Some events and experiences of World War II are gradually becoming fainter in my memory -- it has been 54 years. I will make an attempt here on the following pages to record some of the sights and events as I remember them. For those of you who are of my generation, I'm sure they will stimulate your recollections of another time and place.For today's generation, these memories hopefully will provide some insight into what it was like then, and how it felt to be far from home in the middle of a war.
    This was the winter of 1944 /'45 at Glatton airfield in East Anglia, England -- the home field of the 457th Bomb Group, First Division, 8th Air Force. The 457th group was made up of four squadrons; the 748th, 749th, 750th, and 751st. We flew in the 751st squadron.
These are some brief remembrances of a time long ago.

I remember:

    My arrival at Glatton -- when we entered the Quonset hut to which we were assigned and found 16 empty bunks. The Politz raid a few days before had devastated the squadron.

    The small black round steel canister stove that sat in the center of the Quonset hut and it's sheet metal stack through the roof. This stove provided our only source of heat.....as long as it was fed a reasonable amount of the rationed coal. Sometimes, when we overloaded it with coal, the stove got so hot that it actually glowed red - and the hut was still cold.

    The latrines that were located in a separate building about 100 feet from our hut, and the cold, cold, dark mission mornings when we rushed from our hut with a handful of clothes to try and get to the showers before the hot water ran out.

    The olive colored, mostly mud covered, English bicycles that proliferated the base and were about the only means of transportation -- and getting used to using those hand brakes.

    The Officers Club and the many hours I spent there perfecting my Bridge game.
(Never did perfect my efforts on the crap table).

    Square eggs in the cafeteria for breakfast. ( I should not have to explain square eggs). Sometimes before a mission we would get real eggs -- what a treat.
    Some have asked me to explain square eggs. OK:     Since fresh eggs were so scarce in the ETO and since they could not be imported from the US, we were constantly deluged with powdered eggs. These eggs were not really powdered but instead came in huge 5 gal cans already mixed (liquid state). In the mess kitchen they were cooked on a large range cook top. The method of cooking the liquid eggs was to spread about a gal at a time on the cook top and when they were sufficiently cooked, cut this huge (3 ft by 2 ft) egg into squares (about 6 inches by 6 inches) to serve. Thus "square eggs". Blah!!

    Bartering cigarettes and candy with some British civilians who would sneak onto the base with a few dozen fresh eggs. And then cooking those eggs in our hut on that heater stove.

    The pistol range that was in a field some distance from the huts. Finding that even with lots of practice I would never be able defend myself with a military '45. We joked that we'd have a better chance throwing the gun than shooting it.

    The silence and then muffled murmurs that followed when the curtain in the briefing room was pulled back to expose the mission we were to fly that day.

    A little English home with a real thatched roof just to the right of the entrance to our base from the highway.
[On Jan 9, 1999 Richard Hollobush sent me a picture taken by his dad, Robert Hollobush who was a crew chief in the 748th squadron. The picture is of that thatched roof house just as I remember it. Thank you Robert and Richard]

    Sleeping on English Army issue "biscuits". These were mattresses ??. They were 36 inches square and about 4 inches thick and filled with straw. When two were placed together they made a mattress for our bunk beds. That crack in the middle let in a lot of cold air.

    That sick-stomach feeling when I flew my first mission as copilot with another crew. All the training in the world could not prepare me for the nerves that accompanied me on that first flight. All the others were bad but flying that first one without my crew was terrifying.

    The disappointment I felt when I looked in the bomb bay before a mission and found we were to carry leaflets or Chaff instead of bombs. Imagine a raid with everyone shooting at you and all you have to deliver is paper.

    "Flak Jackets". Their weight and the problems of donning them while flying and wearing an oxygen mask. We were each supposed to carry one flak jacket for our own use on each mission, but some of the guys pirated extra jackets and almost completely covered themselves for protection when we were under an intensive flak attack.

    Being in London and experiencing the "Buzz Bombs". These flying bombs were propelled by a ram jet engine and flew at about a 1000 ft altitude. When the engine stopped the bomb fell. Hundreds fell on London and hundreds were shot down. The Brits would ignore the put-put-put sound of the bombs until the sound stopped -- then everyone scrambled for cover. You had about 15 seconds.

