The Spirit of the Walrus
This is the story of my latest model build — but more than that, it’s a small reflection on meaning, perseverance, and why these little creations matter.
Today the goal was simple: complete the base for my Supermarine Walrus. She’s been sitting in my modelling stash for years, waiting patiently, and now she stands proudly on my table, resting on a layer of tarmac and grass I carefully laid down.
Why the Walrus?
I’m not entirely sure why she appealed to me so much, but I knew sooner or later I’d tackle her. Maybe it was the challenge of the rigging, something I didn’t feel ready for until recently, when I finally had the right tools and enough confidence in my techniques.
The Walrus is quaint, ungainly, a little battered-looking — a relic of another era, but full of character. In some ways, I see a reflection of myself in her: weathered, perhaps, but still flying, still holding together.
When I applied the tarmac, it even smelled like asphalt! I may not be able to go out and dig roads these days, but I can do it on my modelling desk. I sat there looking at my Walrus bathed in sunlight, perched on the tiny airfield base, and I felt a quiet glow of pride. Even if I have a bloodshot eye from five weeks of squinting, it was worth it!
The Spirit of the Walrus
There’s a small figure sitting proudly on the modelling table now:
a Supermarine Walrus — quaint, ungainly, something from another era.
She’s rigged with delicate care, perched on a weathered base of tarmac and grass.
Weeks of patient work, steadying the hand, squinting under the light,
facing small frustrations, aching legs, tired eyes,
but now here she is: complete.
And it’s not just another model finished.
The Walrus is a symbol —
a little like her maker:
ungainly, weathered, a little worn by time,
but still here, still flying,
still carrying the quiet spirit of perseverance.
One day, of course, she’ll just be
a crumpled pile of broken plastic under a pile of dust,
forgotten, like so much else.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because meaning isn’t in the thing
it’s in the making,
in the experience,
in what she meant to the hands and heart that shaped her.
Old age is not graceful, not in the way people like to pretend.
It’s a daily test:
painful steps, tiredness, the effort of simply going on.
But there are still these moments of light:
small, private victories,
small creations that say I am still here,
still making, still caring, still bringing something into being.
Not showy, not lasting,
but full of meaning.
And that, in the end, is what counts.
“A Note to Myself”
This little Walrus is more than a model.
She carries the long hours, the careful work,
the frustrations overcome, the tiny victories achieved.
She reminds me that I am still here —
still making, still shaping, still bringing meaning
into small corners of the world.
Even when life feels heavy or tired,
there are still moments of creation,
moments that are mine,
and that is enough.
Buller Road and the Spirit of Things
It struck me the other day that, in some odd way, the Walrus and I share more than just the modelling table. We both live on Buller Road — named after Sir Redvers Buller, a general famed for both heroic bravery and flawed command. Maybe that’s me too.
There’s something meaningful about the whole process. One day, this model will just be a crumpled pile of broken plastic under a layer of dust. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is the experience of making it, the story it tells, the meaning it holds for me right now.
Funny thing to say about a piece of plastic, but she carries all of me in a way.
Not just the work of my hands, but something of my spirit too…
RAF HARROWBEER, DEVON, TODAY
RAF Harrowbeer — Homage to the Walrus’s Home
These photos of RAF Harrowbeer (now a museum) pay homage to the airfield where my Walrus once operated during World War II. Situated in Devon, not far from where I live, Harrowbeer was a key base for coastal patrols and air-sea rescues. Including these images honours both the plane and its history, grounding my model in the real world and connecting my personal passion to the legacy of those times.
Harrowbeer-a brief history
This World War II airfield was part of 10 Group Fighter Command. It was opened on 15 August 1941 and closed in July 1945. Rubble from the blitz on Plymouth was used as hardcore during construction. Most free-standing structures have long gone. However, many clues to their existence still survive.
Nationalities known to serve here were British, Polish, Canadian, American, French and Czechoslovakian.
Amongst the aircraft flown from here were the Spitfire, Hurricane, Blenheim, Walrus, Mustang, Typhoon and Anson. Harrowbeer provided aircraft for convoy protection against E-boats and U-boats in the English Channel and, later, aircraft to escort bombers attacking targets in the area of the Brest peninsula.
Harrowbeer was also home to 276 Squadron, Air Sea Rescue (ASR). At times there were over 2,000 people serving on this airfield.
Ravenscroft (Location 20) was used as the Officers’ Mess until 1943.
It then became the headquarters for 276 Squadron ASR. Knightstone (Location 19) was the first Watch Office (Control Tower) and the headquarters for 78 Signals Wing (1941) and then in 1944 the headquarters for 838 Squadron Fleet Air Arm.
The Memorial Stone was placed at Leg O’Mutton on 15 August 1981 and unveiled by Group Captain the Hon. E.F. Ward, the first Commanding Officer of R.A.F. Harrowbeer.
