LEGO the Movie . . . What next. A bit added.

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AndrewR
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by AndrewR »

How about "Those Magnificent Modellers and their Flying Machines". We follow the misadventures of several modelling clubs as they try to get their builds to Telford by fair means or (usually foul). I want the Terry Thomas role :)
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Eric Mc
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Eric Mc »

As long as there isn't a water treatment plant near the venue.
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Brickie
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Brickie »

I should point out that the Lego movie is *brilliant*. Took the nipper to see it yesterday, still humming the song...
"If you can fly a Sopwith Camel, you can fly anything!"

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Chuck E
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Chuck E »

The Little Aeroplane.

It was dusty up here in the attic, the sole illumination a couple of cobwebbed skylights. Every morning the Sun rose casting its rays into the dark interior. Like a slowly moving searchlight it made its way among the boxes of long forgotten household items, toys and old clothes. Every now and then it would reflect from a once brightly painted box that hadn't quite been bleached out, or coated in the fall of decades of dull brown dust. Things, once new, lay forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind. As the Sun rose over the horizon of the sill it reflected from a small bright eye in the gloom. Slowly a flank of bright yellow appeared below a small, dust covered wing. The Sun picked out more detail, a red, white and blue roundel on a still glossy fuselage. Two small pilots with huge round, silver painted goggles gazed sightless towards the new morning, as the brightness warmed their dust blurred features. In the long, sharp ray of sunlight it appeared as though the little model biplane was actually flying, held immobile in the airless attic on invisible currents of still air. She was a Tiger Moth, a DeHavilland DH82a, to be precise, and once a cherished model in a collection of cherished models assembled by a loving hand. Beneath the dust, her paintwork was neat and bright, her wings and struts still straight and level. Even the fine thread of her rigging, though slightly furry with age, was intact and neat. Her prop would still turn, if anyone would ever again want to try to, even a little breeze may set it away. Once she had had hours of careful work spent on her, before joining her fellows on a high shelf. Sometimes she would take to the air, held in a small hand that would make her climb and dive, roll and loop, land and take off again. She would climb faster than a jet fighter with the power of imagination thrusting her up into the deep blue of the heavens. Imagination took her as high as the highest clouds, though in reality, she couldn't attain an altitude higher than the reach of a child's arm. Later, she had been held in flight for years on the end of a length of fishing line that was drawing pinned to the lofty ceiling of a bedroom. As life went on below, she would twist and spin among a whole squadron of brightly painted, though slightly dusty model aeroplanes. Sleek jets, World War Two fighters and bombers and Great War Biplanes shared a white painted sky with small airliners and even a huge balsa wood glider. Here she stayed for countless days, tugging quietly at her restraint, like a small boat at her moorings. It had become quiet up here as the years passed. She was no longer swung by a small finger, or highlighted in a torches beam in the darkness of night. The room below was silent and empty now. As the Sun crossed the high window the shadows fell again and soon the little aeroplane was swallowed up in the dusty darkness again. It had been all too short a flight.

It seemed a long time ago since she had been taken down and placed carefully in a box
To be continued . . . after I fix the washing machine.
So many models, so little time.
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Clashcityrocker »

Pass the tissues somebody :cry:

Nigel
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Eric Mc »

How about "The Modelling Black Hole". I thought I had a number of kits in my stash which I can't seem to find. They seem to have vanished into an alternative universe.
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Chuck E »

The Little Aeroplane. ( Continued.) Something for the kids. As I'm about to become a Granddad, I'm thinking about writing some kid's stories. :)

It seemed a long time ago since she had been taken down and placed carefully in a box. A little model aeroplane has no concept of time and in the box she stayed. The attic was quiet and dark and the box was piled on top of other boxes. If not for the bird, the box may have been there still, but things just go on happening and maybe, once in a while, fate takes a hand. A starling had got into the attic through a small gap in the eaves and, once inside, was desperately looking for a way back out again. In its search it flew back and forth over the dusty boxes, settling from time to time and looking about. Finally it settled on the box containing the little Tiger Moth. It scratched at the flap and the box moved. The startled starling leapt into the air and the box was tipped over. As it fell the bright yellow model was tipped out, touching down, against the odds, in a perfect three point landing on top of yet another dusty box. The starling caught a small gleam of light from the shining paintwork and set off away from it. It continued to flap about for ages until it was quite exhausted. Suddenly the gloom of the attic was split in a stuttering burst of light as a long fluorescent tube, not used in years, flickered uncertainly to life. There were voices and the sound of people on the attic stairs. A head popped into view through the stair hatch. The starling froze in a corner, its eyes bright in the glare of the light.

