Request any song you want for FREE! All songs requested will be tuned to a 432 Hz frequency.

Request Now

TETELESTAI Notification List

The TETELESTAI (It is finished) email which will contain the first 800#'s will be posted first on a private page and will be sent out to everyone subscribed to the private page's feed.

If you wish to subscribe to the private page's feed, please visit the TETELESTAI page located HERE and access the private page.

If you're having trouble please give me an email at TetelestaiDC@gmail.com

(Note: The TETELESTAI post is the official "Go" for redemption/exchange.)

Guest Posting & Responding Now Available

Dinar Chronicles is now allowing viewers to guest post and respond to articles. If you wish to respond or speak your mind and write a post/article or about the current situation relating to Iraq, the RV, the GCR and so on. You may now send in an entry.

All you need to do is send your entry to UniversalOm432Hz@gmail.com with these following rules.

The subject line of your email should be: "Entry | (Title of your post) | Dinar Chronicles"

- Proper grammar
- Solely write intel, rumors, news, thoughts, messages regarding Dinarland, Iraq, the RV, the GCR, NESARA/GESARA, the Republic, Spirituality, Ascension and anything that is relating
- Your signature/name/username at the end (If you wish to remain anonymous then you don't need to provide one.)

If you have any questions or wish to communicate with us then please give us an email at UniversalOm432Hz@gmail.com

Send your entry and speak out today!

Follow Dinar Chronicles by Email

Featured Post

"Healing the Soul of the World" - GCR/RV Intel SITREP - Sunday - September 24, 2017

Received via email at 2:20 AM EDT for publication. ~ Dinar Chronicles Well, another Saturday night is upon us… is it coming and going? A...

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The P-51 Mystery, a True Story of a 12 Year Old Boy

This 1967 true story is of an experience by a young 12 year old boy in Kingston, Ontario, Canada. It is about the vivid memory of a privately rebuilt P-51 from WWII and its famous owner/pilot.

In the morning sun, I could not believe my eyes. There, in our little airport, sat a majestic P-51. They said it had flown in during the night from some U.S. Airport, on its way to an air show. The pilot had been tired, so he just happened to choose Kingston for his stop over. It was to take to the air very soon. I marveled at the size of the plane, dwarfing the Pipers and Canucks tied down by her. It was much larger than in the movies. She glistened in the sun like a bulwark of security from days gone by.

The pilot arrived by cab, paid the driver, and then stepped into the pilot's lounge. He was an older man; his wavy hair was gray and tossed. It looked like it might have been combed, say, around the turn of the century. His flight jacket was checked, creased and worn - it smelled old and genuine. Old Glory was prominently sewn to its shoulders. He projected a quiet air of proficiency and pride devoid of arrogance. He filed a quick flight plan to Montreal ("Expo-67 Air Show") then walked across the tarmac.

After taking several minutes to perform his walk-around check, the tall, lanky man returned to the flight lounge to ask if anyone would be available to stand by with fire extinguishers while he "flashed the old bird up, just to be safe." Though only 12 at the time I was allowed to stand by with an extinguisher after brief instruction on its use -- "If you see a fire, point, then pull this lever!", he said. (I later became a firefighter, but that's another story.) The air around the exhaust manifolds shimmered like a mirror from fuel fumes as the huge prop started to rotate. One manifold, then another, and yet another barked -- I stepped back with the others In moments the Packard -built Merlin engine came to life with a thunderous roar. Blue flames knifed from her manifolds with an arrogant snarl. I looked at the others' faces; there was no concern. I lowered the bell of my extinguisher. One of the guys signaled to walk back to the lounge. We did. Several minutes later we could hear the pilot doing his pre-flight run-up. He'd taxied to the end of runway 19, out of sight. All went quiet for several seconds. We ran to the second story deck to see if we could catch a glimpse of the P-51 as she started down the runway We could not. There we stood, eyes fixed to a spot half way down 19. Then a roar ripped across the field, much louder than before. Like a furious hell spawn set loose -- something mighty this way was coming. "Listen to that thing!" said the controller.

In seconds the Mustang burst into our line of sight. It's tail was already off the runway and it was moving faster than anything I'd ever seen by that point on 19. Two-thirds the way down 19 the Mustang was airborne with her gear going up. The prop tips were supersonic. We clasped our ears as the Mustang climbed hellishly fast into the circuit to be eaten up by the dog-day haze. We stood for a few moments, in stunned silence, trying to digest what we'd just seen.

The radio controller rushed by me to the radio. "Kingston tower calling Mustang?" He looked back to us as he waited for an acknowledgment. The radio crackled, "Go ahead, Kingston." "Roger, Mustang. Kingston tower would like to advise the circuit is clear for a low level pass." I stood in shock because the controller had just, more or less, asked the pilot to return for an impromptu air show! The controller looked at us. "Well, What?" He asked. "I can't let that guy go without asking. I couldn't forgive myself!"

The radio crackled once again, "Kingston, do I have permission for a low level pass, east to west, across the field?" "Roger, Mustang, the circuit is clear for an east to west pass." "Roger, Kingston, I'm coming out of 3,000 feet, stand by."

We rushed back onto the second-story deck, eyes fixed toward the eastern haze. The sound was subtle at first, a high-pitched whine, a muffled screech, a distant scream. Moments later the P-51 burst through the haze. Her airframe straining against positive G's and gravity. Her wing tips spilling contrails of condensed air, prop-tips again supersonic. The burnished bird blasted across the eastern margin of the field shredding and tearing the air. At about 500 mph and 150 yards from where we stood she passed with the old American pilot saluting. Imagine. A salute! I felt like laughing; I felt like crying; she glistened; she screamed; the building shook; my heart pounded. Then the old pilot pulled her up and rolled, and rolled, and rolled out of sight into the broken clouds and indelible into my memory.

I've never wanted to be an American more than on that day! It was a time when many nations in the world looked to America as their big brother. A steady and even-handed beacon of security who navigated difficult political water with grace and style; not unlike the old American pilot who'd just flown into my memory. He was proud, not arrogant, humble, not a braggart, old and honest, projecting an aura of America at its best.

That America will return one day! I know it will! Until that time, I'll just send off this story. Call it a loving reciprocal salute to a Country, and especially to that old American pilot: the late-JIMMY STEWART (1908-1997), Actor, real WWII Hero (Commander of a US Army Air Force Bomber Wing stationed in England), and a USAF Reserves Brigadier General, who wove a wonderfully fantastic memory for a young Canadian boy that's lasted a lifetime.

Charlie

Submitted by John

Reactions:

Disclamer:

We are in compliance with, "Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for "fair use" for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use."

All rights reserved go to their respective holders. We do not own the intellectual property shown on this website, the respective holders own that privilege unless stated otherwise.

We do not endorse any opinions expressed on the Dinar Chronicles website. We do not support, represent or guarantee the completeness, truthfulness, accuracy, or reliability of any content or communications posted on Dinar Chronicles.

Dinar Chronicles is not a registered investment adviser, broker dealer, banker or currency dealer and as such, no information on the website should be construed as investment advice. We do not intend to and are not providing financial, legal, tax, political or any other advice to any reader of the website. This website is...Read More