Airfields Index

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RAF Snetterton Heath.    USAAF Snetterton Heath, Station 138 was situated 6 miles SW of Attleborough. The station opened in May 1943 In June the 386th Bomb Group arrived with B-26 Marauders, soon being replaced by the 96th BG they flew 300 missions from Snetterton Heath and had one of the 8th AAF's highest loss rates. The airfield was sold in 1952 and today is used as a motor racing circuit. Squadrons stationed at Snetterton Heath 560th Bomb Squadron, 386th Bomb Group. June 1943 561st Bomb Squadron, 386th Bomb Group. June 1943 562nd Bomb Squadron, 386th Bomb Group. June 1943 563rd Bomb Squadron, 386th Bomb Group. June 1943 337th Bomb Squadron 96th Bomb Group. June 1943 to December 1945 338th Bomb Squadron 96th Bomb Group. June 1943 to December 1945 339th Bomb Squadron 96th Bomb Group. June 1943 to December 1945 728th Bomb Squadron 452nd Bomb Group. May 1945 729th Bomb Squadron 452nd Bomb Group. May 1945 730th Bomb Squadron 452nd Bomb Group. May 1945 731st Bomb Squadron 452nd Bomb Group. May 1945   12th June 1943 Move 13th Jun 1943 Ops 22nd Jun 1943 Aircraft Lost 25th Jun 1943 Operations 26th Jun 1943 Operations 28th Jun 1943 Attack Made 29th Jun 1943 Attack Made 4th Jul 1943 Attack Made 10th Jul 1943 Operations 14th Jul 1943 Attack Made 17th Jul 1943 Attack Made 24th Jul 1943 Operations 25th Jul 1943 Attack Made 26th Jul 1943 Aircraft Lost 28th Jul 1943 Aircraft Lost 29th Jul 1943 Aircraft Lost 30th Jul 1943 Aircraft Lost 12th Aug 1943 Operations 15th Aug 1943 Operations 16th Aug 1943 Operations 17th Aug 1943 Operations 19th Aug 1943 Operations 24th Aug 1943 Operations 27th Aug 1943 Operations 31st Aug 1943 Operations 2nd Sep 1943 Operations 3rd Sep 1943 Operations 6th Sep 1943 Operations 7th Sep 1943 Operations 9th Sep 1943 Operations 15th Sep 1943 Aircraft Lost 16th Sep 1943 Operations 23rd Sep 1943 Aircraft Lost 26th Sep 1943 Aircraft Lost 27th Sep 1943 Aircraft Lost 11th Apr 1944 Aircraft Lost If you can provide any additional information, please add it here. Those known to have served at RAF Snetterton Heath. during the Second World War 1939-1945. Amana Joseph. T/Sgt. (d.7th May 1944) Brinley William Francis. Sgt. Collins Lyman P. DeMars Raoul Albert. 2Lt. Ferrell Samuel Clinton. T/Sgt Ganem George A.. T/Sgt. Harrington George F.. TSgt. (d.21st May 1943) Hentges James Nicklos. 2nd Lt. Hentges James Nicholas. F/O. Jacques Francisco Xavier. Cpl. McCoy George R. Sergeant McMurran Allen R.. T/Sgt. Quigley SSM.. Edward Christopher. Reichel Joe. Sgt. The names on this list have been submitted by relatives, friends, neighbours and others who wish to remember them, if you have any names to add or any recollections or photos of those listed, please Add a Name to this List The Wartime Memories Project is the original WW1 and WW2 commemoration website. Announcements The Wartime Memories Project has been running for 24 years. If you would like to support us, a donation, no matter how small, would be much appreciated, annually we need to raise enough funds to pay for our web hosting and admin or this site will vanish from the web. 18th April 2024 - Please note we currently have a huge backlog of submitted material, our volunteers are working through this as quickly as possible and all names, stories and photos will be added to the site. If you have already submitted a story to the site and your UID reference number is higher than 263925 your information is still in the queue, please do not resubmit, we are working through them as quickly as possible. Looking for help with Family History Research?   Please read our Family History FAQ's The free to access section of The Wartime Memories Project website is run by volunteers and funded by donations from our visitors. If the information here has been helpful or you have enjoyed reaching the stories please conside making a donation, no matter how small, would be much appreciated, annually we need to raise enough funds to pay for our web hosting or this site will vanish from the web. If you enjoy this site please consider making a donation. Want to find out more about your relative's service? Want to know what life was like during the War? Our Library contains an ever growing number diary entries, personal letters and other documents, most transcribed into plain text. We are now on Facebook. Like this page to receive our updates. If you have a general question please post it on our Facebook page. Wanted: Digital copies of Group photographs, Scrapbooks, Autograph books, photo albums, newspaper clippings, letters, postcards and ephemera relating to WW2. We would like to obtain digital copies of any documents or photographs relating to WW2 you may have at home. If you have any unwanted photographs, documents or items from the First or Second World War, please do not destroy them. The Wartime Memories Project will give them a good home and ensure that they are used for educational purposes. Please get in touch for the postal address, do not sent them to our PO Box as packages are not accepted. World War 1 One ww1 wwII second 1939 1945 battalion Did you know? We also have a section on The Great War. and a Timecapsule to preserve stories from other conflicts for future generations. Want to know more about RAF Snetterton Heath.? There are:44 items tagged RAF Snetterton Heath. available in our Library   These include information on officers, regimental histories, letters, diary entries, personal accounts and information about actions during the Second World War. Sergeant George R McCoy 1250th MP CO My Dad, George R. McCoy, was stationed at Snetterton Heath with the USAAF from 1943 to 1945. He was a Sergeant in the 1250th MP CO. I have many photos of the airfield, B-17's, and the men who were stationed there. I would be glad to share them with any other families of the veterans. If it hadn't been for the brave men of the 96th BG, I wouldn't be able to make this announcement. May God bless them all. Patrick McCoy Add to this record. Sgt. Joe Reichel 96th Bomb Group Snetterton Heath, England. USAAF Station 138, World War II Memories By Then Sergeant Joe J. Reichel, Lt Col, USAF (ret) August 2012 1943 Headed Overseas On 5 May 43 my outfit, the 49th Service Group left Fort Dix, New Jersey for the Port of Embarkation in New York and we were loaded aboard our troop ship, the Queen Elizabeth. The Queen Elizabeth, as well as her sister ship, the Queen Mary, were British luxury liners converted to transport troops during the war and plied the Atlantic as quickly as they could load, or unload, and turn around. I was detailed to duty as “Sergeant of the fresh water guard” in our particular portion of the ship. Because fresh water was at a premium there had to be a guard stationed at each water fountain to insure water was not wasted. I had to post and relieve guards at three separate fountains at two-hour intervals. We ate twice a day, forming lines with mess kits in hand, having them filled with plenty of tasteless food. Once each day we participated in life boat drill, as German submarines were known to be on the lookout for troop transports. The Queen was speedier than any submarine so our chances of not being sunk were much enhanced. About three days out of port, when any danger of spies being around was remote, we were told that our destination was England. Each of us was given a small booklet which told us something about the country, the coinage, and how best to get along with the natives. England We arrived at Gourock, Scotland, near Glasgow, on 11 May 1943 and were immediately put aboard a quaint English train and taken to a small country train station in East Anglia called Eccles Road. A truck took us to the nearby airfield of USAAF Station 138, otherwise known as “Snetterton Heath.” I was now entitled to a twenty percent pay raise for “overseas duty.” Our unit was designed to render administrative and materiel support to a Bombardment Group. Apparently there were more of us than were needed at Snetterton Heath, so the unit was split in half— the 49th Service Group half went to another air base, and our half stayed at Snetterton and was re-designated the 27th Station Complement Squadron. We joined the 96th Bombardment Group (Heavy), flying B-17s at this base. That Group had only recently arrived ahead of us and was still “setting up.” Snetterton Heath was located just about mid-way between the cities of Norwich and Cambridge, but closer to Norwich. Snetterton Heath was to be my home for thirty-two months. The war did not touch the base itself, except for three or four random strafing runs by German fighters, which were there and gone before we could hardly notice. None caused any significant damage On the other hand, the crews flying our B-17s suffered disheartening losses, particularly during the remainder of 1943 and early 1944, until the allies had established absolute air superiority over the continent. Each day our planes would take off before dawn, rendezvous with other Bomb Groups and head for the continent by the thousands. Later in the day we would hear them as they returned. Those with wounded aboard would fire red flares to alert the medics. The whole base turned out to watch as these planes returned, often with gaping holes in the wings and fuselage. It was a sad experience for me to make friends with the enlisted gunners during evenings at the Red Cross Club, and then, just a few days later, some of them would not return from a mission. The 96th participated in a “shuttle mission” to North Africa in 1943, bombing the aircraft factory at Regensburg, Germany en route. While in North Africa one of the crews bought a young donkey, fitted it with an oxygen mask and brought it back to England where it became famous. The Stars and Stripes newspaper wrote a story about Lady Moe. I worked as an Administrative Inspector until the summer of 1945. Each day I would select a squadron orderly room (office) to visit, mount the bicycle issued to me as part of the job, and go to that office to inspect it’s administrative procedures — Service Records, Sick Books, Forms 20, etc, pointing out any errors I saw and recommending corrective action. I was not usually a welcome visitor, although I tried to be nice. Being a Sergeant kept me from KP duty, but turned out to be no excuse for being detailed to guard duty, which I drew about once every three months, guarding a B-17 aircraft, always after mid-night. Staying awake was the biggest problem for me. The base was active around the clock, seven days a week. My normal work shift was eight hours a day seven days a week. Evenings were spent reading, or writing letters. I wrote to Virginia, my fiancée, three or four times a week and she wrote every day. Her letters would usually arrive three or four at a time, several days apart. Before there was e-mail there was V-Mail. I would often use V-Mail to correspond with family and friends. This was a special form to be used for corresponding, which could be reduced in size by photographing, flown to the United States, developed and then sent to the addressee. Supposedly it saved a lot of space on ships and was faster, too. I also received frequent letters from family members, as well as high school and workplace friends, which I answered as soon as they arrived. Sometimes in the evenings, some of us would walk along a narrow country road to a “tea room” about a mile away, where we would sit and chat over tea and scones. Then back to our “Nissen Hut” home, carrying a couple of loaves of fresh, hard crust English bread. The huts were heated by two small cylindrical coal burning stoves, about three feet high and ten inches across, with a lid on top and a vent at the bottom for draft. We would slice the bread and toast it in front of the bottom draft, spread a little margarine on it and the taste was heavenly, even though the