“Can you see it ?” A woman’s voice.
“Not yet. It must be hiding.” A man’s voice.
“Do birds hide ?”
“Gone to ground maybe.” The man answered.
They were climbing the last stairs into the attic now. The starling didn’t move.
“I’ll open the skylight and it may fly out again.” Said the man. “We’ll go down. It might come out if we’re not here. Their steps receded down the stair well. After a while, the starling flew back up onto an old clothes frame and, after a last look around, flew to freedom through the open light. Later, the man came back to close the window. He pushed an old case against the little hole in the eves.
“All sorted ?” The woman called from the floor below.
“Yes mum. I’ll get the ladders out and replace that loose slate in the morning.”
“Cup of tea, son ?”
“Lovely, Mum.”
He stood, looking around the old attic and its faded contents. The chimney of his sister’s old dolls house poked out from under a dust sheet. He pulled the cover over it and dusted his hands together. The attic had been his den when he was a kid, though he’d had to share it with his sister and her soppy dolls. I mean, how could you have a decent game of soldiers when you were under the constant gaze of a bunch of dolls and furry animals. Still, it was a big attic and he could always set up a tent made out of a large wooden clothes horse and a big, grey blanket. The old clothes horse was still there. He smiled to himself, took one last look and climbed down the steep wooden stairs to where his mother waited. The light flicked off, plunging the attic back into its silent, ageless gloom, but there in the corner, the fading sunlight fell on the little Tiger Moth and its yellow paintwork gleamed again. And there she sat as the cycle of days passed and the seasons changed. The patter of spring rain on the roof and the brightness of summer gave way to the winds of autumn and the soft fall of Winter Snow. The years passed and the attic was silent and the little yellow Tiger Moth gradually faded into the dust.

It was summer again and the old house creaked with the warmth of the Sun. There was noise from somewhere below and the sound of children’s feet rushing up and down the stairs and along the hallway.
“What’s up there Dad ?”
“Just the attic.”
“Can I go up ?”
“Not just now, son. Go and get your bag and bring it up to the bedroom. This is yours.”
A door opened somewhere off the landing.
“Wow ! It’s huge. Why couldn't I have a bedroom this big at home?”
“Because we only had a flat.”
“And a tiny bedroom.”
“At least you don’t have to share it. Your Mum had to share her room with two sisters.”
“That was in the old days, when they had horses and carts.”
“Cheek.” Mum joined the conversation. “Even Grandma didn’t go that far back. Not quite.”
“Well, I hope the new house has bedrooms this big. “
“We’ll have to wait and see. We haven’t found one yet.”
“Please find a big one. One with an attic too.”
“Anything else your lordship ?”
“Big garden ?”
“And you’ll help to dig it and weed it and mow the lawn ?” Mum asked.
“With a ride on mower ?”
“With a ‘push along’ one.” Said Dad. “Anyway, wait and see what we get.”
“But we’re going to come back to the village ?”
“Yes, probably. I don’t need to work in town any more. The village would be fine for my new job.”
“Great. We can go and look tomorrow then.”
“We’re going to put out feet up for the weekend.” Said Mum. “A week of packing has worn me out.”
“Okay, while you old people have a nap, I’ll go and explore.”
“Old people ! My, my, the energy of youth. Maybe you could bring all the cases up, young man.”
“All of them, Mum.”
“There’s only a few. Won’t take you long.”
“But you and sis brought hundreds.”
“Not quite hundreds. Come on, crack on. Grandma’s making scones.”
The voices faded with the steps down the long staircase and silence came again, but this time it was different. Silence had never sounded like this before. Somehow it felt full of life.

More later . . . . . . .
So many models, so little time.
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BlohmWolf
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by BlohmWolf »

^ The whole two posts...


