone is hundreds of feet below Kurosawa’s in the forest on the mountain side. Little remains today but bits of alloy, Perspex, glass and other small fragments. We found these. Lt Stone is still listed as MIA Missing In Action. One of our group, Mike, searches for MIAs. We took hundreds of photos of the area and of our search.

I ventured up to the Nate site of Sgt Kurosawa on the last day of our three day stay. It was at the summit. We had to go through thick brush/jungle to the location. Kurosawa hit a rock face and his plane was fragmented. The engine used to be there but has since been removed. There is less at this site than at Stone’s P-40. We found bits of metal, Perspex and bits. Looking at the closeness to the summit, I realized that Kurosawa almost made it.

Nobody but God and the pilots know who shot down whom and who was on the other’s tail that day. The result is the same: two warplanes wrecked and two pilots dead. Maybe more answers will be found on future expeditions. It was a great experience to go there to Tarac Ridge, Mariveles, Bataan. In time I hope to return. This was my first international warplane trip. I want to go to a Grumman F-6F Hellcat at Capas next.

Jimmy Boom Semtex is into many things. Writing is one. His varied work includes poetry, prose and stories on a variety of topics. Erotica like his Fire Extinguisher Man series, poetry on current world events, horror stories and more besides. Jimmy loves getting tattooed, listening to alternative music, drinking beer and living a simple but fulfilling life. Check his Facebook page out. He's working on new ****** stories and a poetry collection. His writing career is diverse and so are the authors/poets/writers he’s collaborated with like Filipina poetess Shy Lhen Esposo and Indian Saurabh Pant. Jimmy Boom Semtex is a pen name of Nick Armbrister.

Man Living in the Dustbin
There is a man who lives in a trash can
He’s a funny old character
Telling jokes and dancing a gig
Always happy and funky
He’s become a legend in his head
Something bigger than nothing
Following you to the store
And saying Hi then turning to go
Hoping you follow him
Then give him kindness
A sausage roll or bottled beer
The dustbin man who we see
Wondering why he lives this way
Sleeping in the bin his home
Very cosy if he ay say so
His dustbin down the alleyway
Where nobody will bug him
An ideal example of humanity
Living with a smile in his head
And setting the example
To always smile :)

from my new book out 2020

Upside ******* Down in a Blazing Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More by Nick Armbrister

As several samples previously blogged..  
(http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=41231) Counting to Ten,

(http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=41341) Prisoners of War and

(http://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=41505 - Prisoners of War II)

my new collection ‘Europa - In The Dark Valley Between The World Wars (co wrote with Nick Armbrister) has now been published viva Lulu.com on (http://www.lulu.com/shop/andy-n-and-nick-armbrister/europa-in-the-dark-valley-between-the-world-wars/paperback/product-21540773.html)
With amazon status and ebay status etc to follow or directly through myself viva my email address – aen1mpo@yahoo.co.uk
For £5.

Next up, as part of NaPoWriMo  (National Poetry Writing Month - http://www.napowrimo.net/) I have created a  NaPoWriMo blog for this year which can be read at http://napowrimo2014.blogspot.co.uk/ with a difference where the blog will contain (hopefully) 30 poems connected into the same story called ‘Ghost Story’ which will be about a meet up with a man called Andy and a young lady called Michelle who is not quite what she seems.

The difference with this story, as each poem is released on a daily basis is I am encountering people to send in poems linked in within the world of the story or other ghost stories / poems.

Email me on aen1mpo@yahoo.co.uk for more details.

Dispatched to our recycle bins
the memory of their suffering
comes across as a
thawing out window
lost across the decades
rather than perpetual
constant moaning,

An epitaph in the wind,

sleeping in the distance
with shell like heads
and shaved eyes
staring at the camera,

counting to ten

engulfed in silence

in front of a candle
between emotions
that lie between
the pair of them,
praying silently their son
wasn’t on the next train.  

(For Paul Cealan Who lost his parents
during the Second World War)

(A poem from the soon to be released split book 'Europa'  with Nick Armbrister which explores real life stories set in the cruelty of War)

Hidden
Call me The Baron. My full name is Nicholas Arthur Armbrister. I ****** hate that name! Do you know how I feel? My first name used when I’m naughty. “Nicholas, you’ve had a new tattoo!”

You must be part German with a name like that. Say it slowly out loud:

A-R-M-B-R-I-S-T-E-R.

