I pass by this place every workday on my commute. Twice technically, but the highway is divided through town so it's only on my way home that I'm greeted by the two period planes on their stands, forever lifting from the ground, forever grounded. I've driven by it approximately 170 times, just commuting. It's a way point on our drive. It means we're nearly home, safe and sound with only the last stretch of 20 or so kms ahead of us. Often we stop for gas or at the grocery store for something for supper. The planes off to the right and to the left above the model train place an over sized flag with a Union Jack on a light blue background. I'm not sure if it's flown by the Legion, or Friends of the Air Museum or the town or a combination of the whole lot. Recently, it flew at half mast in honour as a local family mourned and celebrated the sacrifice of their son.
I'm a 'newcomer' though, so I don't know the family nor the soldier, but it made me remember every time I drove through town. Unlike many of the 'memorials' (and frankly I'm using the word very loosely there) at intersections and along various roads to mark where someone has died in a car accident, it didn't make me angry or annoyed to be reminded. It made me proud.
But enough of that.
A week or two ago, after much nagging and a chorus of "please can we go..." with an encore or twelve I reluctantly set out to drive to the city for some watersliding swimmin'ing time. For one reason and another I wended my way through town instead of following the north bound leg of the highway and so found myself just down the street from the museum.
The bomber was out for a cleaning. I stopped, much to the chagrin of the 'chorus' in the backseat (and front for that matter) and grabbed my camera to snap a few shots.
I've never gone through the museum. I've stopped in once and had a quick peek in the foyer as I asked about upcoming events but I never went back.
Here is history, carefully and lovingly preserved, right on my doorstep and I never even stop to look. Shame on me.
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