Final Flight

Thirteen months of active duty have come to an end, and the Camel is back home. As it is, I lasted a lot longer than most new pilots in the First World War; thirteen weeks would have been good going for many of them. But I survived. Thirteen months is the longest that I have ever spent working away from home, and I spent all but the first three weeks of it living in a small village midway between Scunthorpe and Gainsborough.



My last week there was the anniversary of my first week after I had decided I couldn't spend another night in a Travelodge. Spring was just beginning.



Despite my rather harsh description of the village in my first week, I grew to love it, and am certainly going to miss it now I am back in the warmth of the South.



And as much as anything else, I am going to miss the woods through which I spent many happy evenings wandering around, even in the darkness of winter.



There was always something unexpected to be found just a few yards off the beaten paths.



One thing I noticed was the lag that 260 miles produced; these were in flower in Lincolnshire three weeks after I first noticed them in Wiltshire.



I have struggled to get a good photograph of these, this is as good as I have managed so far, and I am still puzzled as to why they should be so tricky to get into perfect focus.



And although I normally only post pictures of wild flowers and plants, sometimes you have to just break the rules without any real excuse.



This isn't the end of the Sopwith Camel; unlike the unknown duo from the war who finished up deep in the bloody mud of the Somme, I shall fly on, but things will be different, and I want to say goodbye to Lincolnshire and all the people I met in my time up there before my new life begins.

So farewell to the fens and the mists of the Humber valley.