Image
"Can not finish a model at all"

"You can get more of what you want, with a kind word and a wallet, than just a kind word".

Currently Building: FROG Wildcat, Fokker DR1 Red baron and some other things...
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by SJPONeill »

Chuck E wrote:The Little Aeroplane. ( Continued.) Something for the kids. As I'm about to become a Granddad, I'm thinking about writing some kid's stories. :)
You are off to a good start...as you write, I'd suggest making notes as to the content and nature of illustrations that might accompany the text...while you are writing is normally when you also have quite clear mental images of what each scene should look like...also a good practice if you consider making kids programmes at some stage...
Please critique my posts honestly i.e. say what you think so I can learn and improve...
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by AndrewR »

Do we get ice creams in the intermission? :grin:
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Zee28 »

AndrewR wrote:Do we get ice creams in the intermission? :grin:
Only if you promise to be a very good boy and not spill any on your best trousers.
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Chuck E
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Chuck E »

Just a bit of fun and an idea for some short stories for the grandchildren for when they are old enough to understand, but young enough to listen. :grin:

I like the idea of sketches to story board the tale.
So many models, so little time.
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Re: LEGO the Movie . . . What next.

Post by Chuck E »

I found this today. Nearly forgot about it. Still not finished. Working on two new books and some more short stories.

The Little Aeroplane.

It was dusty up here in the attic, the sole illumination a couple of cobwebbed skylights. Every morning the Sun rose casting its rays into the dark interior. Like a slowly moving searchlight it made its way among the boxes of long forgotten household items, toys and old clothes. Every now and then it would reflect from a once brightly painted box that hadn't quite been bleached out, or coated in the fall of decades of dull brown dust. Things, once new, lay forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind. As the Sun rose over the horizon of the sill it reflected from a small bright eye in the gloom. Slowly a flank of bright yellow appeared below a small, dust covered wing. The Sun picked out more detail, a red, white and blue roundel on a still glossy fuselage. Two small pilots with huge round, silver painted goggles gazed sightless towards the new morning, as the brightness warmed their dust blurred features. In the long, sharp ray of sunlight it appeared as though the little model biplane was actually flying, held immobile in the airless attic on invisible currents of still air. She was a Tiger Moth, a DeHavilland DH82a, to be precise, and once a cherished model in a collection of cherished models assembled by a loving hand. Beneath the dust, her paintwork was neat and bright, her wings and struts still straight and level. Even the fine thread of her rigging, though slightly furry with age, was intact and neat. Her prop would still turn, if anyone would ever again want to try to, even a little breeze may set it away. Once she had had hours of careful work spent on her, before joining her fellows on a high shelf. Sometimes she would take to the air, held in a small hand that would make her climb and dive, roll and loop, land and take off again. She would climb faster than a jet fighter with the power of imagination thrusting her up into the deep blue of the heavens. Imagination took her as high as the highest clouds, though in reality, she couldn't attain an altitude higher than the reach of a child's arm. Later, she had been held in flight for years on the end of a length of fishing line that was drawing pinned to the lofty ceiling of a bedroom. As life went on below, she would twist and spin among a whole squadron of brightly painted, though slightly dusty model aeroplanes. Sleek jets, World War Two fighters and bombers and Great War Biplanes shared a white painted sky with small airliners and even a huge balsa wood glider. Here she stayed for countless days, tugging quietly at her restraint, like a small boat at her moorings. It had become quiet up here as the years passed. She was no longer swung by a small finger, or highlighted in a torches beam in the darkness of night. The room below was silent and empty now. As the Sun crossed the high window the shadows fell and soon the little aeroplane was swallowed up in the dusty darkness again. It had been all too short a flight.



