Hang out the stars in Indiana

Wandering the corridors of Saint Feasance's again, mildly surprised to find a room full to the rafters with discarded bus stops, and another floor-to-ceilinged with park benches.

Interesting scratchings and scrapings on some of the benches, as well as names one doesn't hear anymore. I will investigate further at a later time.

My attention was then drawn to another door, behind the piled benches. Cobwebs and bolts gave way to curiosity and I found myself looking at a room completely full of railings, saucepans and scrap metal, collected I'm sure in some patriotic drive; the makings of a Spitfire, perhaps, that never flew. That might fly yet.

A comforting thought, that an old kettle might be so full of aeroplanes waiting to be born. But how to effect the birth?