They got images of ******’s panzers and Blitzkreig, Stukas and goose steps. No denying my heritage, I’m part German, on my dad’s side. Armbrister.

He was in the British Army in World War 2, a Tommie. None of his mates guessed he was part German. Doing his bit for King and Country. His name is Arthur. The middle name I don’t tell anyone. Even today, I’m unsure why? Makes me eccentric – Nicholas Arthur Atmbrister – The Baron!

My dad is my best mate. His stories of seeing Manchester in flames, December 1940, when he was in his dad’s car going from Ashton to Oldham, fascinated me. When he was conscripted, I knew he was no German. He saw his army mates die and became a man. How can I compare? Arthur, the name I never use. Known only to me and my family.

Some things are hidden, for hidden reasons. Others are an open book, for me to decide. What would you think if I told you my middle name is Arthur? After my dad. He saw **** bombers high over Coppice. A silver speck against the blue. Our gunfire missed by miles. If these same planes had bombed my dad, I’d never be born or called Arthur.

He told me how he collected warm bomb shrapnel, when the Germans did bomb. Memories of an old man, passed down to me. When I’m in Manchester tonight with her, I’ll think, What is it like to see a city burn at night while under enemy air attack?

from my new anti war book Eventful War
Nick Armbrister


Toy Box
To build an empire you need the right tools
And Imperial Japan had those in abundance
Armed to the teeth with skilled warriors willing to fight
Advanced warplanes like the Zero, Val and Kate
The best torpedoes in the world the Long Lance
The Bushido fighting spirit of never surrender
Outlawed explosive bullets won an empire
A wicked tool was the ‘Assault No 1’ standard military-issue ******
**** as a weapon of war with Comfort Women the prize
Fighting spirit blooded from 1931 until 1945
When the Divine Wind was unleashed
Ravenously fighting till the Imperial Empire fell

Off the Back of a Truck
The black painted truck drives about the country doing its job
Moving things from A to B and losing them in-between
Passing thru Chorley it drops a mountain bike without wheels
Going past Leeds it discards a new microwave oven minus door
In the middle of Rochdale it dumps a crate of empty beer bottles
Speeding in Yeovil the truck gives out used bullet proof vests
And at Aberdeen it abandons some PCs minus hard drives
For Cardiff the lorry leaves hundreds of out of date pizzas
Hours later in Birmingham hooded tops with just one arm are left
The ******* trail goes to Whitby where books of fake stamps fall
Onwards to York to discard plastic crosses with half a Nazarene
Back to Dover to chuck a hundred coffee flasks with drilled hole
On and on drives the strange lorry with its load of goodies
All are useless and no use to anybody except a fool or idiot
Like the one driving the truck on his nationwide dumping trip
Ticking each place off his list as he follows his map
A to ****** Z...




******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

Fish Food
They build their little tin can ships
So they can be seen to be strong
With new destroyers to take a cruise on
Along with big cruisers to fire missiles
And submarines to dive deep and follow dolphins
Not to forget aircraft carriers and their planes
Each of these shiny new ships is useless
If you put even a tiny hole in it
Down to the seabed it goes
The crew becoming fish food
Just what is needed for national progression
They should have built hospitals instead




******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

She Defeated Death

She should have left the city when the chance was there.                                                                                      
Before the Nazis came, closing the noose.                                                                                                      
She has so many regrets, except on her actions.                                                                                                  
Now she's at the wall,... the reasons crystal clear to her.                                                                                                          
Some things are priceless, unique.                                                                                  
Like you my dear, now against the wall.                                                                                          
Your dark brown locks hang by your shoulders,                                                                                    
your pretty eyes scan the heavens, still defiant.                                                                                                                      
Your lovely beautiful face stern.                                                                                                  
With death bearing down upon you, victory is yours.                                                                        
Crack go the rifles.                                                                                                                   Your ****** witnessed by the shot down RAF airman.                                                                                                                                                                                                        
You, the heroine, when the others were silent.                                                                          
Imagine your legacy and what you stand for fifty years from now.                                                                            
That matters.                                                                                                                        Though I don't know your name, I remember you and what you died for. (dedicated to an unnamed woman that a shot down RAF airman saw executed by the Nazis)

out of our new book...

