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.

Selana
She strapped on her warplane and flew away to fight
Russian jets being the enemy to be hit
Her missiles were old like her plane

But it was a good one well built
Serviced by her mechanics to perform
When ordered to do by her

She the tip of the spear just a gal
Reason I love my mistress the pilot

Defending our nation each and every day
She already shot down four or five planes
She told me it’s confusing being in combat

Things happen fast beyond comprehension
It’s comparable to driving a racing bike
I think but I’m a hacker and don’t drive

I get into Russian and Red Chinese systems
Do my art and war that way to defeat them
It focuses me while my gal is up above

Keeping us all safe from enemy actions
I want to tell the world but we cannot
We must remain a secret what we both do

Dandelion Flights, so Dandy
He's a Swell kinda fella
If you catch him at a proper Hour
He gets the Rosy Red, ya See
Reviews Legends, some about
Storming the Beaches of Normandy
Gritting Power of this Jaws,
Leans in close for Dramatists Pause
An Aged Mouth, the Black of Life
Spits over into his World of Words
Spirits gathering, the Deadening in Delivering
The Tales of the Long Lost Listeners
I Revel in the Imagery, Mindsight Sees
Battlegrounds Soundtrack
The lapping Tide, the remote Tanks and Warplane Engines, the dusty soldiers yelling out commands,
Words too faint to Understand
but the Sound of Fear, Gutwrenching, Rage, Pits of Painstaking, Heroic Strain

I'd so easily slip back in Time
To relive his Stories of Lucid Dreams

WAKE-UP ISN'T CONTRAST

I Only Will my Eyes open
After a Silence has Befallen
My Lids Jolt Open,
As I survey the Scene, Listening, Feeling for any Sign and Everything The Moment collapsed
In to the Present Presence.

Reaching over the Table
I felt for breath and the Old Man's Essence, I sighed and shook my head Knowingly  
This Man who fought all Those Battles and Lived to Tell,  Would not leave in It's Retelling,
not from this World nor the Next
No way, Not this One....He was just One of the many Spirits that passed through from Time to Time, and needed
an Ear to hear His Story...
I certainly didn't Mind...
Ethereal Sport is my Truest kinda Scene.

Modified Bombs
Her eye was acting up but that was fine
For she had a second one to use
This was just fine like her warplane
It had two engines but number one engine
This was like her eye acting up too
No need to worry for Eagle 2 jets are good
Made with system redundancy like her
An ability to function with degraded systems
Right now she was on the way to Moscow
To drop some iron bombs on Putin
A personal gift from a gal who was bad
Real bad *** half Yank half what?
That last bit was unknown but what was
Known was that she would soon be dead
Along with the Neo Soviet leader
Those iron bombs were special
She'd personally modified the warheads
A new historical dawn was coming...

Box Off
The black box that tells of approaching enemy missiles is turned off
The black box that jams enemy missiles it turned off
The black box that dispenses radar jamming chaff is turned off
The black box that launches infra-red flares is turned off
The black box that gives out false position locations is turned off
The black box that plots enemy defence locations is turned off
The black box that steers a course round enemy radars is turned off
The black box that sees enemy anti-aircraft guns is turned off
The black box that should save our jet and our lives is turned off
We are now dead and our warplane is now destroyed
The black box should’ve been turned on

In your granddad’s bookcase
was a book you liked
with a blue hardback cover
with German warplane

pictures in it
and you loved to study
the photographs
even though

the words
were too big
or long
for you to read

and on that Sunday
you sat
while the parents talked
and studied

the bookcase
hoping your granddad
would get it out for you
if he saw you

looking that way
long enough
but the parents talked
and the grandparents

listened or talked too
and the book stayed put
in the bookcase
and you stared

and counted the books
on either side
taking in
the various colours

and sizes
on the shelves above
and below
and how neat

they were placed
and tidy
and well polished
it all was

but the book
kind of attracted you
with its German warplanes
with the Swastikas

on the wings and sides
and some pictures
had Spitfires
and Lancaster bombers

with red white and blue
on the sides and wings
but that Sunday
Granddad didn’t

get out the book
and hand it to you.

