November is a month for remembrance. It's a time of year when my unalloyed enthusiasm for the Lancaster's symphony of Merlins is given thoughtful pause. It's still a symphony, but it's playing Barber's Adagio for Strings, and rightly so. During this period, at least, we all really ought to be introspective about the missions these magnificent, monstrous aircraft were expressly designed to undertake.

A good number of years ago, a B-17 — I'm pretty sure it was the Sentimental Journey — visited my hometown. Some fellow avgeek work buddies and I took the afternoon off to spend some time with the classic aircraft. As it arrived, the syncopated, jazz-like rhythm of its four Wright Cyclones was utterly intoxicating. The three of us were positively giddy at their sound and the polished aluminum glinting in the hot summer sun.

That said, during the tour of the inside of the aircraft, my stark first impression, which has sustained itself vividly ever since, was how cramped and claustrophobic I found the interior space. Suddenly, that aluminum skin looked paper-thin. That the aircraft was in any way a protective container for human beings was nothing but a terrifying illusion: the shiny envelope wasn't going to stop a mis-swung ball-peen hammer, let alone incoming rounds from MG 17s.

I was forced to confront whether the late boyhood, early twenties version of myself would have had the courage of these crews. While I understand circumstances can build character, I would be lying if I said I would have been anything but utterly paralysed by fear if it had been me instead of them. Of course, this does nothing but infinitely increase my respect for these brave aviators' courage and attendant sacrifice. I am humbled by what they were able to accomplish. We are all eternally in their debt.

In my family, it’s also a really good time to remember Leading Stoker William Brooks,1 who, I like to imagine, would have been lovingly referred to as Uncle Bill if he had lived past the age of twenty-seven. He did not.

In the early days of World War II, Uncle Bill was assigned to the HMS Salmon, a British S-class submarine patrolling the gravely contested North Sea mere months after the war began. The boat quickly achieved some success in the theatre of operations: in December of 1939, in what was a first for the Royal Navy, the Salmon torpedoed and sunk the Kriegsmarine's U-36 submarine southwest of Kristiansand, Norway. It took with it all of its forty crew.

Scant months later, on July 12, 1940, the Admiralty signalled the Salmon to return to base. It's easy to believe this would have come both as welcome news as well as an immense relief to all hands. However, in what was tragically only determined after the fact, N65's routing took it straight through what was, at least up until that moment, an uncharted minefield. The Salmon is presumed to have hit one of those mines. The boat and its forty-one crew were never heard from again.2

For the sake of Uncle Bill and his fellow crewmates, I only hope it was catastrophic and quick as they met their hereafter in the stygian blackness of the miserably cold and cruel sea.

My mother used to refer to her mother's brother, William, with intense and unreserved pride. Back then, so many gave so much that families who did not have an Uncle Bill felt, perhaps, they had not contributed everything they possibly could to aid the war effort. A version of survivor's guilt, in a way. That's often the nature of the innocent civilians whose lives had been gashed open and then scarred over by World War II, as my mother's was.

According to my grandmother, Mum's hair had been scared white, at least in part, by the time spent in the Anderson shelter which somehow doubled as a kitchen table in their home. Therein, the Conroys listened to the menacing drone of the Luftwaffe overhead and seriously wondered if this was the moment their world was about to end.

I subsumed my mother's steely patriotism without giving it a second thought, back then. It was the very least I could do for her, given what she had been through.

The second thought really only came to me relatively recently, with the so-called wisdom of growing older: rather than having this moving story of sacrifice for King and Country, I selfishly think I would simply like to have known Uncle Bill's grandchildren. Maybe one of them would have been a pilot of Concorde. That would have been cool. Or perhaps one of Uncle Bill's great-grandchildren would have designed drones for wildfire suppression or ferrying donated organs destined for emergency transplant. Even cooler.

I struggle to find precisely the right way to recognise Remembrance Day, given my conflicted feelings. However, I have found at least this: for some time and certainly once again this Remembrance Day, I put on a dark-coloured tie and visit Calgary's Burnsland Cemetery. There, I make sure everything is in good order with the adjacent headstones of RAF Flying Officer John Baker and Flight Lieutenant Maurice Briggs. I ask them how they are, and if there is anything more I can do. I even made a little sign with an explanation of who they were in life, without dwelling on the manner in which they died, scant days after the war was supposed to have ended.3

Maury, as I like to call him, was a pilot who lived, and loved, to fly his Mosquito fast and fly it low, right on the ragged edge. That's my kind of guy. He would have been the life of any party, without a doubt, well into his dotage.

If I could choose between that bright, imaginary future instead of how his life and that of his co-pilot actually came to a gritty end, I would sign that devil's bargain in a heartbeat.

