Friday, 25 October 2013

Nick’s Biog up to 2012


Nick’s Biog


   Nick Armbrister (Nicholas Arthur Armbrister) is an English writer, born in Oldham, Lancashire, England on 26/7/71. He is best known for his poetry and short stories published since 1996 in the “small press,” his own self published collection of books, which include the poetry volumes “Fade into Focus, Focus into Fade” (2006), “Skeward Images” (2007) and “Her Name is Hope – Life Force” (2008). A collection of short stories “A Nation in Flames” (2007) brings his early work together. A collection of his aviation based poetry was released in 2009 on lulu, “Aeroplane Poems.” A new book brought Nick’s poems together in a large collection of fifteen years of poetry, 1996-2011.

   Nick moved into fiction writing, completing two novels in his “Juniper’s Daughter” series, these included “Juniper’s Daughter” and the follow up “Juniper’s Daughter – Frontier Town.” These were originally released under his new pen name of Anneke van Ginn as “The Final War” and “Here Comes the Devil Snails! Quick Run Like Hell! The Laser Beam Poodles are Coming!” Both are now discontinued.

   Nick began working with Written Exprssions in 2008 and released several online ebooks including a free read “English Goth” and romantic titles like “Sexy Independence 1” and erotica titles like “Ian Gets a Treat” amongst other ebook titles. He parted company with WE over editing issues in summer 2011. His WE era short stories were released in two volumes of short stories, an erotic one and a normal one.

Early Life 

   Born in a working class town Oldham, north of Manchester, Nick left school in 1987 and went into college and into several varied jobs ranging from motor vehicle repair, bakery work to fork lift truck driving. His early aspirations to join the Royal Air Force came to nothing. As a child Nick wanted to join the RAF due to his love of aviation and planes but he was put off by the strict discipline. For most of his life Nick lived in and around Oldham where he worked and started writing, his writing stemming from his love of music and reading. Growing up in the latter years of the Cold War shaped Nick and he gained a strong interest in aviation and military history, along with his love of music of that era, formed his journey into writing. For a few brief years Nick made plastic model aeroplane kits and drew aircraft drawings on his path to creativity that would eventually lead to his writing. He is an only child. 

Writing Career 

   He tried to join a band but couldn’t sing or play any instrument. He followed music like gothic bands of the 1980s like The Mission, All About Eve, The Cult, The Sisters of Mercy and Ghost Dance. He is also a fan of 80s pop like The Bangles and Berlin and some metal bands like Metallica and Guns n Roses. He got into gothic metal from Europe and Scandinavia in 2001 when a penpal sent him a tape of The Gathering and Lacuna Coil. Nick has tattoos of these two bands, some other band names and other tattoos. All of this inspires his writing and feature in some of his poems. He has seen many gigs live and this is also inspirational.

   Nick started writing poetry in April 1996 while listening to Goth and metal music at an old friend’s flat while getting drunk. Each Wednesday Nick went and drank beer, listened to music and created his very early work. He did up to eight short poems or a few longer ones and took a chance in sending them off to get them published. If he failed and none were accepted, he would have quit writing. But one was accepted in an early issue of an Alanis Morrissette fanzine called The Pill, Nick’s poem was called “Ode to Alanis”.

   Other poems were published in the “small press” (poetry scene) in a selection of magazines like pagan magazine Ace of Rods (his long poem in verse “The Dark Tower”). Nick had poetry included in a variety of poem anthology books featuring various poets. His first was called “Through my Eyes” in a Poetry Today book called “Rivers and Bridges” in 1997, more followed. Poetry of different topics appeared in collections by the Poetry Guild and in half a dozen books by the Select Publications of Tilbury, Essex. Nick appeared in these in the late 90s with up to two poems in a single book (e.g. “The Road” and “Mustiness”). From 2001 Nick was published in DJ Tyrer’s series of magazines (Atlantean Publishing), appearing in The Supplement, Awen, Bard, Garbag and Monomyth. Several dozen of his very varied poems have been published up to 2012. Also several short stories appeared in Monomyth, a short story magazine, edited by DJ Tyrer. Two examples of Nick’s stories are themed around the Cold War like “Red Empire” and “Final Flight”. 

