Matt Kirichok said:
Mike Morgan said:
I picked the bits up and studied them for some time through a veil of tears (not really , my glasses had steamed up) then carefully put all that I could find in a box .
Reminds me of that scene in “Christmas Story” when the father tries to glue his “trophy” (leg lamp) back together. In our cases, our trains are our “trophies”.
(http://largescalecentral.com/public/album_photo/c6/b7/01/1b510_e8f2.JPG?c=bedf)
Mike Morgan said:
Steve , I imagined it more of a cat cutter than a herb hoover . But then , you are an old softie .
Mike
Can’t tell you how funny it was when my father-in-law kept trying to re-rail it and catching his fingers. I’d have shut down the power if he would only waited a moment.
Dan if I had a LGB flyer I wouldn’t dare race it they are too expensive to wreck!
Todd that is some whacky looking drag racer. Do you have any idea how fast it goes in scale speed?
Currently my track star is this Cobra/Mack. It hits about 40mph. The stripes makes it go faster.
Back in the day I built a racer using a Bachmann Bobber caboose and the rear end from a RC car. I used rubber bands to transfer the power. It was a large version of a HO scale Hustler switching engine. It was so fast it wouldn’t stay on the tracks so it was shelved.
It’s a shame Ridge Road station closed down, they used to have train races.
No, I don’t have a long enough straight away, or even enough voltage (30 volt rating) to get it up to full speed.
I dropped my LGB Sumpter Valley Mallet down the basement steps, all 12 of them, down to the concrete floor.
Yay me!
Terry Burr said:
I dropped my LGB Sumpter Valley Mallet down the basement steps, all 12 of them, down to the concrete floor.
Yay me!
YEEEOUCH !!
Yow! So was there anything left besides pieces?
Hey . a memory just surfaced . It’s about when I nearly didn’t .
So there I was , on duty (again) when a Sunderland flying boat hove to at the moorings . We did not , as someone once joked , shut the main gate and flood the runway . This one landed in Hong Kong Harbour , or more precisely , the wet bit of RAF Kai Tak .
Usual thing , tender out to ferry the crew in (too bloody lazy to paddle) and the navigator (you can always recognise a navigator , they always look lost) said “Is there a Radar man here ?” . Or more precisely , “Is theyah a Radar maen heah ?” . Oh bugger , I thought , another bloody social climber , but stifled my need to push him in the water . “Yes sah” sez me . .
“Bladdy radar’s pecked up” he said , just like that , pecked up .
“Which one?” sez me showing my astounding knowledge of the avionics of a WW2 Flying Boat .
“Arrhh , thet will be the Rebeccah” . I stifled a laugh----they always said they had u/s nav radar when they got lost .
“Right sah” sezme.“Symptoms?” “Oh , you know , usual bladdy thing , no signals” . Piece of doddle , I thunk , Transmitter Receiver up shot’s creek .
So I return to the Seekampflugzeugboot (as the Luftwaffe called them) and “Shite” as the German Navy sub crews called them as depth charges cascaded around them , carrying a replacement T/R .
Now , you know when big ships move through the water , they make big waves ; well , one chose the moment when I had one foot on the dory and the other just on the door sill , T/R in one hand and my life in the other , to send a biggie my way . Sunderland rose , dory fell , so did I . Sod the T/R , I dropped it with a despairing grab at the smooth surface of the fuselage and the T/R and I hit the water simultaneously . I came back up , the T/R didn’t .
"Oh good gracious " I said “Dear me , that’s a week or so’s drink money down the tubes”. But then I thought , the anchorage is shallow , I’ve got my skin diving gear , I’ll go and have a look . And there , showing up quite nicely against the green sea bed was a nice black T/R . I got a rope and tied the T/R off and up it went . But I had noticed other items there , a prop spinner , tools , an engine!!! and sundry hardware which turned out to be WW2 Japanese equipment----they obviously had morons in their navy air arm too .
I salvaged some stuff which pleased some people no end because they could use it to disguise losses to their inventory .
But then came the bitter bit . Some ratbag told someone else and so on and before you know it I was up in front of the M.O.
“Did you know that H K Harbour is full of shit ?” he said “Yes” I said “I just salvaged some of it” .