margarine was a bit waxy. Eating in the Quonset Mess Hall was sometimes a challenge. Spam, Brussels Sprouts, dried eggs and powdered milk were served all too often and food, in general, was not very palatable. Maybe it was in the cooking. If weather conditions were just right, condensation would collect on the metal ceiling and then drip down upon us and our food. Our sleeping quarters at Snetterton Heath were in Nissen Huts, which were sixteen feet wide, eight feet high and about 25 feet long. Cots were double decked and lined up on each side of the hut, about three feet apart. I was fortunate in having an upper bunk where the air was a bit better. The fire in our two stoves was built with “coke,” a type of coal, which was very difficult to start, unless we could scrounge some scrap wood or some soft coal to get it started. The coke, once started, burned very hot and kept those within ten feet of it quite cozy. Beyond that point, long underwear felt pretty good. Our coke ration did not always last a full week, making it necessary to remain cold, or steal coke from someplace else, like the base stockpile, which was never guarded. We were not supposed to do that! There was no running water in the sleeping hut, but another special hut within a hundred feet had sinks in which you could wash up and shave. Still another hut housed the toilets — six to an open room, offering no privacy whatsoever. A mile away was a communal shower in case you ever wanted to bathe all over. Laundry and dry cleaning services were provided in the city of Norwich and dirty clothes were taken there by G.I. truck once each week, and then returned the next week. The farmer’s wife in her home just behind our barracks picked up some extra money by doing our washing for us, and it was much handier than the regular service. Some of my Nissen hut.barracks mates were: Malcolm Novess; Jack Hasslinger; Harold Edwards.John P. Hicks; Donald McAllister; Frank Brattelli. Henry Gilbert; Jerry Zarro; Charlie Linesay; and Marvin Rettinger. Near each sleeping hut was a brick-lined dugout where we went for shelter during the air raid alerts which came in the early morning hours several times a week. Our base was never bombed, but we could watch while towns and other bases in the distance were bombed. We were allowed one three-day pass each month, and accrued 2 ½ days per month to apply toward furlough. Three or four of us would go together on a three-day pass, sometimes to Norwich and sometimes to Cambridge. Really nothing much to do except see the sights and go to the “Cinema.” Once we went “punting on the Cam” river at Cambridge. This was a beautiful row-boat trip passing the various college campuses. At Norwich we stayed in a facility, operated by the Red Cross, called the Bishop’s Palace, for that is what it actually was before the war. It was huge and cold. Every room was equipped with canvas army cots, placed very close together, but at least it was a free place to flop for the night. One night I was billeted at another location. Its rooms were very small, about eight feet square, with one tiny window up high on the wall and another small peephole window in the door. The following day I learned that it had been the insane asylum. At Cambridge we stayed in private homes which offered bed and breakfast for a small fee. Several times during my stay in England, I took advantage of my accrued furlough time and went further a-field, to Edinburgh, Scotland and Blackpool, England, and once to London, staying five or six days each time. Here again we would travel in a group of five or six friends for companionship in a strange land. In later years I have often felt sorry that I was not mature enough to want to explore historic sights and locations while in England. Wartime blackout of England was total and proved to be quite a trick to find ones way around town at night. The nation was on “double daylight war time” so it didn’t get real dark until around 10 pm. Taxis roamed the streets with headlights in “blackout mode” only a thin slit permitted light to shine forth Edinburgh was a fun experience. We stayed at the hotel located by the train station and explored the city during the day. Notable were the Edinburgh Castle and the Princes Street Gardens. Sometimes we would take in a live stage show and that was fun. Once I visited a shop which sold cloth yardage, among other things, as I wanted to buy some Tartan plaid for Virginia. The store owner promptly put the “closed” sign on the front door, completed my transaction, and then opened the shop again. It seems that he didn’t want to get caught selling cloth without the ration slip which he knew I would not have Blackpool was a seaside resort on the Irish Sea offering little but atmosphere and a chance to walk along the beach or see a movie. London was, of course, a very interesting place and offered many places of historic interest to visit and explore, but it kept getting bombed at night, early in the war by German bombers, then later by V-1 “Buzz Bombs” and V-2 rockets. Buzz Bombs sounded like a semi-truck slowly going uphill. When the sound stopped we knew it was out of fuel and would plunge to the earth and explode. I was very nervous during my visit to London. “Charge of Quarters” was another extra duty to which I was detailed about once in six months. Someone had to stay at the group headquarters just in case the phone rang, or an urgent message was received. This is where I was when Victory in Europe was finalized on 8 May 1945. Victory over Japan followed on 2 Sep 1945. These events started the “going home” movement and a priority, of some sort, had to be designed to insure a fair selection of personnel to go home first. So a system of points was devised, and, appropriately, combatants were given an edge. So many points for combat duty, points for decorations, medals and ribbons; points for time spent overseas; points for just being assigned to a combat unit, etc. My points assured that I would be among the last to leave. With the 96th Bomb Group leaving, it meant that the 27th Station Complement Squadron had to take charge of the base headquarters, so my job became Base Sergeant Major working for the Base Adjutant. I learned, upon returning home, that my mother had been telling her friends that I was a “Major General.” Now there were lots of promotion spots open and in August of 1945 I was promoted to Staff Sergeant and I received a pay raise of about fifteen dollars a month. I was getting rich! Home In November of 1945 we entrained to the port of embarkation at Southampton, a seaport on the south coast, and boarded the Queen Mary for our trip home. Some of us carved our initials in the fancy woods of the ship. Our unit was chosen to perform KP duty for the entire trip home, no one was exempt. We were given a preferred location aboard ship and all we could eat, so it wasn’t so bad. We arrived at Camp Kilmer, New Jersey on 27 Nov 1945, and, after a few idle days, I was put on a train to Camp Grant, Illinois, where I received my discharge papers effective 3 Dec 1945. My uniform was now bedecked with ribbons for service in the European Theater and American Theater, the Good Conduct Medal; Distinguished Unit Citation and Victory Medal, plus one three-year service stripe, five overseas service bars and Staff Sergeant Chevrons. I was ready to resume life as a civilian. (This article taken from the Stars and Stripes Newspaper, c1944) THE Lady Moe Still Alive, Kicking Donkey From Arabia Leading the Life of A Chow Hound. By Bud Hutton, Stars and Stripes Staff Writer A Fortress Base, Mar. 15—Lady Moe, a tub gutted Arabian donkey who mingles with mess sergeants, Grosvenor House society and other exalted people, is becoming a legend and she’ll chew (literally) the tail out of anyone who doesn’t like it. The gravel voiced mascot of this base [AAF Station 138; 96th Bomb Group (H)] flew to England in a B-17 returning from the shuttle raid to Regensburg and North Africa last August. She weighed 50 pounds, was soft-coated, muzzling-nosed, gentle and thin. The airmen took her to heart, bathed her, petted her, let her sleep in their huts ands fed her. Today lady Moe is 150 pounds or more, shaggy-haired and redolent with B.O., sharp of tooth, ornery and fat-bellied enough for these Fortress men to compare her with a Liberator. She is still in the men’s hearts but they no longer bathe her, nor do they let her sleep in the huts, and she has been stigmatized with the epithet of “chow hound.” The boys still love Lady Moe. They will swear fiercely she is the best air base mascot in the ETO, [European Theater of Operations] which, of course, means all the world. They will feed her (even as she bites off their hands up to the wrist because she is tired of Spam). They will pet her (even as she whirls on her forefeet and belts their shins with a pair of lashing hooves). They will lie in their sacks and recount her exploits (even as she brays her long-eared head off at the moon to keep them awake). Since the day Capt. Andrew Miracle, Loyall, Ky., pilot and his crew of The Miracle Tribe bought Lady Moe for 400 francs from a beat up old Arab donkey-man, made her an oxygen mask and brought her back here by way of the raid on Bordeaux, she has grown in legend in exact proportion to the now alarming extent of her cast-iron gut. As one gunner on the base puts it: “Lady Moe is our legend—and we’re stuck with it.” No Midnight Safety These days a gunner or maybe a line chief will be walking down the dark perimedal track after a midnight job of work on a B17. He will be maybe thinking of pay day, or home-made fudge or his gal when something will jab him from behind and a hideous noise will rend the night. Lady Moe—and they still love her. The stories about Lady Moe began as soon as she landed and a cameraman got a picture of her in the B17s waist window with Lou Klimchak, of Josephine, Pa., and E. O. Matthews, of Porter, Tex., beside her. Papers all over the world published that picture of “the flying donkey.” The rest of the base was delighted, and the fact that another Fortress group had brought back a donkey, also named Lady Moe, didn’t matter, because only this outfit’s Lady Moe got picture space in the papers. They would feed her and scratch her ears from 11:30 to 1 o’clock when the mess hall closed and then the cooks would feed her a little more. After a while, though, some of the boys found they weren’t getting much time to eat themselves and they told Lady Moe to go away after the first tid-bit. That was the beginning of the legend. Lady Moe began to nudge gunners on the part of them that stuck over the edges of the chairs. She would nudge them twice and if she still got no response, she would sink her broad donkey’s teeth into that same portion that stuck over the edges of the chairs. If they had a Stars and Stripes stuck in their back pockets at noon chow, maybe she’d first pull that out and chew it up. Times Grow Tough As she grew in size, Lady Moe found food harder and harder to get, even at the threat of the bared front teeth. So she began to lurk quietly in the back of the mess until some unlucky gunner put his food down at a table and went off to get coffee, or maybe jam for his bread. As soon as he had left the table Moe would sprint to his place, lick the plate clean (spit-out out any knives or forks she’d gulped) and retire. Every now and then a gunner would belt his innocent neighbor when he returned and found an empty plate. But they still loved her. After a couple of months of GI living, Lady Moe began to get mail in care of Barney Ehrenreich, the PRO. [Public Relations Officer]. The mail was of the sort which would have come naturally to the gentle 50-pound little pet which had flown up from Africa. It didn’t fit in quite as well with Lady Moe, chow hound. For instance, there was the formal invitation for