View Full Version : Beware the Hun

14th Apr 2005, 19:29
Some invited me back, some mocked my occasional midnight peep. I thought you might regret my return. This may well confirm those fears. So be it. Now read on:

The Merlin screamed overhead, ever-distinctive note. Pulses racing, Biggles looked up keenly. Splat!! Yet another dropping on his Hurricane. Biggles’ eyes frosted over. “Bring me the line chief!”, he ordered icily.

“Chief!”, he began evenly, “That’s the fourth dropping today, and each dropping of dripping makes a popping and a pipping and a hitting and a pitting on the aerodynamic surfaces of my kite, those things we call wings. Notice the rhythmic canter, not to mention the alliteration and assonance, of my banter, not bad for a notorious ranter. Anyway, that Merlin goofed yet again.

"He missed the pigeon altogether, but not before it scored another direct hit for the Kaiser, I mean the Führer. I see here the influence of the rascal von Stahlhelm. He will stop at nothing to knock us for six. The formula is known. Lift equals the coefficient of lift times rho, which has some vague link to air density, times velocity squared times the area of the moving surface, divided, I need scarcely add, by two. The implications are obvious. Four dripping dropping popping pipping hitting pittings in the one day wreck our combat advantage over Jerry.

"That is why we started the Battle On Overhead Birds (BOOBs). Clear my squadron of this menace. At the very least spread some hate-bait, let loose the dogs of war, the poisoned NAAFI wad squad. But do it. Schnell!”.

to be continued.

tony draper
14th Apr 2005, 19:49
oooh! a story thread, long time since we had a story thread.

14th Apr 2005, 21:10
Still, all things in good time. Maybe later...
Like you trying to show how clever you are by changing peoples names.How long till you start calling him DaveR again:rolleyes: :zzz:

Onan the Clumsy
14th Apr 2005, 21:25
Davaar, Good to have you back.

tall and tasty
14th Apr 2005, 21:59
Some invited me back, some mocked my occasional midnight peep.

I hold my hands up to being guilty of this, I am very sorry :(

But it is great that you have bitten the bullet and returned. I look forward to reading your posts again


Mac the Knife
14th Apr 2005, 22:05
Welcome back Davaar! It's been damned dull without you.....

"Electrons are free; it is moving them that becomes expensive."

Ric Capucho
14th Apr 2005, 22:18
The pigs are fed, the cows in the barn, the sheep in the fold, and Mr Davaar, our alliterative poet, from who's mouth words drip, when out of others they plop, has returned to us.

All is well. The children may sleep soundly.


Onan the Clumsy
14th Apr 2005, 22:19
Electrons are free; it is moving them that becomes expensive Not necessarily. The electricity company gets to charge for each electron, no matter how many times it sends it your way.

tony draper
14th Apr 2005, 22:28
"from who's mouth words drip, when out of others they plop"
Hmmm, a well turned phrase Mr Ric, one wishes one had penned same , but no doubt, at some time in the future,on some website,
one shall.

14th Apr 2005, 22:37
Welcome back old friend

Poor wandering one
Though thou has surely strayed
Take heart of grace
Thy steps retrace
Poor wandering one !

WS Gilbert 1836 - 1911

(from the Pirates of Penzance)

RC Maybe you mean 'Sheep May Safely Graze'??

15th Apr 2005, 00:08
The Liberals are being shown as the thieving rascals they really are.
Davaar has returned.

The universe is unfolding as it should. :p :D

15th Apr 2005, 01:43
Be this resurrection the real Davaar or an imposter, stealing fine words from another website, as yon geordie villain suggests he is also wont to do? :hmm:

There are, after all, more than one manifestation of oneself... :}

bugg smasher
15th Apr 2005, 01:45
Wot?? The daring Davaar renounced this forum never to return again?? And now he is back? In all his effervescent, self effacing and monstrously educated glory?? I have been away too long, the bugg smasher must now make an effort to proffer humble comment.

Davaar, my crafty and wise old friend, how dare you execute the proverbial ‘cut & run’ maneuver, when so many here hang on your every word. You desert your responsibilities with reckless and child-like abandon.

Honesty will always dictate the actions of a wise man, but foolish honour will forever lay the perilous path of the brave. And you Sir, I think, prefer the latter.

In life’s many and varied complications, I salute you.

Loose rivets
15th Apr 2005, 06:17
Give the puter a thump love, they've all gone poetically surrealistic again.:ugh:

15th Apr 2005, 08:53
Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust ... and the earth shall cast out the dead.