It seemed a long time ago since she had been taken down and placed carefully in a box. A little model aeroplane has no concept of time and in the box she stayed. The attic was quiet and dark and the box was piled on top of other boxes. If not for the bird, the box may have been perched there still, but things just go on happening and maybe, once in a while, fate takes a hand. A starling had got into the attic through a small gap in the eaves and, once inside, was desperately looking for a way back out again. In its search it flew back and forth over the dusty boxes, settling from time to time and looking about. Finally it settled on the box containing the little Tiger Moth. It scratched at the flap and the box moved. The startled starling leapt into the air and the box was tipped over. As it fell the bright yellow model was tipped out, touching down, against the odds, in a perfect three point landing on top of yet another dusty box. The starling caught a small gleam of light from the shining paintwork and set off away from it. It continued to flap about for ages until it was quite exhausted. Suddenly the gloom of the attic was split in a stuttering burst of light as a long fluorescent tube, not used in years, flickered uncertainly to life. There were voices and the sound of people on the attic stairs. A head popped into view through the stair hatch. The starling froze in a corner, its eyes bright in the glare of the light.

“Can you see it?” A woman’s voice.
“Not yet. It must be hiding.” A man’s voice.
“Do birds hide?”
“Gone to ground maybe.” The man answered.
They were climbing the last stairs into the attic now. The starling didn’t move.
“I’ll open the skylight and it may fly out again.” Said the man. “We’ll go down. It might come out if we’re not here. Their steps receded down the stair well. After a while, the starling flew back up onto an old clothes frame and, after a last look around, flew to freedom through the open light. Later, the man came back to close the window. He pushed an old case against the little hole in the eves.
“All sorted?” The woman called from the floor below.
“Yes mum. I’ll get the ladders out and replace that loose slate in the morning.”
“Cup of tea, son?”
“Lovely, Mum.”
He stood, looking around the old attic and its faded contents. The chimney of his sister’s old dolls house poked out from under a dust sheet. He pulled the cover over it and dusted his hands together. The attic had been his den when he was a kid, though he’d had to share it with his sister and her soppy dolls. I mean, how could you have a decent battle when you were under the constant gaze of a bunch of dolls and furry animals. Still, it was a big attic and he could always set up a tent made out of a large wooden clothes horse and a big, grey blanket. The old clothes horse was still there. He smiled to himself, took one last look and climbed down the steep wooden stairs to where his mother waited. The light flicked off, plunging the attic back into its silent, ageless gloom, but there in the corner, the fading sunlight fell on the little Tiger Moth and its yellow paintwork gleamed again. And there she sat as the cycle of days passed and the seasons changed. The patter of spring rain on the roof and the brightness of summer gave way to the winds of autumn and the soft fall of Winter Snow. The years passed and the attic was silent and the little yellow Tiger Moth gradually faded into the dust.

It was summer again and the old house creaked with the warmth of the Sun. There was noise from somewhere below and the sound of children’s feet rushing up and down the stairs and along the hallway.
“What’s up there Dad?”
“Just the attic.”
“Can I go up?”
“Not just now, son. Go and get your bag and bring it up to the bedroom. This is yours.”
A door opened somewhere off the landing.
“Wow ! It’s huge. Why couldn’t I have a bedroom this big at home?”
“Because we only had a flat.”
“And a tiny bedroom.”
“At least you don’t have to share it. Your Mum had to share her room with two sisters.”
“That was in the old days, when they had horses and carts.”
“Cheek.” Mum joined the conversation. “Even Grandma didn’t go that far back. Not quite.”
“Well, I hope the new house has bedrooms this big. “
“We’ll have to wait and see. We haven’t found one yet.”
“Please find a big one. One with an attic too.”
“Anything else your lordship?”
“Big garden?”
“And you’ll help to dig it and weed it and mow the lawn?” Mum asked.
“With a ride on mower?”
“With a ‘push along’ one.” Said Dad. “Anyway, wait and see what we get.”
“But we’re going to come back to the village?”
“Yes, probably. I don’t need to work in town any more. The village would be fine for my new job.”
“Great. We can go and look tomorrow then.”
“We’re going to put out feet up for the weekend.” Said Mum. “A week of packing has worn me out.”
“Okay, while you old people have a nap, I’ll go and explore.”
“Old people ! My, my, the energy of youth. Maybe you could bring all the cases up, young man.”
“All of them, Mum?”
“There’s only a few. Won’t take you long.”
“But you and sis brought hundreds.”
“Not quite hundreds. Come on, crack on. Grandma’s making scones.”
The voices faded with the steps down the long staircase and silence came again, but this time it was different. Silence had never sounded like this before. Somehow it felt full of life.