   Nick’s only piece to be published in Oldham was called “Kahlia Akasha.” This was in a short story collection book about Oldham titled “Big Sky, New Light” and was published in 2004. Nick was in the local newspaper, The Advertiser. His story was about an aeroplane. 

   Nick moved from Oldham in December 2005 to the Essex/London area to further his writing career and to compile his writing anthologies, his first four volumes. This he did until his return to Oldham in late 2008 where Nick continuously writes. His first three self published books are with iuniverse of America. The first two are poetry collections “Fade into Focus, Focus into Fade” and “Skeward Images.” This was early poetry. A short story collection followed titled “A Nation in Flames”; this comprised his stories on war, planes, Goth, horror and more. Nick compiled a further third volume of poetry under the title of “Her Name is Hope – Lifeforce”. This contains the rest of his poetry from 1996-2008 that never made his first two poem books and is published by lulu.  

   Nick was invited to do spoken word performances and work with a guitarist/band on his poems performing in front of a live audience in The Abbey pub and also The Gardeners pub in Oldham in 2009/2010. Nick opened for a Manchester indie rock band Blouse at the Night and Day Cafe on 12/02/2010 before the band played; he read his “Spitfire Bride” poem. Other guest slots followed and he attends local writing groups and festivals in the Manchester area.

   Nick is working on a collection of poetry for late 2012 release. His other Juniper’s Daughter themed books were collections of poetry and short stories called “Juniper’s Daughter: War is Obsolete - Futility and Hope” (2010) and “Juniper’s Daughter: Fragmented Whole/Black Lense” (2012).

Irish Meadow


Irish Meadow


Sitting in an Irish meadow I put my x-ray spex on and see just what’s in an Irish meadow.                                                                                                                        A buried stolen art piece now lost, whereabouts gone to the grave.                                 A crater from a Semtex test this one worked boys, next ones for London.                      Shell cases from some knee capping, don’t piss these guys or you’ll end up in a chair.                                                                                                                                  You won’t see a family on a picnic here due to bullets zipping overhead from paramilitary target practise - at least not at people just Coca Cola bottles and cans.                                                                                                                                   I zoom over the Irish meadow in my silver flying saucer, high as a kite on my way to Iran.   Ayatollah Khomeini here we come!

Friday, 11 October 2013

Manchester lass

Manchester lass
She was just a Manchester lass who's fate spun thru the years and affected everybody present. Because in another world, this could have been them. In her twenties, young, pretty, intelligent and a student, studying in Germany. When the Nazi's annexed Czechoslovakia she was worried and came home. Her parents had told her about the previous war. She didn't want to be caught up in a new one. Back in England she kept an eye on Germany. Events calmed down, there was no new war. Chamberlain exclaimed, 'Peace in our time.' No one but Herr Hitler knew it was all lies. She thought long and hard, decided what to do. Off the Manchester lass went to continue her studies. Little did she know it condemned her to death. War erupted, engulfing Europe and the world. A few lucky ones escaped the grip of the Nazis, like our lass did at first. They fled, often with only the clothes on their backs. Why did she go back? Her Jewish blood condemned her to death. Off to a Konzentrationslager and her fate. What did she think of this? Did she know the enormity of her situation? Did she ask why? What were her last moments like? Only a few of her letters and photographs survive, valued beyond priceless on the Antiques Roadshow. It was like yesterday. A Manchester lass ending up in a concentration camp. Along with millions of Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, retards and any others whose face didn't fit. Millions perished including a girl from Manchester. Killed for being different by the most racist insane dictator in history.
(based upon true events)

Tuesday, 8 October 2013

Winter’s Here


Winter’s Here


Winter is nearly upon us with its icy stare and icy touch making man bow before her touch.                                                                                                           
We think of things to warm our hearts, of girls and romance and coming summer days. 
                                                                                                                 
Soon snow will fall bringing virginal whiteness to our grimy town.                                             
If only it could be summer, with winter banished away, I’d be happy and so carefree.