He's alive, He's alive, no death could not hold him.
He's alive, He's alive, Oh the stone it was rolled away.
Satan thought he won the battle, when Davaar died on that tree.
Oh, but my Davaar came back from the grave and he won the victory.
Yes, Davaar came back from the grave and he won the victory.
He Is Alive.

15th Apr 2005, 09:02
Always nice to see a Merlin, tend to get more Hobbies around here now and Kestrels are less common than Sparrowhawks. Harriers are a rarity but Buzzards are slowly edging east. Peregrines come down in and I've seen an Eagle in Suffolk. Absolutley no chance of a Vulture though.

But do Merlins scream?

tony draper
15th Apr 2005, 09:19
Your post reminded me Captain K.

Watched a doc a few days ago that greatly puzzled me, a tomb was found on the outskirts of Jerusalem, right period right place, it contained the remains of a shroud that was carbon dated to the correct date and some human bones, Earnest young Archeologist in one of those great leaps to conclusions they are prone to based on very little evidence hinted that this may well be the resting place of you know who himself!!!
Hmmm one understood the accepted wisdom was that that particular occupant vacated those premises after just three days and took a flight home.
So in this case would not evidence of absence be better than absence of evidence in the case for the defence?

Biggles Flies Undone
15th Apr 2005, 11:24
Good to see you back again Davaar. One hesitates to introduce a hint of critiscism but, being a subject close to my heart, I feel I must point out that it's Erich von Stalhein .

pedant mode/off :p

15th Apr 2005, 17:10
Biggles bit his lip. Mein Gott! That “Schnell!”. A close one that, after those years of caution too! Had the kerl noticed? Blown his cover? Probably not. Or had he? A dimwit, really, long serving non-commissioned officer, RAF Halton all over his stupid face. Perhaps a crafty devil though, with the schlauebauer cunning of his class. Only days earlier the scrimshanker had applied for transfer to cook-house Chief. Ach! No flies on him! At least the hint of a brain; you had to grant him that much. Anything to get out of the front-line. Schweinhund.

One thing for sure, the man must be posted within the week, best to the Murmansk convoys as fo’c’sle support mechanic for the catapult Hurri. A healthy open-air life. If he survived the RN’s native hostility for all crabs, the Abwehr with the U-boat lads in the Kriegsmarine would sink his underwear, wool, combination, and maybe him, to the bottom of the ocean, the German Ocean, The old maps said it and the future maps would say it again!

Biggles felt a glow. Drop the wretch on the jetty at Archangel and let him walk back He smoothed his hair; still blond! He smiled, these exile years in the overhead underground, a neat juxtaposition that, he chuckled, a smart paradox, would soon pay off, with full pension, extended medical and dental care, and a free OAP pass on the U-Bahn. That would be good, even with all those Bavarians running around in the Heimat. He frowned: The Amis have Dixie and we have Bavaria.

Was Traudl still waiting for him? She had promised, four decades ago on the very day the All-Highest gave him his secret commission. “No one must know”, the Great Man had said, and he had been true to his oath. She was a good and faithful lass, but even she must have had Doubts. She must be hitting the high forties now. Was she still so fetching in her dirndl?

16th Apr 2005, 02:06
A dimwit, really, long serving non-commissioned officer, RAF Halton all over his stupid face. I say! Steady on old chap, that's a bit steep. Our alma mater has produced many of the nation's finest. Despite the occasional black sheep, of course. :}

Meanwhile, the Blacksheep family, with the schlauebauer cunning of our class, have geographical features named after us in the better parts of Canada. (i.e. British Columbia...) Good old Great-great-uncle John Blacksheep. :)

16th Apr 2005, 15:35
[My dear Blacksheep, you are perfectly right. I have to get this off quickly while he is in the shower. Wherever I look, this Davaar is taking over. He seemed harmless enough when I created him, but of late ...... I have work to do: the innocent to get out of jail, deportation orders to fight, benefits to award, decisions to write, and there he is, wrestling for the keyboard. None has a higher regard than I for RAF Halton and its graduates. "Arcing and sparking": there you are! My knowledge of these arcana, a good one that, I owe to one of your men, dear old Chief Technician A........ these fifty years gone. What more need I say? Hush! Here he comes. I gotta go. Worse may lie ahead. Send me a PM. He has not broken the code there ...... yet. Yours. James]

16th Apr 2005, 21:50
Ja, Traudl can see how zis vould change one's life. Traudl from ze front ist irresistible, Traudl from ze back simply boggles ze mind!

