Harumph Dreadnaught MkI and MkII

Started by puddingwrestler, February 12, 2011, 09:08:30 PM

Previous topic - Next topic


Brigadier General Sir Horace Harumph VC leaned forward on his chair and tapped the table with his finger, carelessly upsetting the mustard over his SPAM ala mode.
   "What this country needs to win the war," said the grey-haired old battle horse, "Is a really top-notch fighter plane."
   Sir Darcey Fipps-Hooter pointed out that this country already had a really top-notch fighter plane called a Spitfire, but Sir Horace harrumphed and ignored him.
   "These air force wallahs," he said, righting the mustard, "Have no blooming idea when they are onto a good thing. No blooming idea. Take the Boulton-Paul Defiant jobby. Bags of fire power, right where the hun doesn't expect it, at the back! Up comes Jerry," he continued, enthusiastically waving a Brussels sprout to represent jerry, and a fine patriotic slice of SPAM to take the part of the erst-while RAF plane, "all unsuspecting," the Brussels sprout did it's best to look gormless, "and WHAM!" he cried, crushing the sprout in his enthusiasm and waving his arms about so that the his servants leaped forward to prevent any further spillages or topplings at the table.
   "You see," continued the old warhorse, "total surprise! Jerry doesn't expect it you see! What we need in this country is more bally Defiants."
   Fipps-Hooter pointed out that the Germans had very quickly figured out the defiant's nasty little secret. The Hon. Spotsforth Thwick (a remote cousin of Fipp-Hooter and barred from active service by the inevitable results of seven centuries of aristocratic in-breeding amongst the Thwicks) pointed out furthermore than the Defiant's lack of speed and manoeuvrability had made it an easy target for what he called 'the clued-up hun'.
   Sir Horace harrumphed "Bally RAF wallahs have no idea how to use them is the problem," he opined. "In any case, these new jet things they've got now would make them faster begad. Then the hun'd have no bally option but to accept a good old fashioned British style thrashing!"
   At this point he banged his fist unexpectedly on the table, making all the dishes, and several of the servants jump a good six inches in the air. By the time the table was restored to order, Sir Horace was harrumphing happily to himself and would hear no argument against his plan.
   "By gad," he rumbled, "If they can't see a bloody good idea beyond the tip of their own bally nose, I'll build the damned thing meself!"
   Fipps-Hooter, who was both a sporting man and in serious need of an injection of cash, having invested rather poorly in various horses apparently fitted with four-wheel steering and six reverse-speeds at Newmarket, proposed the idea of a small wager on the outcome. The Hon Spotsforth proposed forming a syndicate with Fipps-Hooter. Sir Horace harrumphed loudly.
   "The bally thing will work," he stated, one fist raised over the table in an alarming manner, "And I shall prove it to you. I'll design and build the greatest bally fighter plane this nation's ever seen!"

   Some months later, Sir Horace Harumph, his already swollen frame swollen even further with pride hurled open the door of his Daimler and leapt out. Fipps-Hooter and the Hon. Spotsforth followed slightly more sedately.
   "What'd I bally tell you?" Roared the old war-horse, pointing with his swagger-stick to a green and brown plane sitting on the runway of Snotsfield-Come-Spudsmouth airfield.
   Fipps-Hooter admitted it was a fairly impressive sight, however he was of the opinion that it was only a cardboard cut-out and a fake. The Hon Spotsforth (an avid reader of the works of Capt. W.E. Johns) was of the opinion that it would never fly as it had, he said, entirely the wrong planoform.
   Grumbling and rumbling mightily with no convenient table to pound, Sir Horace strode over the grass to where a group of slightly worried looking men in craftsmen's brown shop coats where gathered round a large radio set on a table. Fipps-Hooter recognised the largest as Jenkins, Sir Horace's butler.
   "Right then chaps!" bellowed the old warhorse, "What say we get this test flight wallah underway, what?"
   The various brown shop-coated technical wallahs (as Sir Horace no doubt thought of the motley collection of his servants) sprang into action. Jenkins the butler picked up a field telephone, and spoke quietly and with great dignity into the receiver as befitted his station. Two foot men and the gardener crossed to the plane and began to fiddle with the engines and do other technical things far beyond their abilities. A pair of figures in flying equipment appeared from a hut and began to approach.
   "Now then, we'll see what the Harumph Dreadnought can do!" bellowed Sir Horace beaming happily at himself like a child confronted with a particularly expensive train set or, indeed, an old soldier confronted with a wonderful new way of giving bally jerry a good old fashioned British style thrashing.
   Fipps-Hooter wanted to know how Sir Horace had acquired the materials and man power to build his machine. The Hon Spotsforth enquired into the origins of the engines. Sir Horace harrumphed monumentally, "Just called in a few favours, pulled a few strings at horse-guards. There are still many in this land who remember the great services of Brigadier General Sir Horace Harumph VC against the fuzzy-wuzzies!"
   By this point, the pilot and his gunner were close enough for Fipps-Hooter to recognise the muffled figures of Cranthorpe, Sir Horace's chauffeur and Todger, the under-gardener. Neither of them looked to pleased at the prospect of testing the Harumph Dreadnought, but at a mighty glare from their master, they climbed aboard, and in a few minutes, the engines roared to life.
   Sir Horace harrumphed happily to himself (years of practice and battle-field experience meant that his harrumph was audible even above the sound of a jet engine in close proximity), as the jet taxied to the runway. It paused for a few seconds, then leapt forward and dragged itself sluggishly into the sky.
   Sir Horace, in the absence of any tables, thumped the Hon Spotsforth on the back so hard his false teeth popped out. "Told you it'd bally work!" be bellowed, cavorting about like a drunken hippo.
   The Hon Spotsforth was rendered speechless, not so much by the sight of the Harumph Dreadnought actually flying, but more from the devastating blow he'd received to the back, so it was up to Fipps-Hooter to point out that the mere act of flying was not enough, the machine needed to prove itself a effective fighter.
   Sir Horace grabbed the radio transmitter from Jenkins and bellowed at it; "Right then you air wallahs! Let's see those guns firing!"
   In the skies above, the under gardener nervously pulled the trigger, and his four .303 machine guns rattled into life, delivering a rather nasty surprise to a gull who happened to be passing. Grinning madly, the under gardener (who'd never been placed in charge of anything more powerful that a weed-sprayer) jammed down the triggers, and traversed the turret, neatly cutting the tail off.
   Bereft of it's tail, the Harrumph Dreadnought seemed to decide that it needed a good lie down, and immediately headed for it's hanger, where it proceeded to spread itself in a relaxed attitude over several hundred square yards of air field.
   When the smoke cleared, Sir Horace harrumphed gruffly. "Well, maybe the tail needs a little changing."

