The late arrival of the inbound flight she had piloted from Hatfield, in Hertfordshire, prevented Amy Johnson from departing Prestwick, Scotland any earlier than 4.00 pm on that afternoon in early January of 1941. Darkness was already beginning to fall. The most direct route from Prestwick to her eventual destination of Royal Air Force base Kidlington, near Oxford, took Amy Johnson right over Blackpool where Amy’s sister Molly and her husband Trevor lived in nearby Stanley Park. The thought of a meal, spending time with family and a decent night’s sleep must have had a lot of appeal rather than slogging further southeastwards in thoroughly awful conditions and at night. She landed the Airspeed Oxford twin-engine trainer at RAF Squires Gate just south of Blackpool proper, and secured the plane for the night. It was just another ordinary day in her life as a ferry pilot working in the dark midst of World War II...

Listen to the rest by clicking the play button, above. The text version of this essay can be found on Medium where it was published contemporaneously. They key image for this episode is Amy Johnson at the controls of ‘Jason’ in Australia in 1930 at the conclusion of her record setting flight. (image credit: Ted Hood via State Library of New South Wales)

"Eye-witnesses to the crash told how F-for-Freddie's rubber dinghy dropped out, inflated automatically and landed, as neatly and naturally as though something had gone wrong over the North Sea" so the local newspapers reported. Except it wasn't over the North Sea. It was in the middle of a cattle pasture and not far from a poultry farm on the prairie near Calgary, Alberta, Canada. It was certainly nowhere near anywhere a rubber dinghy would have been of any conceivable use. It was also thousands of miles away from the hostile skies of Europe where this particular aircraft had flown a record 213 missions before the war there had officially ended just two days before.

A few hundred yards away, what was left of the battle weary de Havilland Mosquito, nicknamed 'F' for Freddie, was still burning while the unimpeded prairie wind scattered the black smoke to nothingness...

Listen to the rest by clicking the play button, above. The text version of this essay can be found on Medium where it was published contemporaneously.)

The airship hangars at Tillamook trigger a cascade of memories.

My family first visited the Oregon Coast in the early 1970s. My mother picked Rockaway, seemingly at random, from the motor club guide and we stayed at the Silver Sands, an old-fashioned drive-up motel on the beach. All five of us squeezed into a single suite, the most memorable thing about which was the mysterious Magic Fingers Relaxation Service. This was a box on the night table which if you put in a quarter made the bed vibrate in a way that made absolutely no sense to a 12 year old. “How on earth would you ever get to sleep?” I thought, obviously not yet fully able to understand that sleeping may not have been the point. Back then, it just seemed odd...

Listen to the rest by clicking the play button, above. The text version of this essay can be found on Medium where it was published contemporaneously. (image: "Naval Air Station Tillamook during World War II" credit: Tillamook Air Museum)

A 75 year old true story of courage, atonement and forgiveness.

Nobuo Fujita was determined to bring his family’s katana with him 5,000 miles across the Pacific. The samurai sword had been passed from one generation to the next for over 400 years and accompanied Fujita on every important journey of his life. If samurai tradition was to be respected, he would eventually pass it down to his son.

Fujita had a different plan, however. He had been invited by the Junior Chamber of Commerce—the Jaycees — to the 1962 Azalea Festival in their home town of Brookings, Oregon. This was an annual Memorial Day event for the town on the southern coast just north of the California border. Nobuo Fujita eventually accepted the invitation, and then whatever difficulties there would be transporting the katana. It was essential to his trip because he intended to present the sword to the people of Brookings as a gift of peace and friendship.

If that plan didn’t work out, however, he would need the katana for another, equally important purpose: to commit seppuku, the hideous ritual suicide reserved for samurai who had brought shame on themselves...

Listen to the rest by clicking the play button, above. The text version of this essay can be found on Medium where it was originally published on September 26th, 2017.