HEATHROW HADES - US PRIDE

Flying was slow in the fifties and DC3s had few creature comforts. However there was no demand that you be at the airport three hours before take-off. Three hours in the car to Heathrow, three hours in the terminal: I am exhausted already. I collapse by the boarding gate and watch the US election results on TV.
When I first flew as a young man, Southern States enforced legal apartheid no less vicious than that in South Africa.
Today the US has elected Senator Obama to the Presidency. Were I a citizen of the United States, Democrat or Republican, I would be immensely proud.

DC3s WERE ROMANTIC

I took my first commercial flight in 1952 - Dusseldorf to London, mid-winter - in response to a telegram: my mother was in hospital and unable to write. Unable to write had to be serious. The plane was a DC3. We got bounced around in a storm. I sat next to a Gay male German movie actor. The actor believed that we would crash and determined to have his last grope before death. Being groped was a new experience and not really my thing. However I was a polite young man, a lieutenant in a Lancer Regiment. Fending the actor's hands off without giving offense demanded concentration. I had no space for fear. My politeness was rewarded. I traveled up to London with the actor in a chauffeured studio car and telephoned the London Clinic from his mews house. I wasn't able to talk with my mother. She was out to dinner. She had cracked her wrists in a fall and had moved into the clinic as a convenience - nurses to help her bathe and dress.
I had a weekend pass. My mother wasn't expecting me. She was busy much of the weekend and we didn't see much of each other. The weather was fine on the flight back to Germany. I had a seat by the wing. Later I flew over much of Africa in DC3s. They were trusty planes: you could watch the propellers spin. And flying was a romantic adventure. Turn your coat collar up, tweak the brim of your hat and you were Humphrey Bogart watching the plane lift off in Casablanca...