This is a picture of the English country manor called FURZE DOWN, located somewhere near Southampton, England. It's where we were sent for our "Flak Leave". THE FLAK HOME CAPER

This is a story that seems to have no satisfactory conclusion - at least for me. Each surviving member of our crew recalls these particular events of the winter of 1944/1945 differently.
After 54 years, when all the old crew gathered at the 457th reunion in Savannah, I felt I would finally get a picture of what happened to the enlisted members of our crew at their flak home on that cold January day. Alas, that was not to be.

This is not a story of a combat mission or a confrontation with enemy fighters. It's about an event (both serious and humorous) that took place at a rest home somewhere in England.

 It was SOP (Standard Operating Procedure) for crews that had completed their first 15 missions to be directed to take a "Flak Leave". A "Flack Leave" was intended to give bomber crews a week to rest and relax away from flying. The time was to be spent away from the field and in the luxury of English manor homes or resort hotels. After a week at a "flak home" we were presumed to be refreshed and ready for another 15 missions or more. The entire crew went on flack leave at the same time but the officers went to one home and the enlisted men to another. Joel, Jim and I were ordered to a home called Furze Down (picture above) that was located somewhere near Southampton. It was even more beautiful than the picture. We dined, slept, played and enjoyed our stay immensely. The home was run by the American Red Cross and all kinds of entertainment and programs were pre planned for our pleasure. The owners of Furze Down seemed to be away but all their servants were still there on duty and pampered us continually.

 The enlisted men were sent to a different flak home. I don't recall just where but it's not really important to this story. So.....!!

 We had been at the flak home for only about three days, enjoying a luxury and freedom that we had not felt in many months. In the evening of the third day an urgent message was delivered to me from the commander of our squadron. It instructed me and the other officers of our crew to return to base immediately and report to him when we arrived. This was unusual, to say the least, but we packed up the next day, and, with much apprehension, returned to Glatton and the 751st squadron compound.

 I immediately proceeded to the headquarters hut and to the commanders office. For the next half hour I received a "dressing down" that was exceeded only by the first month in preflight at Maxwell field. The Colonel was not entirely clear on what had happened but from what I understood, the enlisted men of our crew had committed some major crime at their flak home and were presently under house arrest and on their way back to Glatton. The Colonel mentioned something about a truck being stolen at the flak home and that our crew members were responsible. He said that they were now reduced in rank from staff sergeants to privates and they would either face a courts marshall or be given a rifle and sent to join Patton's troops on the continent as regular infantry GI's. He also said that the officers would continue to fly but that we would now fly with a new crew of misfits from the reserve pool. This was really bad news for us as no one wanted to fly with a makeshift crew. It was not unusual to have one of these crew members fill in for a mission or two but to have a new crew made up of these individuals was unthinkable. His threat was the ultimate intimidation. I left the Colonels office feeling totally dejected.

 The next day we held a meeting of the entire crew in the enlisted men's hut. Sgt.Charles Kenney, our radioman, was elected by the enlisted men to be their spokesman. Charles painted a story not too different from the Colonel's except that he assured me that the sergeant in charge of the motor pool at the flak home had given them the OK to take a truck into town. It seems that there was to be a dance or party in the local town and the entire flak home had been invited. Our crew, for some reason or other, missed the bus that was to take them to town. Not wanting to miss the big event, they went to the motor pool at the flak home, took a truck and started into town on a narrow, icy road. Somewhere along the way the driver, Ed Peters, lost control and the truck slid off the road into a ditch. No one was hurt and the truck suffered no major damage but it seemed permanently stuck in the ditch. Their best efforts could not get the truck back on the road. To compound this matter, two of the crew walked back to the motor pool at the flak home, and commandeered a jeep which they drove to the site -- planning to use it to pull the truck back onto the road.

 When they arrived at the accident site, and before they could extract the truck, they were greeted by none other than the commander of the flak home who just happened by in his jeep.
And that was the story!

We all suffered through the following days together awaiting a decision as to what would happen to the enlisted men and what lay in store for our future as a bomber crew. It was a particularly difficult period for each member of the crew.
Suddenly, without prior notice, we were informed that our crew would be flying the next mission, and, since no one under the rank of sergeant could fly combat missions, all the members of the crew were instantly promoted to sergeant. Without telling us, a decision had been made to forgive our misdeeds. We were once again a crew and flying deputy squadron lead on the next mission. Normally we would not celebrate the fact that we were chosen for a bombing mission.....this time was an exception.

Last year, at our group reunion in Savannah, three of the crew who were involved in this caper were present. It was my chance to finally find out exactly what happened. Well, I will never know for sure because each of the three had a slightly different version to tell. They each recalled the event but could agree on only a few facts. One said that they missed the bus because they had found a wine cellar at the flak home but another said that they were just hiking and returned late. One said that they got a key from the sergeant in charge of the motor pool and one said they just took a truck that the keys had been left in and the other said one of the crew hot-wired the ignition. They did agree that Peters was driving. One said that the truck was just stuck in a ditch without any damage and the other said the truck was tipped up on it's rear bumper so that it's head lights were pointing skyward thinking at the time about the wartime blackout and how the headlights would be a beacon that would attract civilians and military alike. One of the three did not remember getting the jeep but the other two did because they were the two that got the jeep. They all remember very vividly being confronted by the Colonel in his jeep.

 I guess that this story shows how one's memory fades over time and how we often remember in great detail the good memories and tend to let fade those that were not especially enjoyable. The surviving crew members each remember very well those days we spent waiting for our future to be determined. And, how relieved we were when we were again placed on flying status. I will say that I remember this event as vividly as any war experience. The comradeship and unity of a bomber crew was something very special and being separated from ones crew members, whether in combat or on the ground, could be equally devastating.