Traudl von Rottenegg in ze Schittgablerstrasse remembers Biggles well vhen she vas 16 years old, viff terrible crush on most handsome boy... Traudl vas too scared to approach him, so she followed him around instead. Sitting in ze tank outside his house, und lobbing grenades onto his front lawn to catch glimpses of him looking out ze vindow. If Traudl had of gotten out of ze tank zen perhaps she vould have finally met her lover boy face to face.

17th Apr 2005, 00:39
Ach! So you were a shy boy too, Captain.KAOS! You reveal more than you know. I suppose we have all done the yearning grenade-throw in early days. Anyway ...


He must be more careful. Peril had lain in that one slip of the lip (tongue, really, but lip gives the better rhyme, and he was sensitive to his critical though inner audience, not to mention his constant reader Mon-Orchid) or lapsus linguae as they had called it at the classical gymnasium in Hamburg.

With that flip-lip-slip he might have sunk the ship, -- a hip quip, not great but not bad either. Yip! I’m on a trip –- control yourself, old man, don’t be a drip; OK, OK,this is a snip, -– he might have thrown away the fruits of thirty years as ReichsOberstMole in the RAF.

“Yessir!”, snapped the wise old Chief Warrant Officer alertly in reply, no fool he; not witty, he acknowledged wryly, for he too was allowed a separate adverb in a clause in apposition, but when the Old Man is on the ran dan, the black sheep (no offence to other sensitive posters) Baa! Baa! in unison. Or it may be harmony. Whichever. He was never too sure. He was not fussy.

Algy came by the squadron lines. “Hello, Sir!”. A safe opening. Uncontroversial.

“Algy! Laddie”, said Biggles, “Beware the Hun in the sun”.

17th Apr 2005, 09:55
Alas! this is not what I thought life was.
I knew that there were crimes and evil men,
Misery and hate; nor did I hope to pass
Untouched by suffering, through the rugged glen.
In mine own heart I saw as in a glass
The hearts of others. And when
I went among my kind, with triple brass
of calm endurance my weak breast I armed,
To bear scorn, fear and hate, a woeful mass!



17th Apr 2005, 21:57
“Oh not again!”, reflected Algy, tensely. “Not again! I am forty now if I’m a day. If he calls me Laddie just once more I’ll smack him in the mouth, rank or no rank, really I will. Next we know he’ll be posting time in Ack Emma and Pip Emma, and taking the lads out for an uplifting afternoon, wholesome hymns with Tubby at the Toc H. Oh well. Poor fellow. It’s not as if they ever give him promotion. In the last show he was a major, and here he is still a squadron leader, on ops, and pushing fifty. Spitfires, sure, but Mk 1s, two blade props, fixed pitch, and I know for a fact he has trouble with this new-fangled retractable cart. If you ask me, the blame lies with that creep Air Commodore Raymond, not that he has done all that well either. Pretends to be a friend, too. By now, he should have made it to AVM at least. Look at Trenchard, and no one thought he was the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“Mind you”, he went on, “How about me? Flight Lieutenant, after all that combat time on the Western Front, the Camel, rotary engines, castor oil in your face, unpredictable flicks, torque stall and spin, no parachutes, and now I have that insufferable Ginger. It will be better when we fly the Red Flag. Those contacts I made with Burgess, Maclean, Philby and the Apostles in my Oxbridge break will stand me, and here he paused, stand me in what? He searched for a fitting cliché. Got it! Good stead. That’s it! Stand me in good stead. In good stead, that’s where they will stand me, when the Revolution comes.

18th Apr 2005, 09:01
Ach so, Herr Prof. Davaar, thank you for wunderbar analysis. I'm glad I wasn't alone.

I have more difficulty following your story though. :confused:

Now who killed the Red Baron?

18th Apr 2005, 17:48
I suppose, Capt.KAOS, the Tubby and the Toc H are obscure. The Rev P “Tubby” Clayton opened Talbot House (“Toc H”, or “Tango Hotel” to you) at Ypres in 1915 as a club for British servicemen. Biggles was a frequent visitor. The motto over the door read: “All rank abandon, ye who enter here”. Its symbol was a Biblical lamp, like a sauce-boat with a flickering wick at the far end, from which came the British servicemen’s remark: “He’s as dim as a Toc H lamp”.


Biggles can kiss my ...... He broke off philosophically. The author would never let him get away with that. Not with the lobby rule and all. Meanwhile the monthly cheque from Moscow came in handy with service pay the way it was these days. The Bentley cost a mint to run. But I’ve heard Biggles speak warmly of the Condor Legion on the other side. I wonder about him”.

He summarised.his thoughts: “Yessir!” Best not to take any liberties.

