Continued from
http://blondepoker.com/forum/index.php?topic=30601.msg992268#msg992268I wasn't daft back then (Well I was, but I was crafty with it) I was daft enough to want to recreate the fantastic, diesel powered, booming rifle shot of a few moments ago, but crafty enough to realize that I should probably be out of earshot of the adults before trying it.
I decanted a little diesel from the storage drum into a small, screw-top glass bottle and, with my rifle held nonchalantly by my side, (I used to carry it one handed, holding it only by the pistol grip section of the stock, a la Chuck Connors) I slipped out of camp and away.
I need to stop here for a moment, and talk about a phrase that I used in the previous sentence. I wrote “Out of camp” so that you would better understand me, but it irked me to do so. In reality we would never refer to it as going “Out of camp” (Or even think of it in those terms for that matter). Instead we would say going “Off the ground.” If if you were in camp, you were “On the ground” and if you were elsewhere, you were “Off the ground”. Mothers would say to naughty children, “Just wait until your father gets back on the ground,” or sometimes, “Don't let me catch you off the ground.” (Which, come to think of it, meant that they were grounded) Confused? Good. Let's move on.
I made my way through the woods until I came to a disused railway line. This particular section, while familiar to me, was particularly secluded, lying as it did in a deep cutting surrounded by dense undergrowth. The lines themselves had been removed, but most of the sleepers were still there, being slowly swallowed up by the vegetation.
I sat down on the embankment and removed the glass bottle from my pocket, then I “broke” the rifle to expose the air exchange port washer and spread a thin smear of diesel over it's surface using a blade of grass as a brush. Then, with nervous fingers I fumbled a pellet into the breech, cocked the gun, aimed it at the embankment opposite, and pulled the trigger.
There was a bit of a bang and a puff of smoke, but nothing compared to the previous effort. Somewhat nonplussed, I tried again using a bit more diesel, it was still no better, in fact if anything, it was worse. Just a spud-gun type “Pop” and a little bit of smoke drifting out of the barrel. A real damp squib. After several more failed attempts using varying amounts of diesel, I packed up and went home.
I couldn't stop thinking about that magnificent original shot though, why would it work once, but not a second time, why couldn't I recreate it? I never did find out for sure, but thinking about it all these years later, I suspect it was something to do with diesel vapor that had just the right fuel to air mix being sucked into the cylinder of the rifle as it was cocked.
I gave up on diesel, but I didn't give up on the idea of having an air rifle that would propel a projectile clean through a spy novel, two periodicals, and still have enough kinetic energy to penetrate as far as the scaly legs section of an avian reference book written by a convict.
Over the next few days, I tried every propellant that I could lay my hands on, and that, in the days before law suits and the nanny state, was a lot.
Lighter fuel, methylated spirits, paint thinners, paraffin, ( Both blue and pink) two stroke mix....everything, but apart from a few little pops and bangs, I made no progress. Then, as is often the case, as soon as I stopped looking, I found it.
I was scrabbling around under the seat of my dads lorry, trying to retrieve a dropped toffee before it broke the 5 second rule, when my hand came into contact with a familiar object. Familiar in winter that is, in summer (as now) it lay forgotten. It was the ether bottle. (a small plastic container used for squeezing ether into the air intake of your vehicle via an atomizing nozzle). And why would you want to spray ether into your vehicle's air intake in the winter? Well back then, engines, especially diesel engines, could be very reluctant to start on a cold morning, but one squirt of the highly explosive ether and it would fire up in a jiffy. In fact, it usually fired so quickly that you could clearly hear the as yet still dry con rods rattle in their bearings. We combated this by not introducing the ether until the engine had been cranked over a few times, allowing the oil to circulate.
You could buy a synthetic type of ether from motorists shops and garages. It was called “Easy Start” and it came in a yellow aerosol can, but it wasn't as good as the “raw” ether that you could buy “Loose” from the chemist, which was it was much more volatile, and much less expensive.
As soon as I touched the ether bottle, I knew that I had found the holy grail. I couldn't wait to try it.
As soon as I could, I slipped off the ground and made my way back to the railway cutting. Once there, I quickly primed my weapon, squirting the ether liberally over the air exchange port washer. I even squirted some through the air exchange port into the cylinder where the spring driven piston sat. Then, once again, I cocked the gun and pulled the trigger
If you have ever fired a musket, you can skip this bit. If you haven't, let me explain what happens.
On the side of a musket, there is a spring loaded lever called the serpentine. On the end of this lever, there is a small clamp, and this clamp holds a smoldering wick called a slow match.. When you pull the trigger, the lever swings the slow match into a little cup containing priming powder, this is called the flash pan. Then the flash from the burning priming powder travels through a tiny hole in the breech of the gun and ignites the main charge.
As you can imagine, all this palaver takes time, so there is a short delay (It seems like forever) between pulling the trigger and and the gun going off. Sometimes it doesn't go off at all, (Just a flash in the pan) and sometimes, just when you think nothing is going to happen.... Kaboom!!” A bloody great explosion, just inches from your face.
Well that's what it was like with my ether fueled air rifle, huge explosions, right in front of my face.
What I was doing was irresponsible.
What I did next was totally unforgivable
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