We were all anxious about the takeoff. With one faulty engine and a short rough runway, we neded all the airspeed we could muster to get airborne. We hung on and braced ourselves as we roared down the runway. The bouncing suddenly stopped. We were airborn! we seemed to skim the wave tops for ages before we started a slow climb to our normal cruising altitude. This was another boring featureless flight, over the sea towards Darwin. I don't know what I was expecting, but whatever it was, I was dissapointed. Darwin was a mosquito ridden dump at  that time. We ate slept and took off after refuelling. Still with a faulty engine. The other aircraft did not come with us, this time we were alone and heading for a well known town in the outback. Alice springs. Now we were flying over some great country, it seemed so crisp and clean- even if most of it was desert. We landed at alice springs to refuel, and then took off with full tanks, heading for the Australian Air Force base near Adelaide, I think it was at Edinburgh Fields. Gordon was sleeping, or trying to, I was sitting by the window gazing at the countryside below. I began to see what looked like a vapour trail coming from the wing, there was one similar coming from the wing opposite too, it was very slight, was I seeing things, perhaps it was moisture in the air, I sat and watched for half an hour, it was more noticeable now, and it seemed to be coming from the fuel tank filler pipes. I thought it was worth a mention, and I went to the cockpit where the pilot and radio operator were talking to the fitters. The Pilot was thumping the gauges on a panel. I told them what I saw. Christ! the pilot and the fitters looked worried very worried.
He patted me on the shoulder, "Well done, we thought the fuel gauges must be faulty. He turned the aircraft around and headed back to Alice springs for another refuelling. The tanks were filled again, the filler caps were ******* down tight, and we took off again!  Twenty minutes later we were back for more fuel and the filler caps were checked and rechecked and finally ******* down as tight as possible. We took of again, and landed again, took on more fuel,and  tightened the filler caps. "It's too late to continue with the flight now, we'll stay in town tonight and try again in the morning. "That was easier said than done, we had no money and no credit, we managed to get a room at the pilots expense , but there was no food but a packet of biscuits.
I lay on the bed beside four others and wondered what tomorrow would bring.

We reached the island in the late afternoon, it was no bigger than a cricket pitch to my eyes.  The runway was a sick joke. There was none!  There was a strip of land that was clear of jungle, (the runway) started in the sea, and finished in the sea, and was full of big potholes. It had been a Japanese airfield in the second world war, now it was covered in cows, goats and children.
We flew very low over the island twice to warn them of our intention to land.
We were very low on fuel and needed to land as soon as possible. "Here we go," the pilot grinned *hit or bust! we  almost landed in the sea, and bounced down the runway, we were less than fifty yards from the surf when we turned and trundled over to the refuelling station. I watched in trepidation as the second aircraft attempted to land, bounced twenty feet in the air and took off again, skimming the sea. It managed to land at the second attempt, bounced several times, and turned with it's tail wheel almost in the sea.  I turned to say something to Gordon and saw the pilot and aircrew looking up at the starboard engine and wing of our aircraft, which appeared to have gone green. "Looks like the reduction gears have packed in."  That was the opinion of the air frame fitters. "Can you fix it?" That was the pilot.
"Yes, but not here." the fitter said shaking his head, "It's stuck in coarse pitch so you'll need to take it easy." The pilot laughed. "If it's stuck in coarse pitch we will have to be flat out to get her off the ground!"
A little old man dressed in a loincloth, ragged shirt, and sandals manned the fuel pump and began to pump fuel into the fuel tanks located in each wing.
When that was done, about three hours later, the pilot  had him douse the wing and engine cover that was covered in the green grease, and we did our best to clean it up. As soon as the other aircraft was refuelled, we took off again. "Next stop Darwin, fingers crossed." He laughed. I could only admire his happy go lucky attitude and determination, I think he would have got us safely to our destination, even if we lost a wing!

Puffing slowly along the track
Passengers sipping champagne
sitting comfortably back to back
on the midnight steam train.
Some care to drink tea from a china cup
Others prefer scones with whipped cream
The music from the rails steps up
as they glide over the silver stream.
The guardsman signals a stop ahead
The passengers get ready to disembark
It is the time the ladies tend to dread
fumbling around in the dark.
The engine driver's stomach moans
It needs refuelling like the pit
The coal is poked and glows
and the ashes redden bit by bit.
Bread is laid upon the *****
And fed into the heat
Bacon is laid upon the toast that's made
and their breakfast is almost complete.
A quick stop then no turning back
the whistle is blown and the passenger's choke
as the steam train puffs merrily up the track
leaving behind a trail of smoke.

