In Manhattan there were always helicopters whizzing down the Hudson River and from my apartment window you could see the aircraft landing at Newark.  In central London when I was growing up a commercial aeroplane went over our house every four minutes.  For reasons I still don’t understand, we were on the flightpath to Heathrow even though it was many miles away – such marvelous precision.  I remember seeing the first jumbo jet on its final descent to London Airport on my way to school in about 1969.  Now I can’t recall if it was Pan Am or BOAC, what I do remember is how huge it seemed and almost still, just floating there above Hammersmith Broadway.  We hardly ever see an aircraft here; maybe twice a week, sometimes it’s the seaplane that lives on the fjord, sometimes a traffic helicopter. Occasionally, three Norwegian air force fighters come flying  low over the lake; they make a thrilling noise that echoes between the mountains, but  I miss all the planes I grew up with.

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