Aviation Memorabilia Newsletter

Every week we ask our readers for their stories or  feedback on what they have read here in previous issues. Below is the feedback we have received recently. 

As we surf the internet and back issues of airline magazines we regularly find airline related jokes and cartoons. Below is our latest discovery.

Here we conclude the story we started in NetLetter nr 1142 -

Old pilots never die -
 At worst the ashes are sucked back into the cabin blinding and choking the pilot resulting in loss of situational awareness with, as has happened more than once, loss of control, catastrophic destruction of the aircraft with fatal injuries to all on board.  Many methods were suggested on the internet but most proved at best only partially successful moreover; it was also illegal in some cases.

It was the ingenuity of my short crewman, looking every one of his scant inches, like an ancient mariner, who came up with a successful contraption that had confounded so many others.  He used a one gallon plastic fuel container, cut a four inch hole in the bottom and attached a six foot length of sump-pump hose to the spout using the screw cap which came with it to make an air- tight or should I say, ash-tight seal. He fed the ashes, a large scoop full at a  time, into the four inch hole until the container was full, then covered the opening with a large sponge covering the hole completely. Fortunately he was short; the small cabin was very cramped making the reach down to the bag of sticky grey ash at his feet with the scoop, then up to the hole in the bottom of the upside-down gas container, a real challenge. Inevitably some ashes spilled onto the floor. The pump hose was fed out the open side window. By manipulating the hose in the slipstream he learned that at one certain sweet-spot all the ashes were totally sucked out. It took several scoops for each drop but in the end:
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!.......well almost.

Back at base by the time we had secured the aircraft in the rapidly vanishing twilight it was too dark to see inside the cabin very well even with the flashlight I always carried in my flight bag. I had forgotten to check for fresh batteries and at best all I got was a rapidly fading, pale glow. Even with fresh batteries my cataracts would have dimmed any signs of ash spillage inside the cabin. I ran my hand along the side of the fuselage. I could sense rather than actually see a thin film of greasy fine grey ash which blended nicely with the thankfully faded paint work going all the way back to the tail. The aircraft was normally tied down outside, so signs of our deceit were nicely camouflaged by bird droppings and bug guts.

Hopefully the owner of the rented plane and the regulating authorities whose famous mantra is," Hi, I'm from the government and I'm here to help you", would be none the wiser.

While my elderly co-conspirator, a veteran of D-Day in WWII and I savored a cold beer to debrief the mission; we toasted our dear friend whose remains we had mostly just spread to the four winds over his beloved lake. I know he would have been pleased and at the same time highly amused by the keystone-cop antics of his two aging, blundering, fellow members of the mostly honorable, brotherhood of aviators. We had tried to give him a worthy pilots farewell, nevertheless, I did have a feeling my good friend would be sticking around spiritually and literally, to soar the friendly skies in that sorry old 172 for some time to come. There were no tears, regrets or recriminations instead we did what our friend would have wanted us to do. We ordered another beer.

Anonymous.
Epilogue: It answers the question as to why aviators, after spending most of their lives in the air, seldom wish to have their remains spread to the four winds from an aircraft.

Delivery system plans are available upon request.

We hope you have enjoyed this issue of the NetLetter, see you next week!

 

Sincerely,

Your NetLetter Team