   Further months passed before Sir Horace once more bounced out of his Daimler onto the  Snotsfield-Come-Spudsmouth airfield like a great belligerent balloon. Fipps-Hooter and the Hon Spotsforth followed more quietly.
   There on the runway sat a machine almost identical to the previous Harumph Dreadnought Sir Horace waved his swagger-stick at it. "There we are!" he bellowed in the voice a walrus reserves for attracting the female of the species, "The Harumph Dreadnought Mk.II! Damn idiot under gardener shot the tail off last time, so this one's got two of the damn things, and plenty of room to fire backwards without hitting them!"
   Fipps-Hooter pointed out that this would not prevent the gunner shooting the tails off, only make it harder.
   "Stuff and nonsense!" bellowed Sir Horace, going an interesting shade of puce, "There's a dashed clever little mechanism which stops the damn gun firing when it'll hit the damn tails! Bally clever, eh?"
   The Hon Spotsforth admitted it's cleverness, but wondered aloud how Sir Horace had acquired a further pair of jet engines. This caused yet further interesting and colourful developments to Sir Horace's complexion
   "Damn RAF wallahs wouldn't let me have more damn engines," he growled, "had to re-build the ones I already had!"
   Fipps-Hooter pointed out, rather reasonably he thought, that the previous pair had been in several thousand pieces.
   "Yars," grumped Sir Horace, "Damn poor workmanship. Standards have slipped at Rolls-Royce since the bally Jerries started this little lot. I had them repaired by Stone and Haskit, made some deuced ingenious improvements to the design too!"
   The Hon Spotsforth nudged Fipps-Hooter after the old war horse's broad back was turned, and enquired as to the identity of Stone and Haskit, as he had never heard of such a firm of aeronautical engineers. Fipps-Hooter informed him that they had a business in Snotfield-Come-Spudsmouth and enjoyed a fine reputation for their work on the products of the Austin factory.
   By this point, a fresh crew were approaching, and Fipps-Hooter recognised them as the Boot boy and and Sir Horace's groom. These two worthies nervously boarded the Dreadnought Mk.II, and it headed for the runway.
   "Right then!" bellowed Sir Horace, "Now you'll see! Safe as bally houses!"
   At which point the Dreadnought Mk.II took it upon itself to blow up.

   Fipps-Hooter sat on one side of the fire in Sir Horace's enormous drawing room, nursing the bandages on his hand where a small, but very important piece of Rolls-Royce jet engine, with special amendments conceived by Sir Horace and carried out by a small greasy Austin mechanic, had hit him. The Hon Spotsforth reclined comfortably on the Chaise-Lounge, sleeping the sleep of the just and the just hit rather hard about the head regions by a fair-sized chunk of Harumph Dreadnought MK.II pneumatic tyre.
   Sir Horace harrumphed loudly.
   "Well," he said, "back to the old drawing board!"
   "Jenkins!" he bellowed, "Ring up Stone and Haskit, tell them to get over to the dashed airfield, pick up the pieces, and start re-building again! I want the Mk.II in the air by September! Oh, and Jenkins, you can bally fly it this time, you deserve a bally treat!"
   Whereupon Jenkins, aided and abetted by the the Gardner, the cook and the one remaining footman who had not been hospitalised took it upon themselves to demonstrate the error of Sir Horace's ways to him with blunt objects. Fipps-Hooter joined in, and even the Hon Spotsforth woke up in time to add a few well reasoned (and well aimed) arguments on the head of the old war horse.

