IN THE SHADOW OF APOLLO Like many of my generation, I grew up in the shadow of Apollo. The achievements made by the manned spaceflight programme of the 60s and 70s coloured my childhood. Those tentative first steps were to lead to a greater destiny amongst the stars with the Moon a brave new frontier for colonisation. But despite the ubiquity of images of Saturn V rockets blasting into orbit, of Bibendum-like astronauts bunny-hopping over the Lunar surface singing nursery rhymes, Apollo faded in the public consciousness, killed by Vietnam, social unrest and disinterest on the home-planet. But for me the dream never faded. And in the summer of 2013, I was confronted with the reality of that furious period of challenge and discovery and my own emotional response to the lost future I grew up with. The culmination of a family road-trip down the east coast of the USA was a stop in Florida, specifically Orlando. Yes, we did the Disney parks, no not Sea World or Universal (frankly, Orlando was just like the worst parts of the Spanish Costas, only times ten). But my highlight was a visit to the Kennedy Space Center, home of America’s space launches. Driving out from Orlando across the flat reclaimed swamps of Florida, I had no clue how much the visit would affect me. I had dreamed of visiting the site for longer than I cared to remember, my interest maintained by endless books on the subject, films and television. I thought of the Apollo programme astronaut jacket my grandparents had brought back for me in the 70s from their own visit there – pale blue, decorated with mission patches, always just too small even new. The Airfix kits of Saturn Vs built. It had all accumulated like the build-up of detritus in a blocked watercourse, growing, shifting, pressure increasing. As we grew closer, you could see the massive VAB (Vehicle Assembly Building), so huge clouds can form below its roof. The clustered nosecones of the Rocket Garden, a memorial to the smaller entrants into the history of American spaceflight. The anticipation was enormous. We parked in the huge, largely deserted parking lot. The sun already baking the yellow concrete despite the fairly early hour. We paid for our entrance, got our bearings and entered. The Kennedy Space Center consists of two sites, connected by shuttle bus. The main part hosts the Atlantis exhibit, IMAX cinema, Rocket garden and other things. The shuttle bus then takes you to the separate Apollo exhibit, via the VAB. At the time of our visit in 2013, the Atlantis exhibit (housing the actual retired space shuttle, Atlantis!) was new, so we figured it would be busy, so that was our first destination. This piece is about Apollo, so why mention the kludged-replacement to Apollo, you may ask? The reason is simple enough. Whilst waiting for the exhibit to open, I suffered what can only be described as a moment. Standing there, looking out across the flat landscape, surrounded by the ghosts of American spaceflight, I suffered what can only be referred to as an emotional collapse. It meant so much to me, for so long – represented so many childhood memories, interests, dreams; it meant so much to be there with my own family, who had shared my stories and interest in space; it meant so much to actually confront the dream of the future that never was, and perhaps never would be. A mixture of joy and melancholy. I wept. 6