J
Jimko
Guest
Born in 1946 on the Canadian prairie and growing up on a farm in a rural Manitoba community, I was fascinated by the many stories about our local veterans who had fought in either the Great War or the then recent Second World War. I regarded these real-life heroes with awe and I wondered about their legendary exploits.
Even more importantly was the simple fact that in those years, young minds and imaginations were stimulated by those stories, by reading, and by the few movies that we might occasionally see in one of the little villages or towns in our area. Outside of radio broadcasts, there was little else for media types of entertainment. Consider...electric power was not delivered to our rural area until about 1951 and tv was yet unknown to us.
Dad was an avid reader and collector of several types of magazines including “Life” and a publication called “Blue Book” (I think) which was a men’s adventure pulp magazine, as well as a collection of books that he acquired from several book clubs. At the age of seven or eight, I was quite enthralled by the many stories and pictures of wartime adventure and heroics that I found in those magazines and books.
In those years, winter weather would often keep us trapped on the farm as the roads could be covered in deep drifts for weeks on end and snow plowing was either not provided at all, or not for the small rural communities until major roads were cleared. That often took weeks. Horses and sleighs were usually the only reliable option, but dad bought a device that some of you may remember to help us get around. It was called a “snowplane”.
This uniquely prairie winter vehicle was built over a wood frame out of thin plywood sides and base with a roof of some kind of rubberized fabric over stringers, all shaped into a semi-streamlined completely enclosed vehicle with windshield, seats, doors and windows, and that rode on four skis. The front skis were steered by a steering wheel and the ‘plane’ was powered by a "Model T" Ford car engine mounted backwards on a frame at the back and driving a huge wooden push propeller. And, yes, the engine was started by flipping the prop! Some snow planes were small single passenger vehicles, but ours was one of the larger varieties and could carry several people. Once in while I was taken to the little country school in this contraption, and of course, I just loved it!
More to the point, during all of the off-season, our snowplane was parked in a semi-open farm shed. It wasn’t hard for me to bring to life this quietly resting winter vehicle with my airwar-story-charged imagination, and to transform it instantly into a BE2, B25, or some other multi-crewed warbird of past fame. With my slightly younger sister in the pilot’s seat and with my piece-of-pipe “machine gun” sticking out the window, we flew the skies of Europe on daring raids and dangerous bombing missions! Frantically maneuvering her wheel, my sister performed amazing feats of evasive action according to my excited shouted commands, while I fended off the Fokker fighter attacks until we had cleared all danger and could fly to home base in relative safety. Thanks to my pilot’s flying ability, we always made it back!
My sister really deserves the DFC for her valiant action and her dedication to the difficult role that I allotted her!
Those days are long gone. Now, I fly the skies of virtual reality with software and computer, but I don’t think that this technology can ever quite provide the thrill of those long ago flights in that amazing battle-weary snowplane!
Least we forget!
Even more importantly was the simple fact that in those years, young minds and imaginations were stimulated by those stories, by reading, and by the few movies that we might occasionally see in one of the little villages or towns in our area. Outside of radio broadcasts, there was little else for media types of entertainment. Consider...electric power was not delivered to our rural area until about 1951 and tv was yet unknown to us.
Dad was an avid reader and collector of several types of magazines including “Life” and a publication called “Blue Book” (I think) which was a men’s adventure pulp magazine, as well as a collection of books that he acquired from several book clubs. At the age of seven or eight, I was quite enthralled by the many stories and pictures of wartime adventure and heroics that I found in those magazines and books.
In those years, winter weather would often keep us trapped on the farm as the roads could be covered in deep drifts for weeks on end and snow plowing was either not provided at all, or not for the small rural communities until major roads were cleared. That often took weeks. Horses and sleighs were usually the only reliable option, but dad bought a device that some of you may remember to help us get around. It was called a “snowplane”.
This uniquely prairie winter vehicle was built over a wood frame out of thin plywood sides and base with a roof of some kind of rubberized fabric over stringers, all shaped into a semi-streamlined completely enclosed vehicle with windshield, seats, doors and windows, and that rode on four skis. The front skis were steered by a steering wheel and the ‘plane’ was powered by a "Model T" Ford car engine mounted backwards on a frame at the back and driving a huge wooden push propeller. And, yes, the engine was started by flipping the prop! Some snow planes were small single passenger vehicles, but ours was one of the larger varieties and could carry several people. Once in while I was taken to the little country school in this contraption, and of course, I just loved it!
More to the point, during all of the off-season, our snowplane was parked in a semi-open farm shed. It wasn’t hard for me to bring to life this quietly resting winter vehicle with my airwar-story-charged imagination, and to transform it instantly into a BE2, B25, or some other multi-crewed warbird of past fame. With my slightly younger sister in the pilot’s seat and with my piece-of-pipe “machine gun” sticking out the window, we flew the skies of Europe on daring raids and dangerous bombing missions! Frantically maneuvering her wheel, my sister performed amazing feats of evasive action according to my excited shouted commands, while I fended off the Fokker fighter attacks until we had cleared all danger and could fly to home base in relative safety. Thanks to my pilot’s flying ability, we always made it back!
My sister really deserves the DFC for her valiant action and her dedication to the difficult role that I allotted her!
Those days are long gone. Now, I fly the skies of virtual reality with software and computer, but I don’t think that this technology can ever quite provide the thrill of those long ago flights in that amazing battle-weary snowplane!
Least we forget!
. Thanks for that.