Lady Moe to attend an exhibit at a Leicester Square store in London under sponsorship of an organization devoted to caring for sick animals in North Africa. Lady Moe went. The show was opened by Dame Sybil Thorndike and for three days Lady Moe showed her teeth at little kids who wanted to rub her nose, chewed at the new blanket the boys had made her and generally was her own sweet self. After the exhibition, a magazine called The Little Animals’ Friend printed a story entitled “Lady Moe and Her Fairy Godmother.” It included a letter from Lady Moe to the children who read the magazine: Thank You, People. “Dear Humans: This is to thank you all for coming to meet me in London and for putting such generous donations in my box. The result of it all is that I have collected, after deducting expenses, over £350, and this money will be spent on medicines, bandages and all the needed veterinary things and sent out to my country. Well, I had a wonderful three days in Leicester Square. It was delightful being spoken to so nicely by so many people and children and to have the roots of my ears rubbed. I went back to the airdrome happily and was given a great welcome by my American friends there. Yours lovingly, (Signed) Lady Moe.” “P.S. I am letting the little lady have the last word except that I want to add my hope that the Little Animals’ Friends members as they grow older won’t throw away their belief in fairy godmothers. You may not always see them but they are all around you ready to turn ‘nothing into everything’ if you can only believe it.” The day that letter came to the base, a gunner forgot Lady Moe’s delicate little tummy only likes chewing gum in sticks ands gave her some chiclets. She kicked the hell out of him and no fairy godmother nonsense about it, either. But they still loved her. No Grass For This Ass’ is her motto; She Wants Food! Then there was the affair at London’s swank Grosvenor House. The Society for the Protection of Animals in North Africa, 96 Blandford St. W1, president, Her Grace the Duchess of Portland, was giving a ball at Grosvenor House. They invited Lady Moe. The boys in base PRO went out to get the crate they had shipped her in the last time and someone had busted it up for firewood, so they made another and sent her to London, resplendent in a new orange blanket. Lady Moe was a great success at the ball. She chewed off the orange blanket, spat the pieces on the floor, repeatedly fell off the platform when benevolent-minded dowagers tried to pet her, mussed up the place in general and took a bite at the breeches of a naïve individual who chewed gum in front of her. She was a very great success. Moe rode back on a night train. There was a party at base when she arrived at the railroad station. The baggage master had dealt with Lady Moe before, so he called the base immediately, and when he couldn’t find the PRO he called the MPs. About 3 o’clock in the morning the PRO staff had to get Lady Moe out of the guardhouse. The New Deal. About this time there came to the relationship between Lady Moe and Mess Sgt. Jasper Baker, of Jacksonville, Fla., a new deal. Group headquarters issued an order barring Lady Moe from the mess hall, and Baker heaved a reluctant (he still loved her) but relieved sigh. Moe, who had found there were three other messes besides the combat mess, tried them all. No soap. Each day, then, Lady Moe stood wistfully at the combat mess entrance. She would sigh as the gunners went in to chow and she was waiting there as they came out. She would nuzzle them gently, stirring their memories. It was very touching. Of course, if their memories had happed to forget to bring her a little sugar or maybe a piece of chicken, Moe would whirl around and kick the khaki off any stragglers. All very touching.. Moe took to playing with a pack of dogs about this time, and with Smokey, a Dalmatian owed by Col. James Travis, of Portland, Ore, the group commander, would delight in racing through mud puddles as soldiers were passing. The boys put up a tent in a grassy hollow, bought a batch of the market’s best hay. Not for Moe. She’d been sleeping in Nissen huts and she intended to continue. By this time she’d grown big as a small horse, fat, shaggy and was somewhat fragrant, and she couldn’t understand why the boys resented it when she kicked in the outside doors after they’d turned her out of the huts. She took to roaming the perimedal track late at night and as some late-working mechanic would start for his hut in the darkness, thinking maybe of home-made fudge or a spam-less world, an ungentle nose would give him a shove, a dark shape would race away in the dark and through the still night air would go a brassy braying. She Knows The PX. These days, Moe is out on what 1/Sgt. Everett Lee, of Wenatchee, Wash., describes as “DS [detached service] to the hospital, because the grass is greener.” She still gets to chow down on time and she knows what hours the PX is open. As a matter of fact, the PX is one of her favorite spots, because new gunners on the base usually can be cajoled into giving her a package of American cigarettes to chew. She’s a little brassed off at the old gunners who get tired of giving her part of their cigarette ration and started to buy her English cigarettes for chewing tobacco. Moe doesn’t like English cigarettes. Over Moe’s life there is scarcely a cloud. She is noisily happy, and maybe even she’s forgiven that precise gentleman in the British Department of Agriculture and Fisheries who threatened to make her ETO arrival unhappy last August. When Moe’s story was told, this precise individual recalled that under the Dogs and Cats Importation Order of 1928, which is naturally administered by the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries, any animal coming into the country had to be certified by a veterinary or quarantined for six months. Or something, the gunners weren’t quite sure. The precise gentleman in the D of A and F called up the Stars and Stripes and wanted to know where Moe was. He even read the Dogs and Cats Importation Order of 1928 over the phone. Somehow, no one at S&S knew where Moe’s station was, and when further inquiries were made, no one else seemed to know, either. Eventually, it seemed, the gentleman at the D of A and F must have resigned himself. Moe waxed fat without veterinary or quarantine, and no one caught any diseases from her. The other day a London newspaper carried a story that “Lady Moe, the famous donkey brought back from Africa by American airmen, is dead.” The boys were a little alarmed, but it was all right. It seemed there was another donkey named Lady Moe, at another group. She had died. But THE Lady Moe was still alive. The boys found her the very first place they looked—just outside the kitchen door at the combat mess. After Word: The Lady Moe did finally die sometime in late 1945, when the “point” system was sending everyone home. She wandered onto the railroad tracks, which ran through AAF Station 138 at Snetterton Heath, and was run down by a train. Most of her friends were back in the USA by then, so she went un-mourned by the new troops shipped in to replace the ones who had returned home. (Added by Joe J. Reichel) J Reichel Add to this record. Lyman P Collins My father-in-law, an American, Lyman P. Collins from Long Island, NY, who served at Snetterton Heath. We know he flew in a B-17 during WW11, he wasn't a pilot or co-pilot. We are looking for any information. Linda Collins Add to this record. T/Sgt. George A. Ganem 338th Bomb Squadron My father-in-law, T\Sgt George A. Ganem, was in the 96th.BG 338th.BS stationed at Snetterton Heath England. On July 10 1943 he was loaned to the crew of a Capt. Flagg on a B-17 called "Wabbit Twaks". Their target was Lebourget France. I would like any information on this mission the aircraft and the crew. The next mission my father-in-law flew, was July 28th with his own crew on their B-17 "Paper Doll". They had to ditch in the North Sea. Their B-17 floated a record amount of time allowing all crew to exit safely to their rafts. They were picked up by the Germans and spent the rest of the war in Stalag 17-B. He did not know about any ribbons he had earned on his previous mission to Lebourget France. Would like if possible any pictures of these two B-17's and their crews or medals earned or any information at all. Donald W. Will Add to this record. T/Sgt Samuel Clinton Ferrell 338th Bomb Squadron 96th Bomb Group TSgt. Samuel C. 'Sam' Ferrell graduated from Gauley Bridge High School in Gauley Bridge, West Virginia in the late 1930's. He then enrolled in the Bachelor of Arts Degree Program at the West Virginia Institute of Technology, paying $400 for his tuition and completing his degree in 1943. He was subsequently promoted to TSgt based upon his advanced education, and was assigned as a Squadron Flight Engineer on the B-17G. Sam & his crew picked-up their factory fresh B-17 from Seattle, WA, and flew it to MacDill Field, Tampa, FL for the fitting out of weapons and classified equipment. From MacDill, the crew flew overseas, but the season of the year and the route flown are unknown. Sam served at Snetterton-Heath for his entire tour. He completed all 35 combat missions, and as such made it known that he was a member of the Lucky Bastard Club. He recalled thick flak over Berlin, Regensburg, and La Havre prior to the D-Day invasion. He also related to me how the tail gunner received fatal injuries from a flak burst near the tail of the aircraft, and said "there wasn't much we could do for him..." He also related a loss of brakes upon landing from the brake de-boost valve being damaged by flak, resulting in the aircraft over-running the runway, and of trying to release a stuck 500lb. bomb over the English Channel, almost falling off of the catwalk in the process. The first aircraft received so much damage over a period of time that the attrition of damaged caused the aircraft to be cannibalized. Sam & his crew picked-up another B-17G from a ferry crew, and he completed the remainder of his tour from the UK base. Upon cessations of hostilities, Sam served as a French Interpreter, as he was fluent in 7 languages. Sam was discharged from the USAAF in 1946, but re-entered the newly-formed USAF in 1948. He served as a gunnery instructor, then entered the communications field where he served de-encrypting messages during the cold war. After receiving his 6th Honorable Discharge, he worked in crypto linguistics for an unverified branch of the U.S. Intelligence apparatus, fully retiring in 1975. He never spoke of what he did, or what he was involved with post-USAF service of 24 years. Sam was a product of southern West Virginia in his upbringing and education during the Great Depression. His father (my Grandfather) was injured in a coal mining accident in 1937, and died of those injuries 2 years later on 1 April 1939. Sam's mother was a home-maker, living to the age of 100. Sam remained single all of his life, and dedicated to his extended families. He enriched the lives of those he came in contact with, and never, ever asked for anything in return. He insured that his niece's and nephew's always had good medical and dental care, access to an education, and interactivity with others irrespective of age. He is a wonderful example of The Great Generation who grew-up with austerity, fought in a horrendous war, and worked to maintain the peace for the United States of America. TSgt. Samuel C. Ferrell Jr. passed away Christmas Day 2006 in his home in Montgomery, WV. He was 85, and is very much missed. His examples of understanding, patience, and love are facets that we all can continue to strive for, just as he did! Capt. Wm. S. Stafford Add to this record. 