Spitfire Day, RAF Duxford

We have returned from Foxton, hot and tired. I shall have a shower shortly and turn in, but I thought first that I should quickly post up a couple of photos taken this afternoon. I may post more over the next day or so, but of the 100 or so I took, not so many are suitable for posting as the aeroplanes are too small to really make out. I like these two, though: one of a Spitfire on the ground and one of three Spitfires buzzing the aerodrome.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

A very good day indeed. But I am tired now and a little sunburnt. Goodnight all.

Spitfire Day, RAF Duxford

We have returned from Foxton, hot and tired. I shall have a shower shortly and turn in, but I thought first that I should quickly post up a couple of photos taken this afternoon. I may post more over the next day or so, but of the 100 or so I took, not so many are suitable for posting as the aeroplanes are too small to really make out. I like these two, though: one of a Spitfire on the ground and one of three Spitfires buzzing the aerodrome.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air. . . .

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

— John Gillespie Magee, Jr

A very good day indeed. But I am tired now and a little sunburnt. Goodnight all.