There's a hurdler in the distance,
Approaching from afar,
Nothing struck him in this instance,
Though the setting was bizarre

He somersaults each in a flurry,
As the clouds threaten to rain,
The flowers flutter with worry,
As they sight the old warplane

He runs straight out the exit,
Takes a right onto an avenue,
Where streetlights line the docks,
And pebbles question you

Waves crackle over the pier,
As he flies across the decking,
He throws his hands up and volunteers,
To the cold hiss of forgetting

Some time later he awakes,
On a beach of pebbles and shells,
Hasty escape perhaps a mistake,
A fall from carousels

A tower commands the sea around,
Windowless, aged concrete,
He laughs and spins at what he's found,
Alive but incomplete

Natalie. Basic
Basic flight training was like dancing to The Elementals. Basic, scary and fun. Did Nat know that in a year she would be at the controls of a deadly multi million dollar warplane in the wrong war, with the wrong enemy? No amount of gothic looks would appease her situation over the coming months. Was it all real? That was a distant question, not for now.

The girl danced and flew with equal passion and ferocity. Her brown hair was all over her face and she danced like a spinning airplane. Eyes shut, she was somewhere else. In her mind, she was in the cockpit of her red coloured training plane. Her flight instructor, Alberto, allowed Natalie to acrobat the little plane. She flew it with wildness that surprised everyone, including her.

Rolling upside down and pulling the control stick to her guts, the red airplane moved like a kid’s toy. Diving straight downwards, picking up speed. Alberto was going to take over before top speed was reached but Nat second guessed him and pulled back into a half loop. Up they went into the blue, a hawk in the heavens. Free. Natalie screamed in joy. Looking over at Alberto, her smile said it all. She was a born pilot.

When the record changed, Nat went to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. Joining her friends, they chatted on guys, music and Nat’s new air force career. Several of her friends had nice boyfriends or lovers with them. In close embraces, they kissed and made small talk. Nat chatted to Katie, on the fundamentals of aerobatics and flight, demonstrating how to loop and roll with her hand. Her other held her wine. Time passed, music played, wine was drunk and Nat slow danced with Roberto.

Being Catholic and part of a close knit family, the girl was a bit of a rebel. Her mother wanted Natalie to marry and have children. Nat was having none of this; it was music, flying and the air force. Not even men like handsome Roberto swayed the girl for marriage. He was local and conscripted in the army. His passion was films and he had to give up college to serve his country. After a year he would finish off his film studies, if fate allowed. Both were friends and occasional lovers, now they danced in Sacha’s.

Tarac
We busted our *****
To get up there
Over a kilometre high
Where the warplanes live
And die a violent death
Meeting their end up above
On towering lonely slopes
As did Lt Stone and Sgt Kurosawa
On the same day seventy six years ago
To the day we went there
As others before had
For we had a job to do
The missing answer to find
To locate the remains of a lost pilot
Named Stone from America
Who flew a Curtiss P-40 Warhawk
In mortal battle with his nemesis
Kurosawa from Japan
With his Nakajima Ki-27 Nate
Both died that day
February 9 1942
And both haunt those inclines
One is angry and lost
One found wants to go home
One likes Hello Kitty
But not the one you think
For my drink tumbler fell
And the guide missed it
It stopped where Stone said
And there we dug dug dug
And found his airplane
Or what was once his warplane
In pieces that were scrap
But had meaning to our group
For it was this plane
That brought us here
Many hours of climbing
Swearing and sweating
To touch the clouds
And be where both hit
At what cost?
Two planes smashed
Two pilots dead
The American protecting Villamoor
The Philippines' best pilot
Who flew his biplane
A Boeing Stearman
On a recon mission
The same type that flies today
With **** English wing walkers
From Clark in Bataan
The same field Kurosawa flew from
Yes synchronicity is here
Eagle Has Landed style
What does this mean now?
In 2018 right now
Is it the pilots' ghosts
Or God or fate or karma
That brought me here
To Tarac Ridge to look
To try to find Stone's bones?
When so many have looked
And failed to find him
Did we really find Lt Stone?
So he's no longer MIA
And captive here
This beautiful mountain side
Where the sky and sea become one
Where Bataan and Corregidor
Are visible
The old battlefields
Where hell occured
Where there are more MIAs
From both sides
Both pilots hunted here
And both became the prey
Paying the ultimate cost
Bent metal and broken bones
Telling a story
Their story
If you listen
You will hear it...