2Lt. Raoul Albert DeMars 339th Bomb Squadron 96th Bomb Group My father, Raoul A. De Mars, was a co-pilot in B-17s in 1944, flying out of Snetterton Heath. On this particular mission they were in a borrowed plane because their bird was in for maintenance and repair. On 11th of April 1944 their target was PoznaÅ„, Poland. Stettin, Poland was the secondary target which they were eventually directed to because of clouds and fog. They were part of the 339th Bomb Squadron, 96th Bomb Group, Third Air Division, 8th Air Force. He was awarded the Air Medal and Purple Heart. In his own words: A Time To Remember by LTC Raoul A. De Mars (Retired). "The day started ‪at 5:00 A.M.‬ when the duty clerks made the rounds and woke up the crews scheduled for a mission that day. I was the co-pilot of a B-17 in the 339th Bomb Squadron, 96th Bomb Group, Third Air Division, 8th Air Force, based at one of the multitude of Air Bases which dotted the English countryside. Our base was located at Snetterton Heath which was a rail stop in the countryside of Suffolk County. We were about thirty (30) miles from Bury Saint Edmunds and approximately 100 miles N.N.E. of London. Breakfast was great. As on all mission days, you could have as many fresh eggs as you wanted, plus bacon, ham or sausage (or all of these), and even steak and potatoes if you so desired. Days when you weren't scheduled for a mission it was dried eggs etc. Breakfast over, we went to the Briefing Room, a fairly large room with the whole of one end taken up with a huge map of Europe, including England. This map was covered with a curtain and it was a very dramatic moment when the Briefing Officer drew back the curtain and revealed what was to be the Target for Today. Today's target was Poznan, Poland, about one hundred and sixty (160) miles due east of Big B - Berlin. The lines drawn in grease pencil on the Plexiglas cover of the map elicited a lot of "Oh my God, how damn far is that?" and "Hell, we'll never make it back" comments from the crews. After a few "at ease" calls from the C.O., we were given the gist of what the long lines meant. Instead of flying over the North Sea (Denmark and the Baltic Sea), and being subjected to very little anti-craft fire and fighter attacks, we were routed over land, across the northern most tip of France, Belgium and the long haul across Germany, past Berlin and on to Poznan. This was an attempt at diversion, to make them think we were going to some other target. Weather was to be our ally, with a lot of cloud under us most of the way and clearing up slightly when we reached Poznan. If it were overcast at Poznan and our Pathfinder (Radar) Aircraft couldn't make out the primary target, we were to fly to our secondary target, Stettin, Poland, on the Oder River about forty (40) miles inland from the Baltic Sea. I'm not sure how many groups were in the force assigned to bomb Poznan, but our plan was to be part of a composite group, made up of planes from several different Squadrons and Groups within the Third Air Division. A note of explanation, a Squadron consisted of four flights of three planes each, with spare crews and planes; a Group was made up of three Squadrons and so on up the chain of command thru Wing, Division and numbered Air Force). The route we were to fly and the other factors controlling the mission, assembly, climb to altitude, rendezvous with other groups, air speed, etc. gave us an estimated time in flight, from take- off to landing at home base, of just under twelve (12) hours. This was stretching it just a bit, and asking allowance for a very small fuel reserve. We (the whole Poznan bomber force) were forced to maintain a slower than normal air speed to conserve fuel. This meant that any time we were over anti-aircraft batteries they would have a longer period of time to zero in on us, and it also meant that many of the fighter planes which came up and attacked us on our way to Poznan had ample time to return to their bases, refuel, rearm and then come back up and press their sustained attacks again on our way home from the target. We only knew one other crew in the Composite Group, Lt. John W. Ziegler and his co-pilot Joe Gold and the rest of their crew. On the first leg of the flight we ran into a few scattered areas where there was concentrated flak, but our main concern was the incessant fighter attacks which dove right thru the B-17 formation and it appeared that some of them were committed to crashing a B-17 to take it down. This caused several of the pilots to take drastic evasive action. Three of our 17's were shot down, and the one flying my left wing got a direct hit in the Bomb Bay and just disintegrated. We didn't have time to worry about it or anything, but that was the slot John Ziegler had been flying. Over Poznan the Pathfinders could not pick up the targets so we were routed to Stettin. On the way to our secondary target we had more vicious fighter attacks, and the closer we got to Stettin, the heavier the flak. We lost one engine (No. 3) over the target, and shortly after "Bombs Away" and before we had the Bomb Bay doors all the way closed, we got a near miss just below the plane, which sprung the doors and did some minor structural damage so the doors wouldn't close completely. The extra drag, and only three engines, made it impossible for us to keep up with the formation and we started falling behind. By the time we were flying over Northern Germany, headed for home VIA Denmark and the North Sea, Bethe, the pilot, and I decided we would be better off at a lower altitude as we would be able to maneuver better in the denser air (we were at about 28,000 ft. then), and if we went down to tree top level there would be less chance of ground observers or fighters spotting us. We started to let down as fast as we could, given the condition of the aircraft, when we spotted more fighters coming at us. They made several passes at us and it was on one of those passes that I got hit. They also knocked out our No. 2 engine and hit an oil line on our No. 4 engine. That left us with one good engine (No. 1) and No. 4, which was not much good, as it started to overheat almost immediately due to loss of oil. We had managed to partially feather the No. 2 engine when it went out, but No. 3 could not be feathered, so it just kept on wind milling, causing even more drag. We knew we would never make it to England and decided to head for Sweden, which was neutral. About that time I was beginning to feel kind of weak and the pain was really getting to me. Apparently the fighters had either run out of armament or were too low on fuel to press in for the kill, as they just peeled off and left. Maybe they saw the smoke from the oil leak on #4 and figured we were done for. Our crew, on this one flight, had five Nazi fighters shot down and confirmed. Bethe decided I was in no condition to keep flying co-pilot, so he ordered me back to the radio room to have Johnny put some proper bandages and some sulfa powder on my wounds and possibly give me a shot of morphine for the pain. (Up until this point I had just had a pressure bandage over my eye, which I was holding in place with my hand. The plane was extremely hard to hold on course, which we had calculated to be toward Sweden. (I say calculated because the 20 MM shell which exploded on entry over my head and wounded me had also wiped out the only compass we had left, the magnetic compass). We were flying on only the No. 1 engine now, the No. 4 engine having gotten so hot from lack of oil that it froze. We were steadily losing altitude, having come down from 28,000 ft. to just a few hundred. The crew had jettisoned everything possible, all 50 caliber machine guns, all remaining ammo, all ten parachutes, as several of them had been rendered useless by enemy fire, and every crew member elected to "ride it down all the way", though the risk of a crash landing was very great, shot up as the plane was. Anything that wasn't fastened down got thrown out, and I can still see our Bombardier, Smitty, scrambling around on his hands and knees in the nose picking up waxed paper discs about 3 inches in diameter (used in the sextant) and throwing them out. We didn't know until after we had landed that he had left the ammo belts for his nose turret in and had 800 rounds (400 each) left when we crashed. Could have killed him at the time, but it hadn't made much difference. When I went back to the radio room I had to go thru the Bomb Bay on the catwalk and I could see what the near miss had done to the Bomb Bay doors. They were very nearly closed except in the front, which were sprung open about three or four inches. I lay down on the floor in the radio room and Johnny (an ex-medic who had volunteered for gunnery school) took charge. His main duty was waist gunner, but we had not been bothered by any fighters for some time and the guns had been jettisoned, so he could tend to me. He cleaned out the wound as best he could with cold water from a canteen and poured sulfa powder in and all around the wound. Then he bandaged it and tried to give me a shot of morphine for the pain. There were at least six first-aid kits per plane and each had a small tube (with needle attached) of morphine. Johnny tried the first two kits and had no luck; one tube had leaked and had no morphine, while the other one wouldn't work when the needle broke off at the tube as he tried to open it. He quickly gathered all the other first-aid kits and tried again. One more had a broken needle and another had leaked dry. Two kits had no tubes of morphine in them (probably stolen), so I didn't get a shot. I'm glad that they weren't all that reliable, because had he been able to give me the shot, I would have been out cold when we crash landed, and being unable to run with the rest of the crew, would probably have spent the rest of the war in a POW camp. Tony Segalla, our Engineer and top turret gunner got into the co-pilot's seat as soon as I went back to the radio room. He had to help Bethe hold the plane on course by pushing on the left rudder pedal as hard as he could with both feet as the No. 1 engine was the only one still going and both No. 3 and No. 4 engines were creating so much drag by wind milling. The pressure to try and turn to the right was very difficult to overcome. From where I was sitting on the floor of the radio room I could look out of the waist windows and by rising up a little I could see that we were very, very low. About that time Bethe called over the intercom to brace ourselves, we were going to touch down. Ten, maybe only five seconds before we touched down I felt a shudder go thru the plane and thought for sure it was going to break up. We all must have been doing something right though, as the shudder was the result of striking a telephone pole about six or eight feet in from the wing tip, which slewed the plane around enough to prevent it from crashing through a farm house which had been directly in our path. At that low an altitude and that slow a speed there was no way Bethe and Tony together could have turned the aircraft without dropping a wing and cart wheeling, instead of landing level, straight ahead. Bethe did a superb job of landing that plane, a lesser pilot could have killed us all. When we touched down the weakened plane opened up just ahead of the radio room and acted like a plow. Dirt was forced up into the radio room so much that it lifted us, Johnny, Al Esler and me, about three feet. All we had to do to get out was take one step up through the open hatch and jump onto the wing and down to the ground. I will never know where they all came from, but within minutes after the plane came to rest there must have been at least six or eight people there, all trying to talk at once, and all trying to tell us what to do. We couldn't understand the language and as more people showed up, a man who identified himself as a Canadian, who was working with the underground, came and told us what we should do. We were