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His name is Clive Nunn. We would all love to know more.

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Gary Brooks - Aug '06 I remember Fred Barham or Fred Bareham who was apprenticed to the Short bros he came out of retirement to show me the ropes on the planning of work process stock assembly planning One of the old school. We need 2 know them! Frank McGurk , Carrigans, Co.

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Donegal I enjoy your programme. Derry, where my father bought a salmon fishery in the early fifties. I still retain a holiday home there, right on the beach. They ran the fishery for the previous owner, George Leeke, MP. Back in the early days of aviation, Harry Ferguson was looking for a long stretch of ground to take off and land his flying machine, so he disasembled it and took it to Magilligan Point, where he aimed to use the miles of dead flat beach.

Willie duly obliged, he had been hanging around watching the proceedings. So Willie climbed aboard and off they went.

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Upon landing, however, the 'plane flipped and Willie sustained a broken ankle. He claimed the fame of being the first aircraft casualty in Ireland. I don't know the date of this flight, although it must be well documented.

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I can't obviously testify to the truth or otherwise of this story, but Willie Boucher told me this himself on many occasions over a cup of tea in the wee house we stayed in, during the fishing season, known as the 'fisherman's hut'. This is the same fisherman's hut which, in early years, was the home of Mrs. Sweeney, who you referred to in your broadcast of the 18th December, Saturday last as having lived to and lived at Magilligan Point and was reared under an upturned boat there as a child.

I, too, was told this story many times. The fisherman's hut was for a time, the home of Willie Boucher. During the war years, he was coastguard officer. This cottage and a couple beside it were belonging to the MP, George Leeke and his predecessors, which were used by his tenents who fished the salmon title for him. I only had it demolished a couple of months ago. Home Explore the BBC. This page has been archived and is no longer updated. Find out more about page archiving.

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Explore the BBC. Contact Us. Flight through Time - Programme 1 A three part radio series To access audio and video on your place and mine you need RealPlayer. Listen to the entire programme. Listen - Peter Jakab. One of the most famous line-ups in early aviation: the picture was taken outside the Mussell Manor at Leysdown, Isle of Sheppey, England in early , when the Wright brothers visited Shorts' works. CS Rolls. He flew a Short No. It was piloted by Frank McClean who ordered it in January , the first aircraft order received by Shorts.

It was built almost entirely of spruce, using rubberised Continental ballon fabric for the covering. Listen - Lord Brabazon. Listen - Michael Clarke. On 31st December , at Hillsborough, Co. After some pretty self-destructive episodes, mum offered to get in touch with Phil and this time I agreed.

A week later this was pre-internet we had a reply. He was no longer living in Caracas, he wrote, and had moved with his Spanish wife and teenage daughter to Zaragoza, a city in the north of Spain. Would I come and meet him? A few days later I found myself sitting opposite my father in a cafe in Montmartre. We spent a couple of nights in Paris with a group of painters and poets from the exhibition and then took a train south to Zaragoza to meet his wife Marisa and Sandra, my new sister. She had known nothing about my existence until I made contact the week before but we soon had a strong bond.

Phil and his family welcomed me into their lives. In those early days, Phil and I would trawl bars and talk until dawn. I badgered him with questions about the purpose of life and he pointed me in the direction of William Blake and the Marquis de Sade. Back at university I finally felt I had an identity: I was the lanky one who dressed in black, took too many drugs and had a cool, bohemian father. It soon became clear, though, that too much time had passed and too much had happened for it all to be quite so easy.

I stopped visiting. It was difficult with my English family too. Since meeting Phil, all sorts of skeletons had been aired. I found out how my grandmother had recommended Mum get an abortion; how my favourite aunt had disapproved of the squat Phil had proposed as our new home and convinced Mum to return to her parents. I heard how Phil would turn up for access visits still out of it on LSD from the day before. I even discovered I had originally been registered with a different name — Salvador West Mum changed it before the six-week limit was up.

What bothered me most was that my closest older relatives had known about all this and kept quiet. You graduate from high school at 18, you go away to college and live in a dorm and stay up late talking about philosophy and go to parties and go to class and eat terrible dining hall food and have exciting hook-ups and maybe do a study-abroad semester or a summer internship unpaid, of course, but the experience!

I finished high school at 19 because it took me an extra year because baby, and I went off to college with my one-year-old daughter in tow. In preschool, when the teacher asked my daughter to draw her family, she drew two identical figures, one taller, one smaller, smiling under a yellow sun.

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  • She was happy with her drawing, but when I saw it, I cried. A holding pattern. That was a temporary arrangement, a blip along the way to becoming a real family. My inability to see that a two-person family could be full and whole and complete led to some of the worst decisions of my early adulthood.

    I was fixated on creating a family structure for my daughter that echoed what she saw on television and in her picture books. I was trying to fix her reality so that she would see herself mirrored in those stories. I was single-mindedly husband-searching in order to lend some legitimacy to our little family unit, rather than recognizing how rich our life was already. This obviously put enormous pressure on the relationships I got into during that time, as each person I dated was immediately being put on trial as a potential husband and stepfather.

    In kindergarten, my daughter drew another family picture. This one had the two of us in the center, but she also drew her grandparents, and her dad, and her aunts and uncles, and my closest friends, the ones who had stepped up to be honorary aunts and uncles in her life. The paper was crowded with figures; they barely fit on the page, all surrounding the little girl at the center of the picture with wide smiles and open arms.

    My daughter was wiser than me.

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