There are no good kits, bad kits or grail kits, just kitbash fodder.

Cliffy B

HAHAHAHAHHAHAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BRILLIANT!!!! BRILLIANT!!!!!!!   :bow: :bow: :bow:

I haven't laughed that hard in a good while  ;D  Please tell me there's more to this story.
"Helos don't fly.  They vibrate so violently that the ground rejects them."
-Tom Clancy

"Radial's Growl, Inline's Purr, Jet's Suck!"

"If all else fails, call in an air strike."


Awesome Job :thumbsup: & Thanks for Right Jolly Good Laugh,Too ;D Any more planned? Dan


My Ability to Imagine is only exceeded by my Imagined Abilities

Gondor's Modelling Rule Number Three: Everything will fit perfectly untill you apply glue...

I know it's in a book I have around here somewhere....


Quote from: Gondor on February 13, 2011, 12:50:59 AM
Will anyone build it?


I guess it'd be possible. It's sort of a meteor body with ME 262 style engines and the cockpit moved way back... I wasn't using anything for reference, just doodling, but things must have been in my head at the time...
There are no good kits, bad kits or grail kits, just kitbash fodder.


Oh thanks! That really cracks me up! I think I popped a rib (or something!) even SWMBO wanted to know what was so funny. When I told her she rolled her eyes and muttered something about me losing my marbles!

If I am targetted by JMNs, I'm in good Company.

No, no, no! You do not die for your country, you make the other one die!

Old Wombat

So, this was his "Last Harumph!", I take it? :cheers:
Has a life outside of What-If & wishes it would stop interfering!

"The purpose of all War is Peace" - St. Augustine

veritas ad mortus veritas est


You win the prize for best backstory, no questions! Deserves a Whiffie as well if there's any justice. ;D
Some of my models can be found on my Flickr album >>>HERE<<<


i give it a go if i can get the parts at huderfeld show next weekend cheep
look like a me 262b two seater, spit or mossie, wings engine from 262,
cockpit from spit or just might use 262s and a gun from a a sutable bomber
Me, I'm dishonest, and you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest.
Honestly, it's the honest ones you have to watch out for!!!


Brilliant, brilliant , brilliant!!!! You sir are THE master of the backstory.....
If you love, love without reservation; If you fight, fight without fear - THAT is the way of the warrior

If you go into battle knowing you will die, then you will live. If you go into battle hoping to live, then you will die


I dig the plane, and I may try to fumble my way through making one, but the story is unmitigated genius!

:bow: :bow: :bow: :bow: :bow:


That could be the start of something HUGE!  ;D ;)

A sort of monthly serial of the doings of harumph Aviation and their various offshoots. Can you imagine a Harumph Junbo jet? The mind BOOGLES!
Kit's Rule 1 ) Any aircraft can be improved by fitting longer wings, and/or a longer fuselage
Kit's Rule 2) The backstory can always be changed to suit the model

...and I'm not a closeted 'Take That' fan, I'm a REAL fan! :)



 Is this the organisation that also produced the  Harumph  "Gentleman's Aviating Landaulette" ?

  A personal conveyance of some refinement for the  delectation of the gentry and nobility, it had accomodation for  two personages of rank and refinement, their guns, golf clubs and hanging space for their robes, should they deign to attend  House of Lords debates.  

Later addition.    It has been reported to me that the prototype is currently languishing in the rhodedendrons beside the  tennis court of a shooting lodge near Skipton, having been badly peppered with 12 bore shot whilst aviating over the grouse moors of North Yorkshire
"If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you....."
It  means that you read  the instruction sheet


Hilarious!  ;D :thumbsup:

Regarding building one: it doesn't look particularly 262-shaped to me. I'd be inclined to look at a Jet Whirlwind as a starting point "Bally things were lying about doing nothing anyway since Rolls Royce stopped supporting the ruddy engine - got one for a song!" Of course, you've have to widen it a bit (quite a lot of a bit, actually) to fit the turret in, but there's comedy potential in that of itself....

"Perkins! Stop faffing about man and use that ruddy barrel! Well stick in in between the centre and aft fuselages of course man! Do I have to do everything for myself? use a bit of initiative....."

Be quite amusing if all the guns in the turret didn't match, wouldn't it? Couple of WWI Vickers, a Lewis and a Bren.... ;D Alternatively, you could have it like a glass version of a Marmon Herrington armoured car, with a Vickers and a Boyes AT rifle in the turret and a pintle-mounted Bren gun on top...
"Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot."
 - Morpheus in Sandman: A Midsummer Night's Dream, by Neil Gaiman

"I dunno, I'm making this up as I go."
 - Indiana Jones '


"Imagination is the one weapon in the war against reality." -Jules de Gaultier

"My model is right! It's the real world that's wrong!" -global warming scientist

An armor guy, who builds airplanes almost exclusively, that he converts to space fighters-- all while admiring ship models.