The Rotary Convention

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The Rotary Convention slideshow	The Banquet slideshow
Punting James and Mal splashing...slideshow	Fellowship President Feroz in good company! slideshow
The Stud Farm slideshow Stud talk	The Steam Museum slideshow
The Train Museum slideshow	The Car Museum slideshow
The Ship Museum slideshow	The Aircraft Museum slideshow

The Planes

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The Farewell Party

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A Poem by Herman Hassinger #2683

BIRMINGHAM
Rotarians all from near and far met together in England. We were all IFFR. The one hundredth convention was just lots of talking. The distances huge we did lots of walking.

The bus to the hall got there quite fast. But coming back home our stop was dead last. The weather was fine, the sky was bright blue. It turned sullen grey the minute we flew.

Friday to: KIRKBRIDE
To Kirkbride in safety. A commendable feat. We sat down to luncheon, with too much to eat. We climbed into our aircraft, now ready to start. The weather in York caused a big change of heart.

Out came the cell phones, the blackberrys too. Our time of departure was up for review. I knew it was over, a long wait was near when Jim Alexander ordered a beer.

Guiness and Fosters were imbibed by all. The flying was over, the coach we did call. We sat and told stories this sad group of flyers, but the truth was elusive, most flyers are liars.

Our rescue arrived in a coach that was blue. A humbling event for those who who flew. The road rose up till clouds were kissed. It was IFR driving through thickening mist.

Gone morning and noon and well into night. For fliers the inn was a welcoming sight. Their mood was downcast, some in despair. If you've got time to spend, just travel by air.

Sunday
The next days weather, cloudy, dark and sinister. We bussed to the city to see York Minster. The Vikings came next then came the trains. We walked many miles my feet racked with pains.

Our return to the inn was really a plus. Instead of more walking we were met by the bus. We next did our laundry by hand in the sink with time before dinner to sit down and drink.

Monday
The fliers left early. They drove off at eight to go to the airport for a three hour wait. Their flights to the west were safe and delightful. Anything less is totally frightful.

We bussed to the Cotswolds, leafy and green. It was so overgrown that little was seen.

Tuesday
Tuesday began with a light gentle rain and then it broke up and was sunny again. In Bristol a ship and a bridge in suspension. One bus was abandoned, which one I won't mention.

The fliers, the coachers in bus competition were always aware of the others position.

English love sports - whatever the game. They really love breakfast, its always the same.

We all come together from lands near and far by our love of flight and our friends I.F.F.R. Each year we look forward to friends new and old to sharing our memories and stories retold.

Wednesday
Traveling for weeks in this quaint little nation their greatest achievement must be restoration. If its rusty and old, its fixed for display. You'd think it was new just made yesterday. From cycles and ships to slightly used planes we saw restored autos and obsolete trains.

Thursday
Our leader left early, the world to fly round. We wish him strong tail winds to return safe and sound.

The cast often changes, but the plot is the same: good friends safely flying is the reason we came. So farewell to England, we'll come back again.

The next show's TORONTO, in June two Oh ten.

*****