This past month, BluFly rolled out its brand-spanking new Avergreen imprint dedicated to the restoration, preservation, promotion, and distribution of the best legacy aviation literature..4

Like many of you, I suspect, there have been many great aviation stories I've read over the years that provided the fuel to fire my burning, lifelong passion for pretty much anything that flies and anything even vaguely related to the subject. Quite often, these literary gems either aren't available at all, or perhaps in an image-based, PDF stuffed in some dusty corner of the internet. Not easily found, not very readable when you do, and with fuzzy copyrights preventing then from being shared. Which really is the whole point, after all. I want you to read these articles. I want your friends with whom you share them to read them, too.

Enter Jon Davison, the first part of whose Under African Skies5 just kicked off the Avergreen imprint. Jon's embrace of the concept finally provided the concrete incentive to get off the pot and get things going. I thank him for that. In addition to the remaining parts of Skies out in the coming weeks, we also have Jon on board for many more of classic stories of his breathtaking air-to-air photo shoots. Incidentally, we will also be carrying new photos and writing from Jon and his wife Jude Brazendale on the main imprint in the near future.

BluFly is also working on a number of Avergreen leads for what's best described, setting all modesty aside, as blockbusters from authors whose names you will recognise. Although we never count on something until the social posts finally go out, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised as to what we have been able to track down and make available to you on Avergreen.

The new Avergreen imprint, as described above, prioritises a pristine reading experience for humans. Part of this involves taking lots of things away: soul-destroying pop-up ads, a dazzling array of fancy fonts, way-too-clever animations, a cornucopia of amazing but immensely distracting colours, and, yes, even hyperlinks under most circumstances.

With what remains on the screen, if BluFly gets accused of being a tad boring, I'll happily accept that for the time being. Less really is more when it comes to reading. A simple page, resembling movable type on good old paper, is our prime directive and our main objective, even if it's not always achieved.

There are significant challenges, however: a great example is the presentation of photos along with their captions. Particularly for non-fiction, a luxuriously long caption is sometimes an absolute necessity. At the very least, the caption is something on which many authors labour over almost as much as their main text. Just tossing it, for no better reason than it doesn't look good, just doesn't fly.

The answer is to introduce the first generation of our new enhanced image viewing feature. In this regard, a demonstration is worth a thousand words. Click, or tap, any one of the images in this article and you'll see what has been accomplished so far. A high-resolution image along with a nice, visually quiet caption and photo credit. Done with it? Click the back button on your browser and carry on reading.

Okay, I can hear somebody down here at the front stage whispering something along the lines of is that all it does? To which the answer is, also in a stage whisper, an unequivocal yes, that's all it does. However, we do have plans for much more that we'll simply roll out when it's ready.

What is it that we have in mind for the future? Just keep clicking or tapping those pictures, and there will be some useful and fun things added in the future.

With full knowledge aforethought, I'm gently breaking one of the unwritten BluFly rules: the one stating pictures of airplanes, or closely adjacent material only. So what does this adorable little frog have to do with human-made things that fly? On the surface, nothing. However, there is a connection: it's through the photographer, Cheryl Goodwin, who also provided this month's evocative photo of the Lanc juxtuposed with its modern, carbon-fibre brother-in-arms.

If you think Cheryl takes excellent aviation photos, which she does of course, wait until you see her nature and travel photography of which this frog is just one example. As it turns out, Cheryl is actually in Costa Rica as this issue goes to press. During her trip, she is keeping a photo journal of her adventures in an album entitled Jungle Life: The jungles of Costa Rica provide a stunning canvas full of life at every level.6 Do yourself a huge favour and take a look. I'm tempted to say it looks like life from another planet. However, I'm thankful that it's from this one, if we can keep it.

Speaking of planets, if Cheryl's name has a familiar ring to it, you're not imagining things. She provided the outstanding cover of BluFly's June issue featuring the magnificent Martin Mars water bomber. I'm pleased to have Cheryl as a professional collaborator on these cover photos. Despite having not yet met her face to face, I'm even more pleased to be able to call Cheryl a friend. I'm thankful for her amazing photography, but even more thankful for her can-do positivity on all matters large and small. Thank you again and safe travels, Cheryl. 🛩️

Cute little frogs? Submarines? C'mon, are you serious? Well it's my party, and I'll cry if I want to. Rest assured, though, that regularly scheduled programming will return this time next month: all airplanes, all the time. Probably.

Otherwise, is there anything else aviation-related on your mind you would like to share? Or perhaps you think you'd like to see more frogs and submarines? In either case, I'd love to hear from you.7 Until then, thank you so much for reading and also for engaging with BluFly’s posts on Bluesky and LinkedIn.8

As always, fair winds and blue skies to each and every one of you.

Terence C. Gannon
Managing Editor

This is what we managed to put together for you for November, with most recent at the top:

Note that the embedded posts above are from the Bluesky 🛩️ Custom Feed 9 which is the reference feed for BluFly.