Saturday, 5 October 2013

YEARNING FOR SPRING


YEARNING FOR SPRING

 

Here we are stranded in the snow

in the middle of winter freezing

our bollocks off. I yearn for spring,

for the warm new sun and new green leaves.

It seems I am destined to remain here

forever but in my mind spring arrives

in a blast of colour

and winter is a distant aching memory.

 

 

Friday, 4 October 2013

Dawn Demure


Dawn Demure


Dawn demurely dooms darkness, dewy December day.

There! The shape of a machine peacefully sleeping.

Slumber banished, RAF pilot strolls to his mount -

Spitfire!

Kept warm by his fleece flying jacket,

fine silk shirt and thermal flying suit.

Mission time, Norway bound.

Land of ice and snow, glaciers and fjords, valleys and mountains.

Open the cockpit, climb aboard, checks complete, rise to meet God, feathery clouds beckon.

Recon mission time.

Such a fine machine, curves of a woman.

Fine precision Rolls Royce engine.

Exquisite optical cameras to spy on Nazi’s Christmas Day.

One thousand mile round trip, each mile for freedom.

A gentle ideal in the hearts of just and honest loving men.

Tirpitz photographs soon to be on Whitehall desks.

Experts choosing where to delicately place five ton Tallboy bombs.

Lancaster love.

Thursday, 3 October 2013

DESERT CLASH


DESERT CLASH

 

A murky dust laden night gives way to a searing

hot day over the barren desert.

Sun glints off metal many miles away

as aerial knights rise to do battle.

The Tigersharks get ready to fight

the Eagles in the coming battle.

Suddenly it starts as missile trails

dance through the sky and jets

leave contrails in the humid upper air.

A flash registers a hit as a plane dies,

immortality now gained.

It’s an air war like no other

because the price is the world

as forces of good battle against Lucifer’s evil.

If we lose then our planet falls into death and

anarchy.

 