Europa – in the dark valley between the world wars
Out of the total darkness came a light brighter than infinite suns... Poetry on women (and men) in conflict
Nick Armbrister
And
Andy N

Field Day
Take a walk in the summer meadow and tell me
What do you see?
Different coloured flowers and countless insects
Pollinating their flowers and plants
Several different herbs and grasses
All verdant and of living colour
An artist called Mother Nature
Created her canvas and smiled
Giving life to a once barren field
A hedgerow and copse of trees
Add heartbeats to this living miracle
Where words and clichés are impossible
You have to take a stroll here and marvel
Dream it all in and stop time dead
Become the moment and live it forever
Over and over again flowery meadow design







******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

It seems like pain and regret are your best friends because our nights together seem only to lead to them.

We’ve been lying to each other about our nights spent apart, hiding the evidence behind plastic smiles to spare each other another broken heart.

I know what you did when you left my company for a girl you’ve claimed to have missed. I will not get jealous and call this thing between us quits, but tell me, does she touch you here like this?

I see that she is beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful by far. I see that she makes you feel good about who you are. So tonight, I will ******* until you are too tired to leave because although she’s what you want, I am what you need.

I guess she found out about our secret rendezvous and now she doesn’t want you anymore. Here you are crying and pleading to spend the night on my floor. Begging me to shelter you from the emptiness that presents itself in these cold, lonely streets have to offer.

So, I step aside and lead you to your favorite place, entangled in my satin sheets. But I must warn you, these nights, past, present and for however long we have left mean nothing to me. I’ve been doing this for so long, I promise you I’ve seen it all.

First, you’ll hate her, then you’ll want me; then you’ll miss her and you’ll hate me. I know you so well. I know your routine.
This is all just a game to me. We mean nothing to each other. This is nothing new.

I told you, a long time ago, not to get involved with a girl like me because you are solely a means to escape my present reality.
So, don’t promise me that you won’t regret me like doing a line of ivory, like the tattoos on your skin or like taking the wrong pill. Don’t promise me that when you go back to her that you’ll remember me.

So, I’ll own your soul for tonight only so that each time you **** her, it’s my face you’ll see.

Written by: Helene J.C. Armbrister

Airspace
Four lines between poems
Or is it only three?
This was the question
That the pilot was pondering
While his airliner flew
Into the jagged mountain side
All aboard were killed
The pilot never did
Resolve his query
Was it three or four lines
Between poems?


from New Dawn 2971
Nick Armbrister

My First Tattoo
There was an 80s goth band who I used to love
All About Eve dragged to the 90s oh so cool
Touched By Jesus was their new album
I saw them gig twice and bought the t-shirt
And even got the tattoo on my right arm
All About Eve in September 1991
I still love their music today...



******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

Memories (by Mel) from THE RANTINGS OF A DAMAGED MIND book by nick armbrister and mel grobler
Today as I sit and think of you,
I remember your face so dearly.
I can still see the love which shone
As the lights flashed across your face.
I remember a straight line across your jaw
And the tightness of your expression.
I can still see the creases on your face
As you smiled at your friends.
You seemed so sure and confident
And so relaxed and patient.
I stood and watched you and
When your gaze met mine, I glanced away.
I glanced away even though I didn't want to.
I turned away though my heart was screaming.
I felt as though you were still looking at me
And your gaze seemed to tear me apart.
I wanted to run up to you and hold you close
and perhaps then you would have known how I felt
About you...
I see you so clearly in my dreams and it seems
as though you're a part of me, but you suddenly drift away.
You drift away because my grasp on you isn't secure.
You drift away in dark and smoky clouds.
I reach out for you every way I can.
I whisper your name as I walk down deserted alleys and high mountains.
I see your face in everything I do,
and I fumble with sweet thoughts of you.
Will I ever make you mine or will you always
Be a memory that I failed to erase.

MAN DOWN

“You silly stupid boy, I told you to be careful!”
She weeps as she mourns her fiancés loss.
“You couldn’t be trusted to cross the road!”
He was only a boy, gone down in the channel.
**** this ****** war, a girl mourns her love,
a Wellington pilot defending his love, his land.
As she cries mournful tears, her two friends console her,
she becomes strong and shouts:
“When you have it, something meaningful,
even for a minute, don’t let it go, fight for it!”
Then she crumbles, breaks apart in grief,
inconsolable, pain like she never knew –
for this is England, we stand alone –
his loss was for all of us.
Her friends suffer her tears and wish her well,
for she has changed, grown old at her moment of loss.

nick armbrister

“If that poem idea is in your head NOW, write it down. Right now. Or lose it. For when it's gone, it's gone forever...”
― Nick Armbrister

Alone in a room with nothing but the company of my inner thoughts driving me to the brink of insanity, I lie on my bed, phone in hand, searching for the words to tell you how I feel.