Theres a genocide going on in 4K
And the world's acting like its okay
And I wonder who's more pathetic
The antagonist or the apatethic

That we shouldnt **** children is not really that complex
Unless you are from the military industrial complex
And you do not need to know the history of a millennium
To know its wrong to displace millions
And carpet bomb civilians

And humanity is not political
Unless you are a politician
And peace is not controversial
Unless you are hell bound on controverting
Well,you are hell bound anyway

The placards and slogans are up again
Its better than nothing,even if it doesnt bring any change
You wanna feel like you've done something
Even if its meaningless in greater scheme of things

In a world where everything little thing is trauma
The genocide becomes a newsroom drama
As they make you believe they are others
And convince you its fine to **** your brothers
And you get convinced in a day

However much we can scream
Continues the killing spree
From the river to the sea
Only hatred seems to be free

So theres a genocide going on in 4K
And it will never be okay
However much they try to erase the voices
And cover it up in chemical warplane noises

And if you wondering which side you should be on
If its the one killing children,its probably wrong
Dumbf*ck

309 Pilot
The Messerschmitt Me-309 was a stunning warplane
Originally it had seven guns but the pilot removed some
The 13mm heavy machine guns were lethal but not needed
He freed up four hundred pounds in weight
This left just three cannons and their ammo
Two 20mm and a single 30mm gun
The 20mms were in the wing roots and 30mm in the nose
It was enough to **** enemy bombers like B-17s and Lancasters
And the following B-29s and Lincolns which bombed Germany endlessly
He got ready for a mission and was confident of more kills
He was keen and aggressive and had the right tool for the job
A fast climbing high speed interceptor aircraft
Germany's finest piston engined fighter of the war
With a modified engine boosted for power
Nothing but an enemy jet was faster but very short ranged
With a smile he walked to his plane
Who would he **** today?

An Awful Harvest

I went a hike up to Wawa in Montalban and up the mountain roads. Here I was to go past the peaks of Mt Parawagan, Susong Dalaga and Mt Lagyo plus others. The road had been improved by engineers with trucks and plant equipment. I wanted to hike a big circle right back to the beginning. This was possible a few months ago but not now due to the building of the Pamitinan Dam. It will take four years to do this and flood a complete valley near the peaks. A guard told me no entry by the construction site. I talked to a head engineer and he told me more details. The dam will be eighty metres tall or deep more than the Kaliwa Dam of sixty four metres. These are big structures. Hikers wanted to hike from Wawa to Casili by the newly improved mountain roads but the dam construction stopped this. In time a new road will be built above the dam level replacing the old road. Even if the road is built in a year the dam will still be unfinished so still no entry.



I saw a sign saying beware of UXO Unexploded Ordnance. A local man told me about this, of how the military was looking for it and would defuse any found. His details matched much of what I’ve heard before, like finding shrapnel in the soil. The sign was for the road improvement and dam construction. Sleeping shells waited to knocked awake and ****.



The digger, bulldozer and plant drivers need to be paid danger money. No joke. The area they work on is a small part of a huge World War 2 battlefield. An awful harvest litters the land with unexploded ordnance being buried in the soil having not detonated. Mortars, shells, bombs and other things; these all need locating and safely defusing by the military.