SEXY LIL X


SEXY LIL X 
“She was just fuel, an engine, airframe and two guns. A real close range killer. Like my first wife.” Unnamed CIA X plane pilot who flew the X-5 in combat. 
I went back into the small quiet pub several times over the next few weeks hoping to see Bubba and hear more of his amazing stories but he wasn’t there. I was so disappointed and knew it was too good to be true, his story was probably made and he must have had no follow up. Then a month after I first saw him he was there, just like the first time; my excitement jumped to the roof and I couldn’t believe it! He was here, would he want to continue his tale of flying and battle I wondered? Nodding to me from the bar he invited me to join him; I smiled and greeted Bubba asking him what he was drinking. It didn’t matter he had a half drunk pint it was a good trade off, beer for a wicked story.
We got our greetings and how are you out of the way, this time we went and sat over in the corner by the log fire. This way it was more private, for the boozer was getting packed and I think Bubba was a bit uneasy about talking when the pub was full of strangers. Anyhow he continued: “Well Nick, when I met you last month I told you a bit about my secret flying career flying secret missions in specialised jets. I told you about my hectic days in my Douglas X-3 Stiletto and how we modified her and our other jets for battle. She was damaged in a close battle where we sadly lost one of our buddies, Bert. In that fight we learnt a number of harsh lessons, they were – to be more aggressive and to attack even if out numbered and in a bad situation; to not be separated from the support of our wingmen under any circumstances, this is how we lost Bert and how I was damaged; finally we understood that we could beat any enemy who flew any aircraft, no matter how fast or agile, if we were better pilots. When I flew my Bell X-5 for three weeks I put these lessons to the test.”
“Yes I remember every bit of your first story. It was very interesting; I’m looking forward to the next bit!” I ventured, eager for his next bit of his amazing escapade.
“I bet you are!” he laughed, finishing his beer and taking a drink of his second one I got him.
“You can say that again! How did your X-3 handle when compared to the X-5, was any the better jet?” I asked Bert not taking my eyes off him. He looked into space and thought deeply, answering, “It’s not as simple as which jet was the better. For example the X-3 was much faster in level flight and could almost touch a thousand miles per hour in a steep dive with both burners on. She rolled like the devil too but couldn’t turn well with her small wings. Compared to the X-5 she was a bus when you take into account her manoeuvre capability.”
“They sound like two totally different machines,” I commented.
“Yes you’re right, they were. Imagine a Cadillac compared to a pick up truck and you get the idea. The X-5 could out turn and out fly any jet ever built but she was slow and couldn’t run away if she had to, she had to fight to the end. And doing all those tight gut-wrenching manoeuvres took it out of you, I can tell you! For three weeks while my dear X-3 was being fixed I flew the X-5 and had three major fights in her. One was a real bitch I can tell you. Before I do though I’ll tell you about the Bell X-5, she goes way back how far you won’t believe!” Bert laughed finishing his beer.
“Want a beer Nick?” he asked getting his cash ready to pay.
“Yes mate thanks,” I agreed downing my own drink. A new pint was placed in front of me.
“You know about World War2?” he asked me and I nodded. “Well the Nazi’s were fighting for their lives. They made a number of advanced jet aircraft with swept wings and high speed, our prop planes were totally outclassed and we risked losing the war. If their jets had been around a year earlier we would have lost but Hitler screwed it all up. Their most dangerous and advanced fighter was built by Messerschmitt. And it wasn’t their 262 which gave our fighters and bombers such a hard time, no it was a prototype called the P1101. A very advanced little thing with swept wings that could be moved to different positions on the ground, we call this variable geometry now – the ability to change shape. Today planes can do this in flight to get maximum performance and efficiency, back then the P1101 had to be adjusted on the ground. There was a single jet engine with an air intake in the nose and a jet exhaust under the mid fuselage. The tail plane was all swept for high-speed flight and the pilot sat high up over the nose. The German jet would have carried four big cannons to kill our bombers who were hitting Germany. It never flew before the end of the war and was captured by the Americans and taken back to the States. Here Bell aircraft worked on it and in time developed a superior refined version called the X-5. She was tested and flown and gave valuable data in the fifties on swing-wings and their use at various speed. What was important was that she could move her wings in flight whereas the German ones wings were only adjustable on the ground. After testing the jet was passed over to us for our secret operations and modified with twin cannon mounted under the nose. This kept the weight down and still gave good hitting power. In a dogfight she was unbeatable, this was proven when the chase plane lost mock fights when she was being tested. You had to watch you didn’t stall with the wings swept to sixty degrees though because then she was a killer and would spin viciously, one test pilot was killed and his X-5 lost in one incident. I learnt from that and I never once came close to dying, I was a better pilot. I could read my airplane. Anyhow one thing led to another and I ended up flying her in South East Asia.”
“What were the battles like when you fought in your X-5?” I asked.
“There were three in all when I engaged enemy jets. Each time the Vietnamese flew Mig 17 fighters, at the time the best Mig built for close combat. They were very similar to our X-5 in looks, speed and agility, also with a danger for spinning. Much later an American Mig 17 would be lost with her pilot in a tragic accident. Back to my fights; I only damaged a single Mig on two occasions. Now if bigger guns were fitted I would have had definite kills. The third battle was a dead cert and a confirmed kill, I will never forget that one little incident, oh no!” the older man quietly said and I knew he was leading up to a very important emotional episode.