to cross a ditch between the field we had landed in and the one next to it, which had been plowed. Then we were to run about 300 yards to a small stand of trees, which were back across the ditch. We ran, I mean RAN as we were told, and as we went down the plowed field, Johann Nessin came behind us with a harrow and wiped out our tracks. The trees were very dense and with so much undergrowth that we had to crawl in on our hands and knees. When we got to the center of the woods, at least as close to the center as we could judge, we just lay down and stayed quiet. This little stand of trees and underbrush could not have been more than a couple of hundred feet in diameter. There were a few spots in the middle where some of the crew could sit up, but most had to lie down. Mr. Nessin came past with his harrow and told us to stay quiet as they could hear the Nazis coming. He gave us a password, which I wish I could remember but can't, and said he would be back after dark when the Germans were gone and tell us what their (the underground) plans were for us. Very shortly we heard the Nazis over by the plane questioning the Danes. We couldn't understand them but were sure they were trying to find out what happened to us. We found out later that the Danes told them we were gone when they got there. They even told them they had heard another plane and maybe it had picked us up. It wasn't very long before the Nazis, who were all older non-combat types of the occupation army, were at the edges of the woods, looking for some clue as to whether or not we were in there. About this time, Smitty, the Bombardier got out his pocket knife and started to cut a small branch off the tree he was lying under, as it was brushing his face. The whole damn tree was shaking, no noise, just movement, but if all the Nazis hadn't been probing around the edges they would surely have seen it waving. Tony reached over and grabbed Smitty's wrist to make him stop. He really got the point across, because Smitty complained of a sore wrist for days. Looking back on it, none of us were surprised that Smitty would do such a stupid thing; after all, hadn't he been throwing out paper discs to lighten the aircraft and then left 400 rounds in each of his nose guns? The Nazis finally tired of poking around the edges and left. I don't blame them for not entering the woods - I don't think I would have if there was a possibility of there being ten armed men in there. We stayed as still and quiet as possible until dark when it was safe to move around a little. It was getting colder with darkness, and lying on the ground wasn't helping any. I thought I would freeze. I started shivering and Stan Mrozak and Hy Juskowitz crawled over and lay as close to me as they could to warm me up. They thought I was going into shock, but I wasn't. I was just cold (I think). We took off all of our insignia and all identification except our dog tags and buried it. (It may still be there). It seemed like an eternity and we were beginning to speculate as to what could have happened that would stop the Danes from coming back. Nessin and two other men came to us about midnight and led us to his farm, where we went up into a hayloft. It was a welcome change - hay to lie on and a lot warmer than the cold ground. Soon we were brought something to eat and drink, and though I can't remember what it was, I do remember thinking it was the best food I had ever eaten. It had only been about 24 hours since breakfast the day before, but what a long 24 hours. They told us they were sure the Nazis would be conducting a building by building search of the area in the morning, so we would have to be moved before daylight. Plans had been made to move us in a truck, piled with straw, but as yet they didn't know where. They told us to try and rest for a few hours and they would be back for us before dawn. We were all far too nervous and scared to sleep, especially our navigator, Hy. His full name was Hyaan J. Juskowitz and the fact that he was Jewish caused him great concern, as it was well known how the Nazis treated the Jews. We still had our side arms and Hy vowed they would not capture him alive. In a short while that seemed endless to us we heard a truck stop in front of the barn and Mr. Nessin called for us to come down, and hurry. We all went out by the truck and were told then that we would be taken to Copenhagen. We were to be staying in an apartment on the top floor of the apartment building which, I think, was ten or twelve stories high. We climbed into the back of the truck and were covered with straw. I don't know how far we were from Copenhagen, but it couldn't have been far as it seemed to be a short trip under the straw. The truck stopped several times and each time I thought it was Nazi patrols wanting to search, but it must have been only stop signs as we immediately started again each time. Finally the truck stopped and we heard the door open and the driver (I never did know his name), told us to get down from the truck, one at a time. The truck was parked on the side of the street next to an alley and they guided us, one by one, into an elevator which was being held on the basement level. When we were all in the elevator they took us to the top floor and went into the apartment of one Tom Robert Jensen and his wife. He was very active in the underground and was later caught by the Gestapo and killed. I don't remember for sure whether we stayed in the apartment for two, three or four days, but I do remember we were treated like royalty. We had to be very quiet, walk around in our stocking feet, talk in whispers and only go to the toilet before they left in the morning or after they came home in the evening. Neighbors might wonder who was in the apartment and call the police. Food for a mob like that was sure to be a problem, or so we thought. They brought hot meals for us in the evening and we had ample supplies of sandwiches and drinks during the day. I don't know where they found it, but they even brought us a small American flag on a stand and American cigarettes. We all crowded around the radio in the evening and listened to the BBC (British Broadcasting Corp.) news of the war. We also listened to the English broadcast of "Lord Haw Haw" from Berlin Radio. Lord Haw Haw, as he was called, was British and had gone over to the Nazi cause. He broadcast propaganda beamed at Allied troops and obviously had quite a few spies in England. To digress a bit, I recall one night several weeks before being shot down when the crowd at the Officer's Club was larger than usual, as the next day was a "stand down" and no mission was scheduled. It was time for the Berlin Radio and Lord Haw Haw, so nearly everybody got quiet so we could hear. Well, he gave his usual spiel about how well the Axis powers were doing and how badly the Allies were doing and what terrible losses the Air Force was sustaining. We didn't believe it all but it did have a sobering effect. Then something that left most of those present in total disbelief. He said "A bit of advice for you chaps of the 96th Bomb group. I know you don't have anything on for tomorrow, but if you want to be on time for your next mission, the clock over the bar should be reset. It is now five minutes slow". All eyes went to the clock, then wrist watches and back to the clock. Sure as hell, it was five minutes slow. How much else did they know? Scary. As I have said, I am not sure how long we stayed in the apartment in Copenhagen. You could figure it out from the date on the Visa from Sweden which is in my scrap book, as that date was the day after we left Copenhagen. On the evening we were to leave Copenhagen, they told us we should be ready on a moment's notice, as they were not positive about exactly what time the truck would be there to pick us up. Nazi patrols had a habit of arbitrarily stopping any truck to inspect the cargo and it's driver's papers, so we had to expect that this might happen. It didn't, and when the truck arrived sometime after dark we all went down in the elevator to the same building entrance we had used before. We were sent out to the truck one at a time and each of us was put in what must have been tanks for carrying fish. They were about 2 1/2 feet wide, 3 1/2 feet deep and 3 1/2 feet long. They were made of fairly heavy gauge steel and each one had a cover. There was no fish odor but I couldn't think of anything else they could have been used for and when we arrived at our next stop on "The Underground Railroad", it more or less confirmed our suspicions; it was a small fishing village on the coast of Denmark, across from Sweden. We were taken to an Inn of some sort where they once more fed us. They also had a Doctor there who checked my wound, cleaned it up again and put on new bandages. The Doctor had the highest praise for the job Johnny had done cleaning, treating and bandaging me up. He (the Doctor) did not speak English, and I had the devil of a time convincing him that I had had a tetanus shot not more than six weeks ago and didn't need one now. We sat around waiting for the rest of the night until just before dawn. We were to be put on board a fishing boat which was to rendezvous with another fishing boat from Sweden. Finally it was time to leave and we were all taken outside, down a short street and told to crouch down behind a kind of sea wall about three feet high. "Don't make a sound." We heard footsteps and peering over the wall could see, a few feet away, a Nazi soldier walking on patrol. He went a short way past our position did an about face and marched back the way he had cone. When he was out of sight two of us at a time went over the wall and ran to the boat, where we were put into the small cabin. Each time the patrol marched to the other end of his beat two more of our crew made it to the boat. Five times, and each time the tension was so high as to be almost unbearable. It must have been far worse for those poor Danes than it was for us, for if they had been caught they would have been shot, whereas we would only have been taken prisoner. Almost immediately, the "crew" of the boat came down the street, talking and laughing as if this was just another fishing day. They walked over to the boat, and even stopped on the way to give the patrol a light. It seems he had run out of matches very soon after going on duty. The boat crew came aboard and without any fanfare set out for the rendezvous. This was a very ticklish operation as Denmark was an occupied country and Sweden was neutral, and the territorial waters of each country met in a well defined line between the two. German patrol boats were operating in the area and would fire on any Danish boat going into Swedish waters or stop and search any Swedish boat in Danish waters, but the rigid discipline of the Nazi armed forces worked in our favor. Their patrols were so regular you could set your watch by them, and the Danes and Swedes had the rendezvous timed to coincide with a period of time when there would be no patrols in the area. They shoved off the dock and we were on our way to Sweden and safety. It seemed an eternity before they cut the engine back to idle, and we thought we must be close to the Swedish boat but it was a patrol boat checking out our boat. They just wanted to know what boat it was and make sure it was authorized to be out. The skipper of our boat knew and was known by all the patrol boat crews so they didn't bother to come aboard, or even get very close. We were all glad they didn't or we were all set to go over the side and hold onto a handrail that had been added to the side of the boat just below the water line. It was not yet quite full daylight, and the skipper told us later that had it been light the patrol probably would not have questioned them at all. We started moving again and before long we were out of sight of