People live in the area and many have found live or exploded shells. The live shells are complete and the spent ones are in varied sized pieces. On my hike up there I was given a piece of one five five millimetre shell from a local. This was in two parts, the biggest weighed many pounds. I estimate between one in four and six fired never exploded. On the stone mountains like Mt Lagyo the shells and bombs will explode on impact if the detonators are triggered. In soil covered peaks the shells can just dig in and don’t go off. The army went up to Mt Lagyo looking for unexploded ordnance. They found nothing.



The road that has been improved and widened would’ve yielded many unexploded munitions. I’m curious how many were found and wonder how many thousands still hide unfound. Sections of the trees/grass by the road are taped off. This is for safety of any munitions and also due to the steepness of the terrain.



The local people within the valley are being moved away and compensated for thus upheaval. Their valley will be inundated by what is now a small river in coming years. Any remaining homes and unfound munitions or Japanese tunnels will be underwater.



Every time I hike the area from Wawa to Mt Mataba to Timberland to Casili I read about or am told or shown evidence from the war and battles; that old actions from 1945 has outlived the people of that time be it locals or soldiers. History is not old and boring black and white photos. An rusty Arisaka rifle with working bolt or blasted shell fragments tell more than any story or photo ever could. Only fate and God knows the unnamed soldiers names now.



When the dam is built I wonder how many unfound unexploded ordnance and dead Japanese soldiers will be now forever unfound? I suspect many thousand Japanese soldiers are buried on those peaks. Remember, these hills are the first high ground above Manila. This was the start of the high ground battles that went on for hundreds of miles at several huge mountain ranges. It was Tier 1 fighting equal to anywhere involving hundreds of thousands of opposing troops, of which tens of thousands were killed.



Now the 1945 legacy is coming back to bite us. Not just buried shells on a dam construction site but the risk of them still exploding when not even found. This is due to corroding fuses. Buried bombs in Europe have self detonated several times. I’ve been told of two large unexploded warplane dropped bombs, one near Timberland and the other near Mt Parawagan. Both need to be found again and professionally defused. History is never boring; the lethal harvest is a testimony to their dastardly deeds.

Tarac (for Stone and Kurosawa)
We busted our *****
To get up there
Over a kilometre high
Where the warplanes live
And die a violent death
Meeting their end up above
On towering lonely slopes
As did Lt Stone and Sgt Kurosawa
On the same day seventy six years ago
To the day we went there
As others before had
For we had a job to do
The missing answer to find
To locate the remains of a lost pilot
Named Stone from America
Who flew a Curtiss P-40 Warhawk
In mortal battle with his nemesis
Kurosawa from Japan
With his Nakajima Ki-27 Nate
Both died that day
February 9 1942
And both haunt those inclines
One is angry and lost
One found wants to go home
One likes Hello Kitty
But not the one you think
For my drink tumbler fell
And the guide missed it
It stopped where Stone said
And there we dug dugdug
And found his airplane
Or what was once his warplane
In pieces that were scrap
But had meaning to our group
For it was this plane
That brought us here
Many hours of climbing
Swearing and sweating
To touch the clouds
And be where both hit
At what cost?
Two planes smashed
Two pilots dead
The American protecting Villamor
The Philippines' best pilot
Who flew his biplane
A Boeing Stearman
On a recon mission
The same type that flies today
With **** English wing walkers
From Clark in Bataan
The same field Kurosawa flew from
Yes synchronicity is here
Eagle Has Landed style
What does this mean now?
In 2018 right now
Is it the pilots' ghosts
Or God or fate or karma
That brought me here
To Tarac Ridge to look
To try to find Stone's bones?
When so many have looked
And failed to find him
Did we really find Lt Stone?
So he's no longer MIA
And captive here
This beautiful mountain side
Where the sky and sea become one
Where Bataan and Corregidor
Are visible
The old battlefields
Where hell occurred
Where there are more MIAs
From both sides
Both pilots hunted here
And both became the prey
Paying the ultimate cost
Bent metal and broken bones
Telling a story
Their story
If you listen
You will hear it...