    Seeing the first of many V2 rocket bombs being launched from western Germany and the lowlands. We would see the contrail from these rockets as they passed our bomber formation at 20,000 feet on their way to the stratosphere and on to England.

    The sumptuous 200th mission party at the Officers Club. This party was attended by selected busloads of English girls that were brought onto the base from Peterborough. While they were supposed to entertain the "boys", I think most came for the food and drinks.

    Most of Britain was on strict rationing at that time. I remember one young lady, perhaps eighteen, asking me if I thought it would be OK for her to take home some of the fruit piled high on the buffet table. She said that she, "did not ever remember eating a banana". There was little or no fruit available in England for civilians.

    The coffee and donuts - and the shot of whiskey that we were offered by the Red Cross after a mission. Having not eaten sometimes for the past 12 or 14 hours, and being so physically exhausted, that shot tended to make things spin a little. After debriefing, we would rush to our dingy cold hut, climb into our bunks, and sleep for the next 12 hours. What a relief -- safely back after one more mission.

    Buying our weekly ration of one carton of Lucky Strikes for $.50 (that's fifty cents) at the PX. Surprisingly not everyone smoked and those who did not had lots of offers to buy their ration.

    Visiting the dentist on our base. What an experience. I think the dentist was one who roved from base to base and his office was a trailer behind a six wheeler. To my chagrin the dentist drilled my tooth without the benefit of electricity (or anesthetic). Only an Army private (must have been serving some kind of punishment) peddling a bicycle next to the dentist chair ,which, in turn drove a cable that turned the drill. That was the worst experience of my lifetime at the dentist.

    Picadilly Commandos - need I say more?
    Did not intend to say more but others have asked for an explanation. OK. You all know that Picadilly Circus is the center of London today and it was then. It was a favorite loitering place after dark for the "Ladies of the Evening" (prostitutes) who would roam London soliciting service men. It was hard to walk a block without being stopped and sometimes grappled by more than one at a time. Thus "Picadilly Commando's".
    In the dark of the blackout it was impossible to tell what these girls looked like but often many of the men found this was a way to find a comfortable room for the night - with added delights. Ask any serviceman who ever visited London during the war what a "Picadilly Commando" was and I'm sure you'll provoke a smile or two.

    Experiencing true vertigo while flying in formation over Germany. Sometimes the contrails or heavy cloud formations were unavoidable and the formation was required to fly through this dense fog-like atmosphere. I'm sure most pilots remember the feeling that your plane was in a steep bank while your instruments told you that you were level. Resisting the natural pull of your own muscles was exhausting . Only the many hours in the Link trainer in flight school prevented disaster.

    The rain and generally bad weather that winter of 1944, 1945. It's been said that "It never stops raining unless it's foggy......and that means it's just about to rain". I have never seen fog like I saw in Britain that winter.

    My first visit to London and my first view of the antiaircraft defenses in the city -- particularly the barrage balloons which floated by the hundreds over the city.

    Easter Sunday in 1945. Joel Lester and I were in London and on impulse decided to attend Easter Sunday services in Westminster Abbey. It was a very solemn and beautiful service that I shall never forget.

    The loss of our Navigator, Don Scheuch. On my fourth mission, Don was asked to serve with another crew whose navigator had been wounded several days earlier. Since our bombardier, Joel Lester, was a qualified bombardier/navigator we were able to fly on the same mission but with Don in another plane in our squadron. This was the mission to Merseberg on Nov. 2nd, 1944. (See my description of the mission to Merseberg) The plane that Don served on was shot down. He fortunately survived but was a POW for the remainder of the war.
We all felt terrible....knowing his plane went down but not knowing whether he had survived. It took us many months before we came to terms with this and then only after getting word that he was not killed but was taken prisoner.

    Warm British beer. It began to grow on you the more you drank. Most of us ordered "Arf & Arf", or half ale and half bitters. It was always tap beer and was usually served in a very large glass.

    The crap table at the Officer's Club and how I learned to play craps.......only to regret the day. My leisure hours were better spent playing bridge. I spent many hours at that and became quite good.

    The sculptured schrubs on the rear lawn at Furzdown (flack home) and the kennels at the rear of the property where they raised Welsh Korgi's.  I had never before seen a Welsh Korgi and thought it to be the strangest looking dog I had ever seen.