“Well ,” he said “you now need various blood tests , various injections di da di dah …” .
I vowed next time to carry the can (which , come to think , I had failed to do in the first place .)
Mike (not quite as seaworthy as Captain Morgan , my revered pirate ancestor)
Well, since we are on the third page, and thread jacking in required, here is my story…
We had pulled into Singapore, and, surprise, surprise, anchored out in the Singapore Straits, rather than around back at Sembawang where the Navy usually ties up to get chandlery services. Our tie to land was by ship’s motor whale boat (MWB), and we touched land at Change Alley, one of the worlds great landmarks. I suppose its been gotten rid of by now by the Ladies Society for the Removal of All Things That Sailors Like, or some such. They got rid of the original Raffles Hotel, the iconoclasts. But, I digress, urban renewal is not the focus of this story.
That the motor whale boat was being used to ferry twelve sailors at a time (officers first, of course) meant that our deck apes had to paint the side of the ship hanging from a Bo’s’ns Chair, rather than from the safety of the MWB.
So, I’ll leave the deck apes dangling in their Bo’s’ns Chairs, painting away, while I proceed on liberty. Don’t worry about them, they are under the supervision of the Bo’s’n, Boatswain’s Mate Chief LongXXXX. They’ll be there when we get back.
We had some crazy runners aboard the ship, and some guys who wanted to be runners. I was one of the wannabe’s. We had heard that the Singapore Hash House Harriers were sponsoring a Hash (no, not that kind) and we wanted to participate, as it sounded like fun. The Harriers describe themselves as “Drinkers with a running problem.” It reminded me of a USMC FieldX, run around the booneys for a day, followed by good food and plenty of beer. I figured that I would be right at home. I was.
So, after a day of trail running, getting lost, “Checking”, finding the trail, “On, on,” and finally completing the course, there was more food and adult beverages than I had seen in one place in a long time. Of course, I had to sample one of each. Now, despite being a career sailor, I never really figured out how to handle adult beverages.
I’m sure they poured me into the motor whale boat on the way back, and used a Bo’s’ns Chair to hoist me aboard.
The next morning, the percussion section of the President’s Own Marine Corps Band was beating Tattoo between my ears and forhead. I bounced my way between the bulkheads aft to sickbay to get some Motrin. As I swallowed the Motrin, Boatswain Seaman Schmukitelli knocked on my sickbay door. He had fallen into the Singapore Straits. Now, it is well known that those straits are some of the foulest waters on earth, so I figured that I had better give him a gamma globulin shot to ward of whatever cooties he might catch. So, I opened the refrigerator door, and took out my bottle of GG, which was still unopened, and notice that the contents has the consistany of peanut butter.
Now, the last thing that I want to do is hold this bottle in my hand while it slowly warms up. What I want to do is hold my head in my hands, and try to get down some coffee. So, I give the bottle to the kid to hold in his hand. After about a half hour, he shakes my shoulder to wake me up, “Doc, I think its probably ok to use, now.”
I try to draw the GG up with a 22 gauge needle, but I can’t get suction, the stuff is still too thick, so I switch to an 18 g needle. That works. Now, I figure that if it takes an 18 g needle to draw it up, its going to take an 18 g needle to give the shot, so I tell him to drop his drawers, and bend over the treatment table. “Ready on the left, Ready on the Right, All ready on the firing line.” Bam, in goes the needle. I push on the plunger. Nothing. I push harder. Still nothing. I use both hands. Slow movement. Neither of our mornings is going well. Steady is as steady does. I finally empty the syringe. For his troubles, I give the kid a bed rest chit, but in true sailorly fashion, he says, “No thanks, I’ve got Liberty, today.”
So, I use his bed rest chit, and sleep off the Hash (The running kind).
Here’s the mallet now.
New pilot, new smoke box, smoke stack, details here and there ans a new cab. I had to rebuild the front truck as well. JB Weld was my friend.
For some reason I don’t have pics of the new tender.
Terry
That looks really good, Terry. I should send you my Aristo mallet that dove off some elevated track when its wheels went out of quarter. I’ve got all the pieces, I just need to find the muse.
Looks good -T-.