Angel Juice
They fueled my warplane with 130 grade octane
It was bright green and full of spells
It was witchcraft just like flight
Making my plane soar like a rocket
So I could shoot down **** jets
Defeat their Me-309 escort fighters
Beating them by pure ******* speed
Then nail the ***** jet with my cannon
Blowing his ******* head off with 20mm
Me the aerial knight in his chariot
An airborne God in a Hawker Tempest
The best fighter plane of the war
Superior to all that was German
Be it Focke Wulf 190 D versions
Or their upgraded Me-109 K series
Or the 309s and anything else
I was equal to their vaunted jets
Like the He-162 Salamander
Or fast Me-262 which was ace
I was God...

It all takes place on the mountains where the yellow sun
Meets the sky blue sky in a joining of colour without cliche
The trees look airbrushed on a canvas stolen from water colour
That sky hints and hides so many things both visible and not
Moonshine stills secretly simmer under the generous leafy canopy
A broken-into-pieces warplane sits by the ridge right at the top
Inside a small cave little people party and count their gold
Human hikers brave the heights and risks to hike for a day or two
Wild animals like wolf and bear live without fear up here

'There is a special mission. It will change the course of the war. We want you to lead it.'

Jan 1st 1945.
It's cold and snowing.
Otto led the mission to hit the Allies.
His white painted jet was one of hundreds.
They took off and kept low.
Surprise would be theirs.
It was a fifteen minute flight to the target.
An airfield in Holland.

Guns tracked Otto's warplane.
Not Allied guns.
His own side's.
He's shot down before he can fire his guns.
His Salamander named Her was hit by friendly fire.
There was no chance to swerve away nor eject.
The air ace screamed when his jet hit the frozen earth.

German soldiers reached the crash site.
They took him to hospital.
Otto's injuries were severe.
He should already be dead.
And won't survive the night.
Was he assassinated?
Taken out by his own side.

****** secretly visited the gravely injured pilot.
The Fuehrer told Otto about her and her son.
They were taken to a camp and killed.
Otto whispered,
'I only ever loved two things: Her and flying.'
****** shouted:
'You love a Jew!
You betrayed me and **** Germany!'
'******* ******!'
'I ordered their deaths.
And yours.'

Otto closed his eyes one last time.
He was flying with you...

'I don't want to burn...'

Otto flew onwards.
It was a joyous flight.
Then trouble hit again.
His other worst fear.
Engine failure!

Must land.
Where where where?
Altitude has gone.

Trees are so close.
Wrong place to crash!
Touching close.

Want to close my eyes.
But I must to see my end.
Drop the ***** to glide longer.

There!
A field.
Thank God!

I can make that.
Keep the nose down.
Don't want to stall.

I can do this!
Dead stick landing.
I was trained for this.
Here we go!
Bump!

Bump and slide.
**** that's rough.
My warplane is sliding.
Come on now, stop!

Oh crap!
A ditch, right across the...

Mama save me again!
I don't want to die.
Mutti!

Otto came too and shook his head.
His vision was blurred and pained him.
A sweet smell wafted towards him.
The drip of petrol was audible.

He panicked and dug at the brown earth.
It was mixed with broken Perspex, above him.
Undoing his straps, Otto tried to escape.
The broken canopy trapped him.

Drip drip drip went the gas.
Then... just out of his vision.
A boy, aged about eleven.

Help! Help me! Hurry. Please!

The boy ran over.
Looked at the inverted plane.
And saw the trapped pilot.
Did he know that Otto was the enemy?
And had killed his father?

Otto flung off his flying goggles.
They made eye contact.

Help me! Hurry now.

The boy found a steel bar.
With the intelligence of the young,
he levered against the wing.
It leant against the ditch edge.
Moved with a sickening jolt.

There was a gap.
It was enough.

Otto dug at the earth and cut his hand.
Bending double, he crawled out.