Feet clattered on the attic stairs. Small feet rapping on the bare wooden boards, getting closer. A click and a scrape as the door opened. A breath of cool air from below and a flicker of light as the old tube stuttered to life. A small voice from the doorway.
“Wow! What a room. All that space.”
The boy swept into the large attic and to him, it did seem huge. At ten years old and not over tall for his age, the attic roof arched high over his head. Even his Dad could walk around in here without having to duck. A lighter step on the stair. He turned to see his Mother standing in the doorway.
“Exploring?”
“Yep. Brilliant, isn’t it. What a size, too.”
“And full of dust and cobwebs. I’ll bring you a brush and you can clean it up a bit, or you’ll be treading dust all over the house.” She reached up and opened the skylight. “There. That’s better. You need a bit of air in here.” She flicked another switch and another ancient tube flickered to life further along the huge space, illuminating a stack of boxes and pieces of old furniture. The space was the size of the whole floor plan of the house. Huge. “You could get lost up here.” She said, walking across to open another opaque skylight, which was hung with cobwebs. “If you wait until after lunch, I’ll give you a hand. We can store the cases up here. OK?”
“OK Mum.”
“Right. In the meantime try not to disturb the spiders.”
He laughed. “I like spiders.”
“Yes, but your sister doesn’t, so no chasing them downstairs.”
He grinned, thinking about dropping a couple in his big sister’s room later.
“Jack!”
“yeah, yeah. I’ll leave them all up here.”
She smiled and went back downstairs.
When she had gone, Jack turned to explore his new domain. The sloping roof ended in a wooden wall about five feet high. Small hatches opened into the eaves and he pushed one open. The air was stale and even dustier in there, so he pushed it shut again. Two of the old lights still hadn’t lit up properly, just a dull glow showing at either end. The one above head blinked out and then on again with a clatter and, in the flash something caught his eye. Something small and yellow. He stepped forward and saw a tiny model aeroplane. He reached out and carefully lifted it up. The light flickered on its bright yellow paint and bright roundels. Jack blew on it to try and remove the dust that darkened its upper wings and the little prop spun happily. He blew again and again and the little prop spun and spun. The little aeroplane seemed to come alive and he could almost hear its engine roaring. Soon it was flying around the attic, held aloft in the hand of a child once again. Diving and climbing at speeds its original would never reach. Fast as a jet, agile as a butterfly. The landing was not quite as successful and a small wheel dropped off. Jack reached down, picked it up and raced downstairs.
“Dad? Have you got any glue?”
Dad popped his head around the kitchen door as Jack came thundering down the stairs holding his little aeroplane out in front of him. “Have you got some glue? I broke the wheel off.” He handed over the model and the tiny wheel. Dad held up the little biplane and smiled. “A Tiger Moth. Your Granddad had loads of these about the house. I remember playing with this one when I was a kid. Was it up in the attic?”
“Yes. Can you fix it? I knocked the wheel off.”
“Heavy landing, eh. Yes, I think we can fix this. I think a bit of a clean-up would be the first thing.”
“I’ll get some tissues.”
“I’ll show you a better way. Come on.” He walked back into the kitchen and placed the little model on the draining board. He ran some hot water into the bowl and gave it a squirt of washing up liquid. He stopped the tap and placed the little model into the water, carefully moving it around in the suds to remove the dust and grime. When he was done, he rinsed it and stood it on a paper towel. The model gleamed like new as it sat at a jaunty angle. “The wheel has just slipped off its axel. Easy fixed.” He took a little bottle of glue from the top shelf of one of the kitchen cupboards. He unscrewed the cap and carefully applied a spot of the glue to the little plastic stub. He picked up the tiny wheel and slipped it into place then rested the model upside down to allow the glue to set. “There you go, Jack. Good as new.”
“Thanks Dad. What did you call it before?”
“A Tiger Moth. It was a trainer way back in the thirties. About eighty years ago. There are still a lot of them still flying today. People rebuild them and get them back in the air. Your uncle Rob has some friends that work on them. We’ll have to have a drive over there one day. It’s not far from here. I bet there are loads of these up there in the attic. Dad used to keep them all in boxes up there. He had a whole airfield with buildings and vehicles and little figures too. They must still be up there. We’ll have a look after lunch. Anyway, just wash up and we’ll go. We’re just popping over to the pub for lunch. I would give your jeans a dust off, too, or Mum’ll be after you. I’ll put the Tiger Moth somewhere safe until we get back.”

