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F1 Nut



Compiled by Dave English

As a piece of applied science the aeroplane has a place alongside the wheel, gunpowder, the printing press and the steam engine as one of the great levers of change in world history. The effect of aircraft on the way we live has been profound: they have shrunk the world, mingling previously isolated cultures, they have added a menacing dimension to warfare, spawned new technologies, created new economic zones and given us a toehold in Space.

— Ivan Rendall, first paragraph of the introduction, Reaching for the Skies, 1988.
Ivan Rendall during RAF
pilot training, 1968

Ivan Rendall   1947-2016

Journalist, TV Producer, Writer, Narrator, Author


Ivan Rendall


It is with deep sadness we have to inform Ivan's many readers and followers of his death earlier this year following an operation.

His health had not been good for some time but, in his usual way, he dismissed the seriousness of it even up to the end.

For him thinking and writing was all important and he entered his last blog less than 24 hours before the operation. The Family have decided to keep his website open for the time being and once his many notebooks have been read through, maybe we will be able to post yet more of his musings and thoughts.

At his funeral his youngest daughter Katie-Mary, after giving her own tribute, read out this poem - the last he composed - which he sent to his grand daughters from hospital. We post it as a tribute to him here:


This Too Will Pass

I am a dry, warm summer day,
I am the cool, blue pyjama sky,
I am the puffs of egg –white cloud,
I am the waving trees: wind-rustled, aloud.

I am the murmur of tranquil sounds:
I am the tractor, straining, breaking ground.
I am the smell of new mown hay,
I am the flock of lambs at play.

I am the wildflower rainbow, below the hedge.
I am the bumblebee in a maze of scents.
I am the frantic, zigzag, butterflies,
I am the pheasants’ and the black crows’ cries.


I am the angry storm not far away,
I am the anvil cloud of warship grey,
I am the deluge growing inside,
I am the fresh wind, rising, wild.

I am the fear of lightning flashes,
I am the awe to thunder crashes,
I am the wet, earthy atmosphere
I am the warning on the clammy air.

I am where the Wild Things hide.
I am the hedge umbrella, leafy and wide.
I am the thatch of green blackberries.
I am raindrops the size of cherries.


I am the suddenly soaking land.
I am the dripping trees, and
I am the thirsty, gurgling ditch,
I am the puddles: muddily rich.

I am the tempest’s sudden passing.
I am the sunshine in a rain-washed sky
I am the steam rising from fields
I am wildlife emerging from their shields.

I am now the storm at bay.
I am a dry, warm summer day.

Granddad 2016


For Ivan's website - unaltered since 3 July 2016 - click here.