When the cat's away, the birds will...
When the cat's away, the birds will...well, let me explain.
My wife was away this week. She went to Spain with her sisters to see her niece graduate from college. She posted on Facebook, "the weather isn't the only thing in Spain that's hot." I commented "to borrow from BBC Sherlock, 'Down, girl.'"
While she was dreaming of spicy Spaniards, I found distraction as well. I wish I could provide exciting tales. My distraction was building a plastic model of a navy ship.
Building plastic models is not a typical hobby of fifty-something men living with their wives instead of in their mothers' basements. Nor is it typical of bleeding heart liberals with pacifist tendencies. I take no responsibility for reacquiring my adolescent hobby a few years ago. That lies with my Mediterranean-ogling love. A couple years ago, we went to her friend's wedding in southern Massachusetts. A friend of mine lived nearby in Providence, so we went over to have lunch with her and her partner before the wedding that evening. On the way we drove over the Falls Rivers bridge and I noticed a large ship tied up along the river. The ship turned out to be the USS Massachusetts. On the way back we toured the battleship and, on our way out, on a whim, I bought a model of the ship.
That was about five years ago. I've built a dozen ships since then, plus a couple planes and vehicles. I've even built them as gifts. So while my wife was away, I built a plastic model of a navy ship designed almost 100 years go. (For those of you hoping I hooked up with a hot twenty-something, shame on you. Plus you probably haven't seen a picture of me. Ain't gonna happen.).
The ship was the U.S.S. Buchanan, one of the World War I-era destroyers the United States gave to Great Britain during her time of need in 1940 in exchange for bases in the Caribbean. It became famous while sailing under a British flag and renamed H.M.S. Campbeltown. The ship, loaded with explosives on a timer, was crashed by her crew into the Normandie dry-dock in the port of St. Nazaire in German-occupied France, to prevent the facility from being used to repair German warships.
The ship was of a different time, designed during the First World War, with an open air bridge, an armament of five guns plus torpedoes, and nothing to protect it against the newest weapon of war, the airplane. The ship was designed to protect merchant ships from attack by submarines. Ships like it had a crew of roughly 150 officers and crewmen.
Over the three decade service life of the ships (over 100 were built between 1916 and 1921 and the last were scrapped in the late 1940s), thousands of sailors served on the ships, cruising the Atlantic and Pacific. During the Second World War, they provided the mostly dull but vital escort of ships bringing food, weapons, and supplies to Britain across the Atlantic Ocean patrolled by German submarines. Most of the guys who crewed the ships have died by now, and their lives aboard the relatively uncomfortable ships are forgotten.
The model I built, Revell's H.M.S. Campbeltown, is also of a different time, the plastic mold dating from 1963, during the golden age of model building. In the late 50s, 60s, and early 70s, boys would build models they bought from the toy store or even the local drug store of cars, planes, spacecraft, and ships. Dozens of companies, here and abroad, produced model kits manufactured with the new plastic injection technology. Many an hour, weekend, and vacation was spent pouring over instructions, trying to assemble fiddly parts, painting wings and chassis, getting subtly high from the smell of the glue. The closest thing for kids today are the Lego models of items from the latest entertainment franchise, but there's no painting of parts (and hence no spills of paint on the family room carpet) or gluing of assemblies (and hence no frantic cats with propellers accidentally glued to their fur). Just a lot of rich Danish toy makers and movie producers. Though if they come out with a Sherlock Lego set, I will be first in line to get one.
The drastic increase in oil prices in the 70s (the plastic was made from oil) and the rise of computer games together destroyed most of the market for plastic model building. It is now the province of adult men. The British TV presenter David May did a great special on a British model manufacturer Airfix in his series Toy Stories (the whole episode is an hour, but the first part is a funny piece on how the hobby has changed. You can still find plastic models today, but only in rare hard-to-find shops in outer suburbs or on the internet.
I found building the models a relief from others things going on in my life, whether worrying about the finances of a charter school or caring for my parents as they declined. You get absorbed working on it, not noticing hours disappearing while you work. Figuring out how to put two tricky parts together, deciding how you want something painted, working out the best way to make everything work can frankly become addictive, especially as the model starts to take shape The best part is you actually finish it, it is finally done (well, as long as you ignore the websites featuring models built by OCD folks who create museum quality efforts by the dozen, perhaps indicating a total lack of a sex life. It's worth seeing what some of these folk come up with). I also find myself curious about the history of the ship and those who sailed on her. Likewise if building a plane or vehicle. What were their lives like then? Unlike the Lego models, the originals actually existed.
This one came out nice, I think. The mold had little posts for making guard rails out of thread, which, though a mighty pain to stretch out and tie and glue, sorta look cool (actually there are usually two rails, one on top of the other, but I settled for one, as it was frustrating enough). You can see details like the ship's wheels, compasses, winches on boat davits, etc.