The Sun dried the little aeroplane as it sat on a shelf in the kitchen. Restored to its original condition it looked as good as new. A new day had dawned and soon it would feel the joy of flight all over again.

In the event they only found two spiders in the whole attic and they were left alone over in a corner of the chimney stack. Jack felt that their presence may keep his sister at bay. Anyway, she was more interested in boy bands and girly stuff and probably wouldn’t be bothered. He could hear her HiFi playing somewhere below. The attic was actually in pretty good shape after a bit of dusting and Dad had replaced the two flickering tubes and the two broken ones, which made it look a lot brighter, and bigger, too. The crystal clear skylights were letting in a lot more light now, as well as giving a great view over the village. The hose sat squarely North, south, east and west and the skylights faced to the south. By standing on a large wooden chair, Jack could see down onto the front garden, across the village and way off to the hills in the distance. The whole valley spread out before him and he felt like a King surveying his kingdom. Jack held up his tiny Tiger Moth and posed it against the sky. He imagined flying it over the houses and down the green valley and up into the blue skies, even higher than the hills. Dad was moving some old furniture about and taking off the dust sheets so that they could be taken outside and given a good shaking and airing. “This will make a pretty good den for you, won’t it? You even have furniture. A nice desk, drawers, shelves, the lot! You’ll need to keep it tidyish, though.”
“Or I could put a sign up saying ‘No Girls Allowed.”
Dad laughed at that. “Right Jack, let’s see what we can find.”
Resting against the wall were some large wooden boards. His Dad lifted them down onto the freshly swept floor. Placed end to end they made up a large airfield with runways and roads and lots of grass areas. A couple of large wardrobes stood by one of the chimney breasts. Dad opened one and lifted out a large box filled with buildings. He showed Jack how they would be lined up and read out the names that Granddad had written on the base boards. Every building had its place. The aircraft hangars, the terminal building, the flying club. Lots of smaller buildings, too, and they all went into their places on the boards. Next came the fire station and finally, the Control Tower. This was beautiful and there were little people inside, sitting at desks. Some stood on the roof or on the long platform in front. Dad lifted it up and slid a panel back.
“It needs a battery. I’ll bring one up later. Some of the buildings light up.”
Jack was amazed. “We just need the planes now. Wait!” He jumped up and ran back downstairs. Seconds later he raced back up again holding his little Tiger Moth.
“Here we go, Dad. “ He flew his little aeroplane down to make a perfect three point landing in the middle of the long runway. This time the wheels stayed put.
“Perfect landing, Jack. Right, after landing you would taxi her back to the hangar. Right over there.”
Jack placed the little model into its place. Dad lifted some more boxes down and opened them to show Jack all the vehicles and figures that were part of the display. “The fire engines and ambulances go over here on the tarmac next to the fire station. There are some figures too, somewhere. That’s a refuelling truck.” They carried on and Jack learned about airfields and models and his Granddad, who he never really knew, as he had died when Jack was just a toddler. “Right!” said Dad, we just need some aircraft to make it into a real airfield and keep your Tiger Moth company.”

There was a large stack of odd sized boxes stacked along one wall. They were all dusted now and it was time to investigate.

“Playing nicely, are we boys?” Mum had come up to the attic unnoticed as they were setting up the airfield. Big Sis was tagged along behind, though she seemed more interested in her smart phone. She managed a short comment, “Boy’s toys.” She looked around without showing any flicker of interest before going back down to her room with a shrug.
“Looks like you have the whole place to yourself, Jack.” Mum gave a little grin. “Well, you and your Dad.” She looked around. “Looks good. Do you want your tea sending up, or can you tear yourselves away for a bit?” She pointed at her watch. Teatime already! Where did the afternoon go?

Time never seems to be the constant that we are taught in school. It somehow feels elastic. Some days pass too fast, when you’re having fun. Other days drag by and you feel that they’ll never end. This day had flown, but what they had done. Jack had never had a place this big to play in in his whole life and now this was all his. For now, at least. It would be great if they didn’t have to move away.