the patrol boat. We changed course and before very long we spotted the Swedish boat, apparently just sitting waiting for us. The skipper pulled alongside and we were told to GO. As fast as we could we jumped into the Swedish boat and hid below the rail. In a matter of seconds the two boats separated and we were in Swedish territorial waters and safe. I don't remember how long it took us to get to Malmo, but that made no difference, we were safe. As soon as we landed we were met by the American Consulate, who arranged for the Swedish Visas for each of us. Almost immediately they took me to the hospital to check out how serious my eye wound was. Bathe and the rest of the crew were taken to temporary quarters, as they were to go to Stockholm the next day. When I got to the hospital they cleaned me up and I was admitted. The Chief of Surgery told me (thru an interpreter) that they would have to operate on my eye to remove shell fragments in the eyeball and to repair the damage done to my eyelids. Also, some stitches had to be taken in a small laceration in my right cheek just below the eye. (This was where a shell fragment had entered and gone down thru the roof of my mouth and broke my upper plate, which they also fixed). Bethe and the rest of the crew came by to tell me they were leaving for Stockholm ‪around noon‬ and told me where they would be staying. They didn't know and, because of security, couldn't find out when there would be a flight to England, so they didn't know whether or not I would get out of the hospital in time to catch up with them. They operated on my eye the next day and that was a weird experience. The doctor used a local anesthetic and I could see everything he did. It was kind of scary lying there and watching the instruments get closer and closer, but there was no pain at all and all I could feel was a slight pressure as he took the pieces of 20 MM out of my eyeball and sewed up my eyelid and cheek. It didn't take very long and I was pleasantly surprised that there was relatively little pain as the anesthetic wore off, just a slight discomfort. The doctor that did the surgery told me there was very little damage to the eyeball and if there was any change in my vision it would be almost unnoticeable. He also told me that the first-aid (Johnny's cleaning, sulfa powder and bandaging) had in all probability saved the eye from infection and possible loss of the eye. Thanks again, Johnny. The doctor told me he didn't think there would be any complications but was going to keep me for a couple of days to make sure. He was great. He came to visit me several times a day and we had some interesting talks. He told me there were only a few of the staff at the hospital who spoke English and he enjoyed talking to an American. I told him it was a mutual feeling, as it was difficult to communicate with the nurses in sign language. He also told me a bit about Sweden and the socialized society. For instance, the Chief Surgeon at the hospital was not earning as much as I was as a 2nd Lieutenant. Taxes were very high also, but their standard of living was also very high. He seemed to have few complaints about the system. I don't remember how many days I was in the hospital at Malmo. On the day I was released Lt. King from the Air Attache's office picked me up and took me to the train for my trip to Stockholm. Some train. I went first-class coach and it was really first-class; huge windows and a swivel recliner at each window. There was a diner car on the train, and the waiters all spoke English, as well as French and German and, of course, Swedish. One of them told me, when I asked, that most people in any way employed in the tourist endeavors; transportation, lodging, restaurants, etc. spoke several languages. It was about 300 to 350 miles from Malmo to Stockholm and we made very good time. It seemed to me that the train was going very fast, though 1t was one of the smoothest train rides I had ever had. Bethe and the rest of the crew met me at the station and took me back to the hotel where they were staying, the Continental. It was a very nice hotel and I really enjoyed the three or four days I spent there. Only one mishap, which I probably shouldn't mention. The first time I went into the bathroom I made the mistake of using the bidet instead of the commode and got the surprise of my life when I flushed it. They took me shopping for clothes the next day, which the Air Force paid for, and I got everything from skin out; underwear, socks, two shirts, shoes, necktie, suit and a topcoat. I also got shaving gear, including a mug and brush. The clothes I turned over to the Air Force when I got back to our base but I still have the shaving brush, which is pure badger bristle and cost $9.00 even then. I don't know why it was so expensive. It was just luck, fate or something that the rest of the crew was still in Stockholm. They had left on a flight for Scotland the day before I got there, but foul weather and unexpected head winds over the North Sea forced the plane to turn back. The flight was re-scheduled and we were taken out to the airport late in the afternoon. The plane we were to be going in was a B-24 Bomber, which had been modified to carry people instead of bombs. A platform had been built in the Bomb Bay with four benches the length of the bay, one on each side and two back to back in the middle. The Bomb Bay doors on the B-24 opened by rolling up along the inside of the fuselage (like a roll top desk), and we got in thru a trap door in the platform. Our crew was not the only passengers, as there were a lot of Jewish refugees who had made their way thru Denmark to Sweden, and also quite a few Norwegians. Norway was occupied by the Nazis and for some reason they were far more lenient with the Danes than the Norwegians. We took off just before dark, and there were so many passengers in the plane that a few of them had to move to the nose of the plane so it could keep the nose wheel on the ground to taxi to take-off position. By holding the brakes on and using about half throttle the pilot could hold the nose down while the passengers could make their way back to the rear of the plane. When we were airborne we immediately started climbing, as we had to get high enough to clear the mountains in Norway. We also had to take a longer than as the crow flies route to avoid anti-aircraft guns and the fighters based in Norway. It was cold - there was no heat in the Bomb Bay and a frail old man from Norway (he told us he was 78) was in a very bad way. Several of us gave him some of our extra clothes but he couldn't seem to get warm at all. His fingernails started to turn blue and we were afraid he was going to die. Again Bethe proved his worth, he figured that the plane crew would have hot coffee so he crawled up to the pilot's compartment, told them of the old man's predicament, and came back with a thermos full of hot coffee. We gave some to the poor fellow and in a matter of minutes he was O.K. He stopped shaking and the color in his hands came back. The rest of the coffee was given to several other people who seemed to be in the greatest need for it. After we landed, the pilot told us that he would personally see to it that any future flights would have the hot coffee available. He couldn't promise cream and sugar, as they were rationed, but the important thing was the hot drink. I think it saved the old man's life. We landed at a field in Scotland and our crew were the first ones out of the plane. I stood beside the plane and counted them as they came out, and there were 78 passengers and a crew of four, including our crew of ten. That made 82 people on that B-24. I still find it hard to believe. We were taken in hand by boys of G-2 (Intelligence - it was still the Army Air Corps then) and delivered to ‪63 Brook Street. London‬ for de-briefing. We figured it wouldn't take long and were anxious to get out and explore London. What a surprise we were in for. We were restricted to the premises until further notice and informed that the de-briefing would start in the morning. It lasted for several days; they interrogated us individually, in two's and three's and then as a complete crew. We were rather unique, being one of the very few crews who escaped from enemy territory as a complete crew during the war. They wanted to know about everything, and I mean everything we saw or heard while in Denmark. One thing that made us feel that we had a pretty good intelligence force was this; when we told them about the crash landing, and the Canadian who was there with the Danes, they said "oh yes, that would be "so and so" naming him. I can't remember his name now, but we knew it then. After the first few days our restriction was lifted and we were given passes to go out on the town, London. The whole crew went together and were seeing the sights when one of the crew (I don't remember which one) let out a yell. "It can't be". Almost simultaneously we heard a yell from up the street. We all turned to look and all hell broke loose. It was Lt. John W. Ziegler's crew - every last one of them, safe and sound. We were so sure that theirs had been the plane on my left wing which got the direct hit and exploded. What happened was that in some of the violent maneuvering to avoid the German fighters, several planes in the group had rejoined formation in different positions. John's crew saw us drop behind, and when we didn't make it home, they were sure we were either dead or captured. Needless to say, we were twenty happy guys and had quite a celebration that night. (Sadly, Lt. Ziegler's B17 collided with another plane on 27th of May 1944 and all crew were killed). After a few sightseeing tours we were sent back to our base to get our personal belongings before being returned to the States. As escapees or evadees we were placed in what was called category "R", which meant we were restricted from any more combat flying. Having been in enemy territory, if we were shot down and captured we could have been shot as spies. Good news, we all wanted to go home. Lady luck had sailed on us so many times in the past little while and nobody can have good luck forever. We chose to fly a war-weary B-17 back to the States for modification and our first stop was Prestwick, Scotland, where we were to pick up the B-17, and took off for Reykjavik, Iceland, which was the only stop we would make before landing at La Guardia in New York. The ground crew asked us if we had any scotch (I guess every war-weary crew that came through had the same idea) and told us we would have all our baggage checked by customs when we landed and would have to pay duty on each bottle. They also told us that the plane would be parked in a special area reserved for the Air Corps. Well, before we took off from Reykjavik, we hid bottles of scotch all over that plane. The majority of it was wrapped in our wool socks and placed in between the braces of the partially lowered flaps. Then the flaps were raised completely and we were ready to go. Not being able to lower the flaps 30 degrees (which was standard take-off procedure) we held the brakes until we had almost full power on and the plane just kind of leaped down the runway. No problem. We were airborne with a third of the runway left. We had an uneventful flight to La Guardia, all be it peppered with smart remarks about being sure to make a no-flap landing or that would be the first time in history it had ever rained scotch on New York. All went well on the no flap landing, and after checking in thru customs, we went back down the field to the Air Corps area and retrieved our scotch. We were all sent to a processing center to be given new assignments stateside, said lengthy and emotional good-byes to each other, and were truly on our way home. Raoul A. DeMars Jr. Add to this record. Sgt. William Francis Brinley 