The original ship would be almost 100 years old if was still afloat. The model of it has been around for a little over 50 years. Thousands of boys, adolescent and middle-aged, have built the model. When the kit came out in 1963, most of the people who fought the war were still alive, with strong--sometimes unmentioned or unmentionable--memories of that time. Men who had served on the ship or ones like it watched their sons build a model of what had been their home, their part of that war.
Most plastic models eventually find their way to the trash can or landfill over the decades. A shame actually, as each model ship is, in a bizarre way, a miniature memorial to those that served on the real ship. The ancient Greeks believed that as long as you were remembered, your soul does not die. So as long as someone builds these models, the people who sailed on them are not forgotten.
My wife was away this week. She went to Spain with her sisters to see her niece graduate from college. She posted on Facebook, "the weather isn't the only thing in Spain that's hot." I commented "to borrow from BBC Sherlock, 'Down, girl.'"
While she was dreaming of spicy Spaniards, I found distraction as well. I wish I could provide exciting tales. My distraction was building a plastic model of a navy ship.
Building plastic models is not a typical hobby of fifty-something men living with their wives instead of in their mothers' basements. Nor is it typical of bleeding heart liberals with pacifist tendencies. I take no responsibility for reacquiring my adolescent hobby a few years ago. That lies with my Mediterranean-ogling love. A couple years ago, we went to her friend's wedding in southern Massachusetts. A friend of mine lived nearby in Providence, so we went over to have lunch with her and her partner before the wedding that evening. On the way we drove over the Falls Rivers bridge and I noticed a large ship tied up along the river. The ship turned out to be the USS Massachusetts. On the way back we toured the battleship and, on our way out, on a whim, I bought a model of the ship.
 |
| How it all got started. |
The ship was the U.S.S. Buchanan, one of the World War I-era destroyers the United States gave to Great Britain during her time of need in 1940 in exchange for bases in the Caribbean. It became famous while sailing under a British flag and renamed H.M.S. Campbeltown. The ship, loaded with explosives on a timer, was crashed by her crew into the Normandie dry-dock in the port of St. Nazaire in German-occupied France, to prevent the facility from being used to repair German warships.
The ship was of a different time, designed during the First World War, with an open air bridge, an armament of five guns plus torpedoes, and nothing to protect it against the newest weapon of war, the airplane. The ship was designed to protect merchant ships from attack by submarines. Ships like it had a crew of roughly 150 officers and crewmen.
Over the three decade service life of the ships (over 100 were built between 1916 and 1921 and the last were scrapped in the late 1940s), thousands of sailors served on the ships, cruising the Atlantic and Pacific. During the Second World War, they provided the mostly dull but vital escort of ships bringing food, weapons, and supplies to Britain across the Atlantic Ocean patrolled by German submarines. Most of the guys who crewed the ships have died by now, and their lives aboard the relatively uncomfortable ships are forgotten.
 |
| The Model |
The drastic increase in oil prices in the 70s (the plastic was made from oil) and the rise of computer games together destroyed most of the market for plastic model building. It is now the province of adult men. The British TV presenter David May did a great special on a British model manufacturer Airfix in his series Toy Stories (the whole episode is an hour, but the first part is a funny piece on how the hobby has changed. You can still find plastic models today, but only in rare hard-to-find shops in outer suburbs or on the internet.
I found building the models a relief from others things going on in my life, whether worrying about the finances of a charter school or caring for my parents as they declined. You get absorbed working on it, not noticing hours disappearing while you work. Figuring out how to put two tricky parts together, deciding how you want something painted, working out the best way to make everything work can frankly become addictive, especially as the model starts to take shape The best part is you actually finish it, it is finally done (well, as long as you ignore the websites featuring models built by OCD folks who create museum quality efforts by the dozen, perhaps indicating a total lack of a sex life. It's worth seeing what some of these folk come up with). I also find myself curious about the history of the ship and those who sailed on her. Likewise if building a plane or vehicle. What were their lives like then? Unlike the Lego models, the originals actually existed.
This one came out nice, I think. The mold had little posts for making guard rails out of thread, which, though a mighty pain to stretch out and tie and glue, sorta look cool (actually there are usually two rails, one on top of the other, but I settled for one, as it was frustrating enough). You can see details like the ship's wheels, compasses, winches on boat davits, etc.
The original ship would be almost 100 years old if was still afloat. The model of it has been around for a little over 50 years. Thousands of boys, adolescent and middle-aged, have built the model. When the kit came out in 1963, most of the people who fought the war were still alive, with strong--sometimes unmentioned or unmentionable--memories of that time. Men who had served on the ship or ones like it watched their sons build a model of what had been their home, their part of that war.
Most plastic models eventually find their way to the trash can or landfill over the decades. A shame actually, as each model ship is, in a bizarre way, a miniature memorial to those that served on the real ship. The ancient Greeks believed that as long as you were remembered, your soul does not die. So as long as someone builds these models, the people who sailed on them are not forgotten.
Comments
Post a Comment