A Lament for the Old Gear

New hams when they so venture forth

Will eye the latest rigs, of course,

But take a tip from one whose seen

The cost to fix those rigs extreme.

And yet it's seems to get much worse

With micros and displays to curse.

The cost of just the one of these

Will make the deepest pockets squeeze.

So don't forget the rigs once used

With circular dial and old style tubes.

Of course one had to dip and load

Each time the band was changed or mode.

But adjustments they were built right-in

To load one's beam; to tune it in.

And while there's a limit to such schemes

It isn't quite the chore it seems.

And they weren't so hard to put to rights

When nothing works but just the lights.

Our test gear then was just a meter

With knowledge gained from book and teacher.

So, if you're a new one at this game

Research the older gear; the same

As such were used not long ago

And get more value for your dough.

And so when chasing the DX so dear

Should misfortune strike you'll have no fear

And really show the gang your worth

With rigs that do not cost the earth.

But wait, there is a better way

To keep that credit card at bay

And that's to build in part oneself;

Much cheaper than that off the shelf.

So spend your cash the wisest way

And buy some tools this very day.

Although it's nice to have new gear,

Those from your mind you'll hold most dear.

Most Lunches Don't Come Free

We dream of far-off places
With just a puny watt or so
But the truth is you can't do it
If your sky-wires are too low.

Since Nature made the wavelength
It's not for us to shorten;
Then we could easy make the thing
From two pins and be certain.

The ads are full of promises
Of gain that's sure to be
But tiny whips don’t work so well
Since most lunches don't come free.

They'll tell you they have worked the world
With a tin leg and a balun
But a pinch of salt is better now
Than a mag-loop and a gallon.

So rhombics are in order
Set on masts that reach the sky
Fed with open-wired feeders
That could startle passers by!

If that's all too tall an order
And there isn't so much room.
Remember not to compromise
With height of wire or boom.

Then the layers will be ringing
With dot and dash and chatter
From rigs so small, that do it all
And not one sign of splatter.

On the Coming of a Certain Age

I’ve weighed-in all the wave-guide,

I’ve bought a kit instead.

From now it’s Kuhne and KST

Since they’re not plumbing fed.

These SMDs are tiny though

And pretty hard to solder.

I wish I hadn’t got the shakes

They’re worse as I get older.

Those windy hills are not forgot,

Though not for me to wander,

And tripod, dish and battery

Will I no longer ponder.

That envelope can push itself

For all I care or fret.

I’ve settled for this fire and chair

But I’ll get that last square yet.

“Oh! To Heck with the Expense”

The times they are hard

With money so tight

But rather a book

Than a technical blight.

If one could but see

The gems ’tween the pages

That will lighten one's life

With the wisdom of sages.

So search high and low

Though it may cost one dear;

And should you go broke

Well - just stop the wife's beer.

All Verses de G3LLV - 2014

Where Has It All Gone?

Do you remember yesteryear?

When surplus shops were full of gear

Of weird and obscure boxes, black,

That your invention tried to hack.

Once then SCR522's did fill the ads

That had graced the cockpit of our lads

When facing those who would enslave us

But then gave service on two-metres.

Command Sets were also widely found,

Made into rigs, and I'll be bound,

That many a ham, as their logs will show,

Used one of these for their first QSO.

Then 19-sets could be cheaply bought

And e'en today may oft be sought.

One difference there, we must report,

They keep them as they were 'Old Sport'.

And then there was the BC348

Brought to us by the 'Mighty Eighth'.

A nice receiver, one must agree,

Installed in the shack for all to see.

Some still talk of eleven fifty-fives,

That once did duty in our skies,

But now are brought down here to earth

To show again their ample worth.

And it wasn't so long ago it seems

A LORAN display, then in my schemes,

Became a scope of modest means

With many a pot and five-inch screen.

But try that with this modern stuff

With obscure chips that are enough

To blow one's mind and place a curse

Upon our endeavours or much worse.

We live inside our times it seems

Though one may wander back in dreams

When hopes were high and costs so-so,

And our universe had a nice warm glow.

                                          

AN AMPLIFIED CAUTIONARY TALE

I built myself a linear of dimensions rarely seen

With tubes quite large from a fairground machine.

Though I knew not their purpose, they glowed a nice green,

With military markings to show where they'd been.

The transformer I used was from out of a skip

With plenty of windings and labelled “Don't Tip”.

The rectifiers in there were something to see

With a bank of capacitors way up to one's knee.

The plates for the tuning, since I needed six pair,

Were from a meat-slicer hid under the stair.

With coils from a still. Where?  I'm rather not tell

But home-brew and RF do mix remarkably well!

The meters I placed on the front of this wonder

Were marked in 'KV' and came from down-under.

The switches had seen life on an old forklift charger

With handles of iron that just couldn't be larger.

“As time goes by,” - the song brought to mind,

I added more parts of a heavier kind,

With a front panel made of quarter-inch plate

And funereal brass handles from a nearby estate.

Using extra-large fuses from an old submarine

I preceded to fire-up this wondrous machine

And, with reports coming in from far and from near,

The town's illuminations were cancelled this year.

While some of my neighbours are chesty and wheeze

The relief by my ozone is certain to please.

Though the noise the fan makes is a bit of a racket

I get a great lift and most surely can hack it.

But the end of this tale is not one of delight,

With compliments flowing from left and the right,

As the floor underneath me has started to sag

And the landlord's old wife? She's a bit of a nag.

Then it's out on the streets I am destined to go,

Complete with my hardware, into the snow.

So if you are a ham with talents widespread,

I'll swap the whole lot for a roof and a bed.