338th Bomb Squadron 96th Bomb Group (H) Bill Brinley enlisted on 3rd of October 1942 in the USAAF. After completing gunnery training, he was stationed at Snetterton, England with the 338th BS, 96th BG (H). He was a waist gunner on the B-17G #42-102475. On 27th of May 1944, while flying in formation, another B-17 was attempting to avoid flack when the two planes collided. Bill's B-17 split in two over Germany. He was able to exit the plane along with another crew member and deploy his parachute. He was captured and eventually taken to Stalag Luft IV. This is where he remained during the rest of the war. Daryll Morgan Add to this record. T/Sgt. Joseph Amana 339th Squadron 96th Bomb Group (d.7th May 1944) T/Sgt Joseph Amanna was assigned to the 96th Bomb Group, 339th Squadron, and, when a staff sergeant, was the right waist gunner on B-17F Rikki Tikki Tavi #42-3324, coded QJ-H, flying from Station 138, Snetterton Heath Airbase near Attleborough, England. He was promoted to Tech Sergeant after completing a number of missions, and on the May 7th mission when he was killed, he was the radio operator of the Fortress. The pilot's name was Lt. Neil H. Behrens. The complete crew who flew with my uncle on the fateful day was as follows: Pilot 2/Lt Neil H. Behrens. PoW Co Pilot 2/Lt Gordon N Spring. Killed Navigator 2/Lt Robert A. Dulaney. Killed Bombardier 2/Lt Thomas J. McRae. Killed Radio T/Sgt Joseph J. Amanna. Killed Eng. T/sgt Carrol W. Taylor. PoW Ball Turret S/Sgt Joseph R. Neuhuettler. Killed Waist Gunner S/Sgt Dinno Armanini. Killed Waist Gunner S/Sgt Willis A. Bryant. Killed Tail Gunner S/Sgt Charles E. Douglas. Killed The Missing Air Crew Report #4565, and the accounts of the pilot, Lt. Behrens, and the engineer, T/Sgt Taylor, provide the following account of the mission: 7th of May 1944 had brought a milestone in combat for the 8th. For the first time the significant figure of 1,000 bombers (B-17s and B-24s) was dispatched for missions. The main target for this mission was a day attack on Berlin. Despite problems with the valves of the Tokio tank, which had frozen, the Rikki Tikki Tavi had completed its' mission and successfully released its bombs over Berlin. On returning from the target, the pilot reduced the altitude in an attempt to defrost the hydraulic fluid, which operates the valves to the Tokio Tanks, which had frozen up making it impossible for the crew to obtain the fuel in the tokio tanks. The official army accident reports states that three of the engines failed. Basically, the plane ran out of gas just after it left the target, because of the hydraulics failure. Lt. Neil Behrens, the pilot, crawled back to the bomb bay area to try to adjust it. He was unable to open the valve. After getting to lower altitude, the pilot gave orders to bail out. The navigator and Sgt Taylor were the first out. Lt. Neil Behrens, the pilot, jumped separately and by his account was thrown out of the bomb bay doors from the extreme G forces. After their jumps the plane sustained a direct hit by flak, exploded and crashed. Only Lt. Behrens and Sgt Taylor survived. Louis Badolato Add to this record. TSgt. George F. Harrington 96th Bomber Group 337th Bomber Squadron (d.21st May 1943) George Harrington enlisted in the US Army Air Corps on 9th of January 1942 in San Francisco, CA. He said that he was born in 1920 and had 3 years of high school education. He was 6'1" tall and weighed 179 pounds. A Technical Sergeant assigned to the 337th Bomber Squadron, 96th Bomber Group (a heavy B-17 squadron) based at USAAF Snetterton Heath in England. A top-turret gunner, he was declared missing on 21st of May 1943 in B-17 Flying Fortress 42-29734 on an Operation to Emden. The 10 crew were all killed in Action when shot up by an enemy aircraft, the damaged wing fell off as the aircraft hit North Sea 70 miles off the Frisian Islands, noted in Missing Air Crew Report 3685. The crew were: Capt Gil Stephenson, Co-pilot Don Aulenbach, Navigator Gene McGowen, Bombardier Bob Grover, Flight engineer/top turret gunner (washed up Spiekeroog Island on 7th of June 1943) George Harrington, Radio Operator Harry McGillivray, Ball turret gunner Don Manchester, Waist gunner Joe Bartgis, Waist gunner Don Seigling, Tail gunner John Haught Michael Miller Add to this record. Cpl. Francisco Xavier Jacques 338th Squadron 96th Bomb Group Francisco Jacques, my father, entered the military in Abilene, Texas on 18 August 18 1942. He was first trained for B-17 squadron service in Pyote, Texas at the Rattlesnake Base. He was then transferred for further training in Pocatello, Idaho before being transferred by train to New Jersey and then shipped on the Queen Elizabeth to England. He was stationed at Snetterton Heath base for the 8th Army Air Force, 96th Bomb Group, 338th Squadron. His discharge papers incorrectly state that he was in the 805th squadron. Francisco was a waist-gunner and was injured on his sixth mission over Germany. Anti-aircraft damaged the oxygen hoses, and his lungs were traumatized while waiting for the damaged B-17 to return to home base in England. He was hospitalized for a few weeks and then returned to duty on the ground crew. After 6th of June 1944, he served in Europe (France, Belgium, and Germany). He was at one time ranked as a sergeant, but he was reduced to corporal for some minor violation. In 1945 after the war, Francisco was shipped to New York on the Queen Mary, and he then made his way to Camp Fannin in Tyler, Texas where he was discharged on 5th of October 1945. Hiram Jacques Add to this record. Edward Christopher Quigley SSM. My father, Edward Quigley, joined up the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor along with his brothers Johnny and Marty. His father, John Denis Quigley was a WWI US Navy veteran and already retired was also called back to serve. My father was sent to Snetterton Heath with the 8th Air Force. He was a navigator and a bombardier on the 'Little Caesar'. He was severely wounded on a bombing run, but didn't tell the rest of the crew until their return to base. He received the Silver Star for gallantry and a Purple Heart. The next day the 'Little Caesar' was lost with all its crew. After the war, my father stayed in the military, joining the newly created US Air Force. He went on to serve in Korea and Vietnam. He retired a Lt. Colonel. Kathleen Banks Add to this record. 2nd Lt. James Nicklos Hentges 338th Bomb Squadron 96th Bomb Group My grandfather Jim Hentges was a 2nd Lt./Flight Officer and bombardier in WWII. He was born on 9th December 1923 in LeMars, Iowa, and had two brothers and one sister. At some point during his childhood, his family to Orange County, California, where he graduated from Santa Ana High School. He enlisted with the US Army Air Corps on 11 December 1942, just two days after his 18th birthday, in Santa Ana, California. He did his preliminary training at the Santa Ana Army Air Base. His brother, William Hentges, Jr. joined the Navy and was a Seaman, 1st Class, assigned to an Amphibious Branch and stationed somewhere in the South Pacific. I am told that my grandfather completed his bombardier training at Deming Army Air Field, in Deming, New Mexico and graduated with the Class of 44-08. I was given two photos of my grandfather by my father and was told that the plane in the photos was a training aircraft assigned to the Ardmore Army Air Field, in Ardmore, Oklahoma, which was a four engine aircraft training base. Here is information I received about the aircraft that is reportedly the one in the photos my dad gave me (I don’t know if my grandfather was at any of the following locations during his training): Aircraft delivered to Cheyenne AAF, Wyoming on 23/02/1944 To Great Falls AAB in Montana on 26/02/1944 Back to Cheyenne on 02/03/1944 To 222 BU Ardmore on 30/08/1944 To 332 BU Ardmore on 19/06/1945 To 370 BU Sheppard AFB in Texas on 19/06/1945 Back to 332 BU in Ardmore on 26/02/1945 Sold to the Reconstruction Finance Corp. on 24/08/1945 and scrapped at Walnut Ridge AFB, Arkansas My grandfather told my dad that they flew their planes to England, stopping in Greenland to re-fuel. He said that was the quickest route to get there. On 2 October 1944, he was assigned to the 338th Bombardment Squadron, 96th Bombardment Group (Heavy), 3rd Bombardment Division, 45th Combat Bomb Wing, 8th Air Force and stationed at Snetterton Heath Air Field (AAF Stn: 138-ETG, RCL: BX-A), known as the ‘Snetterton Falcons’ and home to everyone’s favorite mascot, Lady Moe the donkey. I have been unable to locate information on his first 6 missions. But I do have some information on his 7th mission, which was his last. He was the bombardier on B-17G-90-BO, a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress (airplane #43-38644, nicknamed “Green Weenie”). The winter of 1944-45 was the coldest on record in 54 years. Their target on 5 December 1944 was an ordnance plant located in Berlin, Germany. The weather was not good. With low clouds making visibility nearly impossible, and strong, changing wind gusts, it would be dangerous and difficult. Dangerous because they needed to fly lower and get under the clouds to get a good visual of their target, and, with the changing wind and weather, difficult to calculate the precise time to drop the bomb load on the specified target. Don’t forget the hours-long flight, the tiny, cramped spaces, and crews battling exhaustion and fatigue and having to wear electric suits that at times would malfunction and catch fire. Heated gloves, if removed to help a crewman in trouble or to pull a ripcord, could mean the loss of fingers due to frostbite. And hard, heavy metal helmets that moved all around and were a struggle to keep on, and that were supposed to help your protect your head in case a bomb hits and blasts apart the aircraft, but in reality were more like a big bullet because when the blast hit, the helmet flew off your head and shot through the aircraft, leaving nothing in its wake. Don’t forget the very important, big, bulky oxygen masks. The warplanes were not like the modern ones of today. They weren’t equipped with pressurized cabins. Those masks were a lifeline, and one little leak or a few too many minutes trying to outrun the enemy’s fire could cause you not to have enough oxygen left to complete your mission and get back to base. Dizziness, confusion, panic, and paranoia would then set in - almost always a death sentence for all aboard. No wonder the loss of life was so great. The odds kept stacking against them. With each new mission, the odds of being able to complete the mission and make it back to base uninjured and alive became slimmer. Based on eyewitness accounts and crew statements, my grandfather’s flight was at about 28,000 feet over their target when they started taking on lots of flak. I assume that most or all of their bomb-load was had already been dropped because somehow they were hit by flak that came in through the open bomb-bay doors and started a fire. I read that if planes were hit with full loads they would explode upon being struck, with no chance of survival. My grandfather told my dad that flak shrapnel went straight through the plane. It caused a small fire, but they quickly put it out. But by then they were also taking on enemy fire from three German ME-109s. That’s when they got hit. They lost one engine, then two. My grandfather said they were down to one engine when they bailed out. One eyewitness stated that my grandfather’s aircraft was able to shoot down one of the ME-109s before he lost sight of the plane and its crew. Eyewitness and crew reports agree that when first hit, the aircraft appeared to be out of control. But then the pilot, David Monroe, managed somehow to regain control of the aircraft and took it straight up into the thick, dark clouds. The same clouds that once caused them danger and difficulty