After tea, Jack climbed back into his new world. Dad had brought up the box containing Jack’s model racing car set and it took him just a couple of minutes to set it up. It used to fill his bedroom, but it looked lost up here. He hoped that their new house, when they found it, wouldn’t be too far away and he could come here to play every day. The Sun was still bright in the windows and Jack walked around the attic looking from each one in turn at the village that surrounded the house, before turning his attention back to the piles of cardboard boxes. Where to start? He lifted one down and peeled off the old, dried out tape that held the lid down. On the faded card on the lid was written “Spitfires. Battle of Britain.” There were four of them in the box and all almost free of the dust that had covered the little Tiger Moth. He lifted one out and held it up. What a super little model. All camouflaged and with bright roundels on the wings and fuselage. The other three were identical, though they had different letters on the sides. He couldn’t work out words from the letters, so he wondered what they meant. Dad would probably know, but he was downstairs watching the news, so he would ask him later. Some posters that they had found earlier, were now pinned to the wall. One showed a wartime airfield with aircraft landing, taking off and parked on the concrete in front of huge buildings. Hangars, Dad had called them. He looked back to the big boards that were laid out along the floor. Apart from the little Tiger Moth, the airfield looked deserted. Right! The Spitfires joined the Tiger Moth on the apron. ‘Funny name for somewhere you park aeroplanes!’ He thought to himself. He adjusted them to get them looking smart, as though on parade. Another box; “Hurricanes. Battle of Britain.” Out they came and onto the airfield they went. A third box and four more fighter planes in the lengthening row. The airfield was starting to look busy. Jack started looking through the boxes and reading the labels. Finally he found just what he was looking for. “Battle of Britain Fighters in flight” That’s what he needed, flying aircraft. More Spitfires and Hurricanes were lifter out of the box and each had their wheels folded and their propellers replaced with a disk of clear plastic. From each fuselage two fine wires extended. It was fishing line, fine as a hair and attached to wire rods. He lifted the wire rod and the Spitfire lifted off from the floor. Jack flew it along the attic, made a landing on the long, empty runway and climbed again towards the ceiling. As he raised his hand, Jack saw a small block on one of the rafters. It had a ridge along the edge and the wire fitted perfectly into it. Looking closely, he saw that the rafters all had these little blocks, so Granddad must have put them all there for the models. He must have displayed them this way, years ago. Brilliant! He soon had a whole squadron up there. The whole North wall of the attic now resembled a busy RAF airfield.

The light in the windows started to fade and it was time to put the airfield lights on. Under each building was a small switch and, one by one, Jack lit up the airfield. There was even a switch to light up the runway lights. There was a small searchlight with controls to steer the narrow beam around the attic and he found that he could move it onto the models suspended from the beams. Not a great light, but it was fun trying to pick up the different aircraft models and naming them. He was getting quite good and could get just about all of them right first time. He heard the door click open and turned to see Dad coming into the attic.
“All sorted?”
“Not yet, Dad. There are loads of boxes to open yet. I only have two jets so far, look.” He spun the controls of the slightly oversized searchlight and illuminated a white jet and a dull grey and green one. “The white one is a Meteor and the other one is a Vampire. What brilliant names.”
“Getting the names right, too. Well done. Right. Bed time for you. It’s after ten, but I thought I’d let you have a bit longer.”
“I’ll switch the lights off and some down.” He looked around. “The lights are getting a bit dim now anyway.”
Dad picked up one of the buildings. “I could swap these old bulbs for LEDs. The batteries would last longer. Actually, we can run cables under the boards and run them from a small transformer. You can have a master switch and switch them all on and off from one place. If we wire it into a small board, you can still switch different buildings on and off. Any good?”
“Brilliant! Can we do it tomorrow?”
“Hold on Tiger! Look, we’ll see what we can find in Granddad’s shed in the morning. I know where I can get some LEDs. There’s not much to do around the house, so we may be able to get right on it. You’ll need to put all the models away while we do it, but we’ll see what we can do. Now. Bed time.”

More later . . . . . .
So many models, so little time.
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