“What a door-knob this fellow is”, Biggles ruminated, silently. “The author landed me with him when I was with Major Mullen back in the RFC, and I’ve never since been able to shake him off. Lord knows I’ve tried. That monocle! It is not as if he ever set foot inside Lichterfelde or fell off a Uhlan horse or even got into a little chopping-match with the sabres at Heidelberg. A real poultice. English, of course. Can’t help it.”

“Hello Sir! Hello chaps!” It was Ginger.

19th Apr 2005, 05:49
Ginger was ex-Halton. Thirteenth Entry. Made it to Leading Apprentice in his final year, too. ;)

19th Apr 2005, 18:11
“Dear Heaven! And now this! Is there no end to it?” continued Biggles morosely and for good value we may add interrogatively, “I wonder if he knows I know about him and the bar-maid’s daughter? I suspect not”.

“Gentlemen”, he greeted them with a forced rictus, “Air Commodore Raymond has asked me to lead a mission against the foe, possibly a suicide mission. With me I need” – he paused for a split but shuddering second as he gave them a jaundiced survey – “two good men. At this stage I can say no more.”

19th Apr 2005, 20:01
Late to the tale Davaar but what a pleasure a belated welcome to you and that Archfeindhund posing as our great and glorious Biggles. Will our lads rumble him will they unmask the terrible plot will Bertie... Bertie??? who the hell is Bertie???

Bugsmasher haven't seen hide nor hair for a while. Welcome too.

20th Apr 2005, 20:10
More an acquired taste Scrubbed, and your not far wrong with bizarre, but then again the first time I tasted gin and tonic I wondered how in heavens name anybody in their right mind could like it, I was five at the time. Jazz was also an acquired taste when I was younger, things sort of grown on one, and then agin sometimes they don't , you never can tell.

21st Apr 2005, 17:39
“Wizard, Sir! Count me in!” returned Algy devil-may-carely but soberly too. He reflected: “Just when I have lined up that acting Wing Commander job at the Air Ministry, O/C supply of smuggled lingerie vice regulation passion killers, wool, knitted, for frustrated WAAFs on isolated flak and echo sounder sites, with court martial powers of the high justice, the middle and the low, far from combat. What has the old dolt got me into this time?”

“Can I come too”, asked Ginger, eagerly.

“Gad!”, thought Algy, “You too!”.


There you have it, Scrubbed. More of the same. Mind you, if you want stuck record, try The Brothers Karamazov, and see where they took Dostoevsky. My ambitions were more modest, to be amused and to amuse a little. We are not into great literature here. I have always wondered what they were really thinking behind all that mateyness and Biggles-as-father-figure adverbial stuff. I was going to reveal an eccentricity of Air Commodore Raymond. The rest was formula, just like the original. The full moon - the broken cloud - the Lysander - the switches on - the run-up - the low-level to occupied France - the flak - the searchlights - the Messerschmitt 110 - the evasive action - find the field by the river - the gooseneck flares - the Gallant Resistance - the ambush by von Stroheim - the Stens and the Schmeissers - pick up the agent who has the key to the double lives of Biggles and Algy - take-off under fire - miraculous escape -hedge-hop back to the Channel and England - agent a silent ascetic man name of Antoine Le Drapeau - chats with Biggles - reveals weaknesses for plump women, small white hounds, sweet cakes, sausages, and theology - forms fast friendship with Biggles - develops amnesia re double lives - he, Biggles and Algy form secret radio station in North of England to broadcast propaganda against Johnny Foreigner - Biggles forgets Traudl, settles in with plump woman, small white hound, sweet cakes, sausages, and theology. Time passes. Doubts arise. Was there ever a double agent? Is the Man from the North really ...? No. Can’t be.

I’ll leave the rest to you.

21st Apr 2005, 18:21
Davaar, as a man not learn-ed in poetry, 'tis a joy and honour to read of your return.

22nd Apr 2005, 07:25
Oh b*gger, there he goes - one little p*sstake from Scrubbed and he spills the plot just as it was getting interesting.

Do you have a spare plot up your sleeve over there in the land where the cold winds blow, and weaklings put their cardigans on when its only 30 below? We'd really love to have a proper ending...

...preferably without a Geordie in it. :}

tony draper
22nd Apr 2005, 09:33
Nowt wrong wi cardigans, tiz the decline in cardigan wearing that accounts for the lack of moral fibre in our society.

23rd Apr 2005, 17:50
Cardigan as in the wooly job that fellow in the cavalry either Heavy or Light put on to cut a chilly breeze. What then was a Raglan sweater, or was that summat completely different?