Drunkenly standing, he looked at his plane.
He shook his head and felt his broken ****** nose.
Then fell to his knees and vomited.
Fractured ribs knifed him.

Otto passed out.
When he looked up, the boy was gone.
Without him, I'd be dead...

OUT OVER THE FIELDS



Out over the fields a pair of crows circle and dive amongst the hedgerows and green grass.

A watery sun casts its watery face through the spring clouds as the birds disappear from view.

Eighty years ago it was a similar story as two manmade hawks of the air battle to the death; the fields aren’t green but a shell-holed hell with muddy trenches filled with wretched men.

Soon the burning Albatross smashes to earth, its pilot shot through the head – dead.

Back today the lost warplane still lies buried in a timeless image of death, as crows fly overhead, to freedom.

Blue-green ocean tipped with whitecaps rolling toward the shore
Plane is humming with the pilot talking about life and your ride is there parked on the hill for easy starting next to the palm oil trees and oxen plowing the field with an old worn wood plow
The faded leather bag with delta memories is loaded to the jeep on a hill, the pilot is the driver and talks about this being a Japanese air base during the war, jeep looks good for thirty-five years hot sun is glaring down, the people stare
Intrepid, the vessel, is as faded as the bag and stands waiting, wanting to please her new chief as he walks the long pier to his home for twelve months or so, plane is humming and wiggles his wings as he passes over, you wave into the hot glaring sun
Captain greets you with a smile, dressed in khaki and a baseball cap that says captain, asking about mail and if you want a gin and tonic, for the mosquitos you know, first coolness you have felt since leaving Surabaya, what about another
Days are long and greasy and sweaty as you check out home, she’s purring like a kitten and ready for the sea swells and the crying sky and storms that lurk around the islands, you watch the brown bodies glisten as they throw nets catching the small fish
You walk the pier to the store you can buy beer and fresh coconut candy and something served on a coconut leaf that is extra hot and spicy, beer is as cold as the water well, the kids touch your hair and ears and tattoos and compare their skin next to yours

Duty calls and you sail to Surabaya for the crates and oil and helicopter fuel in barrels for the rigs, you spend the night in air con heaven with steaks and wines and big eyed girls telling you their family buffalo died, drinks are strong, you miss the island
You try to remember everything you will need back on the island, oranges and apples and cookies for the kids, Tanqueray and tonic, for the mosquitos you know ice cream and a box of chocolates for the old woman who gets the beer from the well
Work is done and we nestle back into our spot alongside the pier, shared the gifts with the kids and others, they are happy but want more, now it’s back to coconuts and bananas, I’m learning to throw the net for the small fish, the teachers laugh a lot
I’m diving everyday enjoying the mysteries of the sea, brain corals and rays hiding in the sand, small sea critters nibbling at my feet, the Captain leaves his room and walks the pier free at last from his demons, I venture farther out into deeper water
Having coffee on the bridge deck gazing out to sea when I notice a shadow, maybe a ray, maybe an old oil drum, maybe an old pirate chest, the pulse quickens as I ask the old Chinese deckhand to go with me in the twelve foot work boat
We get over the shadow and I can see it’s a plane, I dive down and it’s just a hulk that has been salvaged of everything removable over the years, an old Japanese warplane with memories as it lays there waiting for me to add to my memories
Over gin and tonics, for the mosquitoes you know the Captain starts talking about life, about his life of privilege, his kids and his wife they had a happy home with good schools and vacations and private yachts, his factory doing good
His son starts having trouble cannot seem to get along, complaints come from the schools, there is friction in his home he spends his money happily to buy his son some time and then the death of a vagrant man and his son has to pay for the crime
The son goes to prison but the Captain still has faith until the son does ****** again, the family spend all their money to keep one of them alive but tensions rise and words are said and the factory cannot survive
So now he’s a working man, his vacation is his home he tells me he has envy for the life I have known, a life I spent rambling ‘round the oceans of this old world, doing good and doing bad, while searching for that pearl