Natalie. Battle Maiden
Flying the Skyhawk was easy. Learning tactics wasn't. Aerial refuelling was hard, as was formation flying. Natalie grew up and lost her girliness. Inside she was a woman. Her view on the government remained. Should she bomb the junta in her plane? Thoughts of that were brushed aside when she was deployed near the Chilean border when tension increased in the long running border dispute.
Flying three armed patrols convinced Chile to stop sabre rattling and withdraw her soldiers. Nat was gaining experience. Public opinion was turning against the government, an ongoing crisis that needed expert handling. War was the answer. Not with Chile but in the Malvinas.
An army, armed to the teeth, sailed and was flown out. British resistance was subdued and Argentina took the Malvinas. Natalie and her squadron were on standby for action. Britain retaliated and UK ships headed south. Nat trained in anti ship attack. Soon her skills would be needed.
People were behind the war. Not questioning about The Disappeared or how to get rid of the evil junta. The Malvinas were finally ours and a joyous mood overtook many people. In the military, it was different. A real fight would soon erupt. The Brits were coming and Nat was scared. What had she got herself into?
Training continued and there was no time for her band, seeing her friends or little else. Not even secretly discussing how to help make the government fall with her fellow activists. It was a fine line of madness. An Argentine air force jet pilot with illegal views and rebellion songs.

She could change the history of her country, Argentina, forever. If she dropped a few bombs on the leaders, it was over. The new war, The Disappeared, the fear. All of it. Could she do it? Would she? Nat knew where the leaders were and would strike on her next armed training mission. Fate stopped her. Events moved quickly and the young warrior woman never had chance.

The Australian desert can be very cold at night. It was the cold that woke us early in the morning. We were all eager to be off, and we soon found ourselves drumming along the metalled road leading to the airstrip, in an ex military four by four open topped vehicle. By the time we got there we were all frozen, and waiting for the Sun to warm us up. The pilot asked us if we would donate a shirt, the fitters were doubtful whether they had been able to stop the leakage, they intended to stuff rags into the filler pipes  to see if that would help. The pilot had second thoughts, and decided to try without, he thought there might be a danger of blocking the fuel lines, so we took off again to **** it and see,(an old tried and trusted technique in The Royal Air Force, aparrently.)Twenty minutes later, we were back on the tarmack once more ,stuffing the remains of my shirt into the fuel filler pipes. This did not cure the problem, but it did alleviate it to a degree.  The Pilot calculated that instead of being able to do twelve hundred mile (hops). we could manage three hundred miles. and there were small airstrips with refuelling facilities within range. "We should be ok, fingers crossed." I liked his confidence, and sat watching the wings slowly leaking our fuel into a thin vapour trail, as we flew along over the outback desert land. We landed several times I think, by then I was so tired that my brain craved sleep. The only stop I can remember was a cattle station at Leigh Creek, it was the last stop before Edinborogh Fields,near Adelaide. I wondered "And then what?" No one was able to tell us why we were in OZ!!

I was always told that
Angels fell to earth right out of the sky.
But I’ve just seen some plough through the street
In a soft-top GTI.
They wear no halos or feathered wings
Just low cut tops weighed down with bling.
They reach for offerings from higher powers
Whilst blurting out a verse so sour

From the radio distortions
Where the treble and bass don’t mix.
They fester in daddy’s fortunes
Refuelling on Marlborough kicks.
No reasons to care or give a ****.
No schedule. No curfew. No back up plans.
Because the coke’s *****, the merlot’s cheap
They dance until they dare to sleep.

They own the roads and highway code -
They drive however they like.
Be it a classic Sunday saunter
Or ripping up bends at ninety-five.
No care for  what’s wrong or morally right -
Not the subtle difference between concrete and ice.
Their fate is held by a suspect man
With a shrouded face and a scythe in hand.

His mercy waveringly alters
At the flick of a delicate switch.
He knocks it upwards violently
With the most convulsing of kicks.
No red alert! No alarm bells ring.
No saviour. No hero. No Prince Charming
From Clapham to Clacton to save their souls -
They’re at home watching rich boys banging in goals.

The lightest clouds from brighter skies
Can’t cushion them from their fall
The sight of a hematic sunset
Is the last thing they shall recall.
No blessing, swan songs or final words,
No final pleas to be willingly heard.
It’s up to Daddy if they get to relish
His delicacies – or the unspeakably hellish.