“In America we never had female pilots until the eighties. Vietnam had at least one young female pilot and maybe more when we fought against their air force in the early sixties. I met one in combat and shot her down; she gave me the most difficult and trying fight I ever had in an aircraft. I’ll never forget her.”
“What you mean you engaged a woman pilot flying a jet and killed her?” I gasped almost going into shock.
“Yes…yes I did. She almost got me you know? She was their best pilot and equal or even better to myself and my wingmen,” Bubba told me never taking his riveting gaze from me. I involuntarily looked away.
“How did you know she was a woman pilot? And not men like the rest?” I eventually asked after a minute’s awkward silence.
“How did I know?” he repeated my question. “The way she flew for a start. Her manoeuvres were fluid and followed one another with no breaks or wasted energy. Not even I can fly like that and I knew how tight a Mig 17 Fresco could turn. Or I thought I did till I saw her fly one and turn even tighter. She out turned me teaching me a lesson that almost shot me down, that’s how I knew. And then we all heard her on the radio chattering away in Vietnamese. We knew we were up against someone special then; we actually wanted to damage her jet and force her down so a CIA helicopter could capture her. This didn’t quite work out though…”
“Why what went wrong? Was she too good?”
“Yes she was. She shot down Bret with heavy cannon fire after he had got her wingman. She was real pissed off I can tell you, his jet exploded and we thought he was dead but I saw his chute floating down to earth. I got on the radio to the CIA chopper to go and rescue him; meanwhile I had to keep the Vietnamese bitch from shooting Bret in his chute. She dove on him but my other wingman and I followed her and he fired a missile without locking on. It flew wide but it broke up her attack on Brett. Hell, the bitch had shot him down once, we was damned if we was going to let her do it again,” the ex pilot explained smiling grimly. He got up and ordered two more beers. I shouted over and offered to pay but he waived my offer away and gave the bar girl a twenty and told her to keep the change. Bert returned with two pints of warm beer, I eagerly finished my other drink and took the new pint.
“What happened then, didn’t the missile shot scare her off? What did you do?”
“No it just distracted her from nailing my buddy in his chute. I closed the distance to guns range but my X-5 was slow and she pushed her nose down and out distanced me. I fired a shot from beyond max range hoping to scare her but it didn’t work. My wingman had little fuel so he fired his missile at her from above at her; it was decoyed by the sun reflecting on a small lake and missed. I ordered my wingman to return to base; foolishly I followed her trying to gain on her. I could be heading for a trap but I didn’t care, I wanted her ass and her jet.”
“How did you get her?”
“I didn’t, she came to get me. I think she thought I was an easy kill. She poured on the power and lit her burner and zoomed up in a huge loop coming up and over down onto me. I climbed and waited to dodge her heavy cannon fire, which outranged my twin 20mm guns on my X-5 by a large margin. She fired and I rolled off my track and then reversed course aiming for her; she missed but she could still get a shot off. I fired again and hit her but only damaged her. She fired again but I wasn’t where she thought I should be, I’d snap rolled using up all my airspeed dodging her fire. I turned tightly just above the stall with my wings fully forward, she zoomed past almost supersonic. She tried to lose speed to come and get me, I turned and fired again but missed she was way past me. My ammo was going now so my last shot had to get her. She slowed and turned to me, I changed course slightly and turned into her attack but she held fire. I out turned her due to my slow airspeed but she followed me and managed to get on my tail. I increased speed so to not stall and turned tighter, I almost blacked out due to the g-force. I didn’t wear a g-suit coz I couldn’t feel my jet but that almost cost me my life there and then. I nearly blacked out; I saw her tracer fire shoot past two separate lines of shells. She had two different size cannon types. Her guns were meant to shoot bombers down and a single hit could kill me. I did another turn but I knew our turn radius was almost the same size and if this continued she would come round and get me within the next turn. I did a flick roll out of the turn and almost entered a high-speed stall and spin. In an X-5 that could be fatal but I knew my jet and she didn’t let me down, I dove down to the jungle and levelled off above the trees. She came down to chase me. It was then I heard her chatter over the radio and I knew she was a woman, this explained her tighter than average turns in her Mig. She had more G tolerance,” Bubba explained, almost lecturing.
I was confused on this G tolerance business but I kept quiet.
“My fuel was almost at bingo level, time to RTB. I used one last trick to get her. I climbed up in a power climb and looped down on top of her. She was only starting to pull up when I nearly overstressed my bird and got her good and square in my gun sight; my last forty rounds of twenty millimetre nailed her. Her jet exploded and went straight into the trees; she never got out or stood a chance. And I had my fourth kill, with one more I’d be an ace!”  Bubba grinned drinking the rest of his beer.
“That must have been a close fight, she almost got you on the turn but you reversed the fight and looped up to get her. Just like a game of chess!” I smiled now understanding the basics of a dogfight, it was move and countermove. Just like chess.
“Exactly young man! I’ll have a pint if you’re going!” the grizzled old vet said. Who was I to refuse? What an earth would he tell me next, that he had saved the world from World war 3?   
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