Unsure of my own emotions and still scarred from past relationships, I am scared to admit that somewhere within the quiet, dark realm of my soul, that I crave something as fickle as love.

I’ve tried to suppress my feelings for you, countless times in fear that if I confess them aloud that it would somehow make what I feel for you all too real. Although there aren’t many things that I fear in this world, the mere thought of falling in love frightens me most.

I look up at the ceiling, tears streaming down my face. Why is it so hard to admit that I like you out loud? Within my heart, I know that I want this. Am I ready to fall victim to the uncertainties that the cruel mistress called “love” has to offer?

I pick up the phone and begin typing.
The three dots of death begin to dance before my screen.
Throwing my phone far away from me as possible, I pace around my room as overwhelming thoughts begin to crowd my head.

I fall onto my bed, close my eyes and then I see your smile, one of the few things that I treasure in this world, and I am comforted.

PING.

Out of nowhere, my phone drowns out the deafening silence in within my room. I read the message and every ounce of anxiety and fear faded away as I read your response.

Written By: Helene J.C. Armbrister

Two souls,
Searching for consolation, longing for peace, praying for absolution are brought together by the buzzing of a bee.
They found themselves wrapped around each other underneath the cascading moonlight near the quiet sea.

She’s hesitant, still recovering from unhealed traumas inflicted by the demons of her past. He pulls her closer to him, her head turning slightly away from him in fear that this might not last.

He’s not like the others, for he’s haunted by a past of his own. He’s forthcoming his tragedy which hardened his heart like a stone.

Over the course of time, the pair found peace within the company of each other which is what she’s always wanted. But now that peace has turned to fear for keeping a secret from him in which she feels haunted.

She’s made the juvenile mistake of falling for him in fear that he doesn’t feel the same, because the lack of replies and late night sessions have started to feel like a game.

She longs to free herself from the agony of falling in love again. If only he knew how much she loves him, then she would be free of this pain.

She sits on the shore where they’ve sat down before, picking up her pencil to write how she feels. She hopes when he sees this that he’ll understand what she feels for him is real.

Written by: Helene J.C. Armbrister

You’ve heard the tales of Barghest, Black Shuck or Cerberus,
Perhaps you know them very well.
But I know of a malevolent beast, with vicious teeth,
Called “Love”, the dog from Hell.

His master looks up from below, searching for Love’s newest victim.
He’ll send you a well-endowed man with a curvature in his member,
Who’ll say all the right things to leave you smitten.

He’ll take you for ice-cream, have parked-car conversations,
Then ******* mercilessly after.
You’ll go back home, wait for an improbable text on your phone,
Unaware of the impending disaster.

“Love” then disguises itself, appearing to be something innocent and pure.
And when you’ve fallen for him, he’ll stop texting you,
Causing heartbreak, chaos and emotional torment.
For that, you can be sure.

And when you’ve been beat down, traumatized and broken, praying that the hurt is no more,
Love sends you another, to distract you from the others,
Leaving you more damaged than before.

“Love” then returns to the sunken place
Proud that he’s served his master well.
For as long as you are mortal, let it not depart from you that
“Love” is a dog from Hell.

Written By: Helene J.C. Armbrister

In what world do strangers become admirers?
In what world do admirers become romantically involved?
In what world do romantically involved people become distant friends?
How do distant friends become enemies?

Please tell me…

How do you recover from being hurt by the one you loved the most?
How do you skillfully apply chestnut concealer to a tear-stained face?
How do you not cry yourself to sleep after an unexplained separation?
How does one visit the coffee shop where Sinatra played softly in the background drowning out the deafening voice of anxiety as he held your hand ever so tightly, calming your panicked inner thoughts?

How does one forget the feeling of insecurity after their first kiss, spending countless showers analyzing what it possibly could’ve meant?

Do they teach little boys to experiment with little girls’ hearts in your world?

Only in your world can you take a ******’s lips and steal her innocence with a kiss.
Only in your world can you take an insecure ******’s affections for you and devour them with a smile.

How does one simply stop loving you, even after all the pain you’ve caused?

Written By: Helene J.C. Armbrister