now provided them safety and protection from the remaining two ME-109s. All ten crew members of my grandfather’s B-17 were able to bail out and land safely, with no one suffering from any major injuries. When asked months later, one crewman stated that the Green Weenie’s crash site was about 30 miles from Berlin, Germany. They were quickly captured by German soldiers southeast of Parchim, Germany, and taken to a POW camp called Stalag Luft 1- North 3, in Barth, Germany. Four days later, on 9 December 1944, my grandfather spent his 21st birthday (most likely in solitary confinement) awaiting interrogation by the Germans, as was customary for new prisoners. I have read that they could be in the interrogation rooms for a week to a month, or for some even longer. The Germans would try just about anything to get the men to talk. I recently read about the conditions of Stalag Luft 1, where my grandfather and his crew were held. There were only two latrines for 2,500 men. Toward the end of the war, they received only one bowl of soup (that was mostly water) and a piece of bread per day. Bunks, if they can be called that, were so low that you couldn’t sit up on them and were stacked four high. They were each furnished with a straw-stuffed bedroll. Maybe there was a thin blanket, but never a pillow. I read that POWs called them mortuary slabs, because that’s about what they looked like. My grandfather was one of the lucky ones since he was assigned to the officers’ section, the ‘better’ section. I can’t even begin to think what the other sections must have been like. The American commander of their barracks in the North 3 section was WWII fighter ace, Francis ‘Gabby’ Gabrowski. My grandfather told my dad he was in the same barracks with Gabby and that he was loud and arrogant as all hell! They were finally liberated by the Russians and released on 30 April 1945. He and his crew touched US soil on 2 June 1945. Most of them, like my grandfather, had jobs to do, families to raise, and just didn’t speak much of their time in the war. My grandpa married my grandmother, Helen Louise (Mitchell-St. Clair) Hentges in 1956. From a previous marriage, she had a son, my father (Michael St. Clair, born July 4, 1947), whom my grandfather raised as his own son. My dad never really knew his real dad, (Walter James St. Clair, also a WWII US Army Air Force veteran), because he and my grandma divorced soon after my dad was born. By the time I tracked him down, he had already passed away. My dad is an Air Force veteran as well, and served in Vietnam. I was born at Eglin AFB in Okaloosa County, Florida. Three weeks after my birth, my mom brought us to California, where my dad joined us after being discharged from the service. My grandpa Hentges was a wonderful grandfather! He took us fishing, horseback riding, took us to the pizza parlor and gave us pennies to ride the mechanical horse! He even met us drive his work van (well, we got to steer the van while he worked the pedals, but to us we were driving)! He would also take us to lunch at the Chino Airport in California, where we’d watch the planes land and take off. It was so much fun! My father also took us to Chino Airport, and to the Planes of Fame Museum next door to see the B-17 ‘Piccadilly Lilly II’, the big plane like the one our grandpa flew. I have been able to share the same experience with my own kids. We now have a third-generation picture of my kids in front of the same B-17, ‘Piccadilly Lilly II’. My son liked the museum so much he asked to go again, and we took a group of his friends there for his birthday, many moons ago! My grandfather passed away on Father’s Day, 15 June 1980. I was only 8 years old. We were very close. I didn’t understand. I never had someone close to me die before. It’s hard to understand that there will be no more hugs, or fun trips, or even just the sound of his voice. I’ll never get to hear his story, in his own words. His story IS history. I want to give him and all the other men and women who served the honor, the respect, and the chance to perhaps find closure, to heal old wounds, or to find answers to the unknown fate of some of the others who served. To my grandfather James N. Hentges and ALL veterans: Thank you for your service, your love, your honor and dedication to preserving the freedoms of our great countries. May God watch over you and guide you, and may He bless each and every one of you. To those who gave all and made the ultimate sacrifice, please know we have not forgotten. We will continue to preserve history and share in the memories of your lives with future generations to come. Thank you for your service. May you forever rest in peace. Melanie Watson Add to this record. F/O. James Nicholas Hentges 338th Bombardment Sqdn. 96th Bombardment Group My grandfather Jim was a 2nd Lt./Flight Officer and bombardier in WWII. He was born on 9 December 1923 in LeMars, Iowa, and had two brothers and one sister. At some point during his childhood, his family to Orange County, California, where he graduated from Santa Ana High School. He enlisted with the US Army Air Corps on 11 December 1942, just two days after his 18th birthday, in Santa Ana, California. He did his preliminary training at the Santa Ana Army Air Base. His brother, William Hentges, Jr. joined the Navy and was a Seaman, 1st Class, assigned to an Amphibious Branch and stationed somewhere in the South Pacific. I am told that my grandfather completed his bombardier training at Deming Army Air Field, in Deming, New Mexico and graduated with the Class of 44-08. I was given two photos of my grandfather by my father and was told that the plane in the photos was a training aircraft assigned to the Ardmore Army Air Field, in Ardmore, Oklahoma, which was a four engine aircraft training base. Here is information I received about the aircraft that is reportedly the one in the photos my dad gave me (I don’t know if my grandfather was at any of the following locations during his training): Aircraft delivered to Cheyenne AAF, Wyoming on 23/02/1944 To Great Falls AAB in Montana on 26/02/1944 Back to Cheyenne on 02/03/1944 To 222 BU Ardmore on 30/08/1944 To 332 BU Ardmore on 19/06/1945 To 370 BU Sheppard AFB in Texas on 19/06/1945 Back to 332 BU in Ardmore on 26/02/1945 Sold to the Reconstruction Finance Corp. on 24/08/1945 and scrapped at Walnut Ridge AFB, Arkansas My grandfather told my dad that they flew their planes to England, stopping in Greenland to re-fuel. He said that was the quickest route to get there. On 2 October 1944, he was assigned to the 338th Bombardment Squadron, 96th Bombardment Group (Heavy), 3rd Bombardment Division, 45th Combat Bomb Wing, 8th Air Force and stationed at Snetterton Heath Air Field (AAF Stn: 138-ETG, RCL: BX-A), known as the ‘Snetterton Falcons’ and home to everyone’s favorite mascot, Lady Moe the donkey. I have been unable to locate information on his first 6 missions. But I do have some information on his 7th mission, which was his last. He was the bombardier on B-17G-90-BO, a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress (airplane #43-38644, nicknamed “Green Weenie”). The winter of 1944-45 was the coldest on record in 54 years. Their target on 5 December 1944 was an ordnance plant located in Berlin, Germany. The weather was not good. With low clouds making visibility nearly impossible, and strong, changing wind gusts, it would be dangerous and difficult. Dangerous because they needed to fly lower and get under the clouds to get a good visual of their target, and, with the changing wind and weather, difficult to calculate the precise time to drop the bomb load on the specified target. Don’t forget the hours-long flight, the tiny, cramped spaces, and crews battling exhaustion and fatigue and having to wear electric suits that at times would malfunction and catch fire. Heated gloves, if removed to help a crewman in trouble or to pull a ripcord, could mean the loss of fingers due to frostbite. And hard, heavy metal helmets that moved all around and were a struggle to keep on, and that were supposed to help your protect your head in case a bomb hits and blasts apart the aircraft, but in reality were more like a big bullet because when the blast hit, the helmet flew off your head and shot through the aircraft, leaving nothing in its wake. Don’t forget the very important, big, bulky oxygen masks. The warplanes were not like the modern ones of today. They weren’t equipped with pressurized cabins. Those masks were a lifeline, and one little leak or a few too many minutes trying to outrun the enemy’s fire could cause you not to have enough oxygen left to complete your mission and get back to base. Dizziness, confusion, panic, and paranoia would then set in - almost always a death sentence for all aboard. No wonder the loss of life was so great. The odds kept stacking against them. With each new mission, the odds of being able to complete the mission and make it back to base uninjured and alive became slimmer. Based on eyewitness accounts and crew statements, my grandfather’s flight was at about 28,000 feet over their target when they started taking on lots of flak. I assume that most or all of their bomb-load was had already been dropped because somehow they were hit by flak that came in through the open bomb-bay doors and started a fire. I read that if planes were hit with full loads they would explode upon being struck, with no chance of survival. My grandfather told my dad that flak shrapnel went straight through the plane. It caused a small fire, but they quickly put it out. But by then they were also taking on enemy fire from three German ME-109s. That’s when they got hit. They lost one engine, then two. My grandfather said they were down to one engine when they bailed out. One eyewitness stated that my grandfather’s aircraft was able to shoot down one of the ME-109s before he lost sight of the plane and its crew. Eyewitness and crew reports agree that when first hit, the aircraft appeared to be out of control. But then the pilot, David Monroe, managed somehow to regain control of the aircraft and took it straight up into the thick, dark clouds. The same clouds that once caused them danger and difficulty now provided them safety and protection from the remaining two ME-109s. All ten crew members of my grandfather’s B-17 were able to bail out and land safely, with no one suffering from any major injuries. When asked months later, one crewman stated that the Green Weenie’s crash site was about 30 miles from Berlin, Germany. They were quickly captured by German soldiers southeast of Parchim, Germany, and taken to a POW camp called Stalag Luft 1- North 3, in Barth, Germany. Four days later, on 9 December 1944, my grandfather spent his 21st birthday (most likely in solitary confinement) awaiting interrogation by the Germans, as was customary for new prisoners. I have read that they could be in the interrogation rooms for a week to a month, or for some even longer. The Germans would try just about anything to get the men to talk. I recently read about the conditions of Stalag Luft 1, where my grandfather and his crew were held. There were only two latrines for 2,500 men. Toward the end of the war, they received only one bowl of soup (that was mostly water) and a piece of bread per day. Bunks, if they can be called that, were so low that you couldn’t sit up on them and were stacked four high. They were each furnished with a straw-stuffed bedroll. Maybe there was a thin blanket, but never a pillow. I read that POWs called them mortuary slabs, because that’s about what they looked like. My grandfather was one of the lucky ones since he was assigned to the officers’ section, the ‘better’ section. I can’t even begin to think what the other sections must have been like. The American commander of their barracks in the North 3 section was WWII fighter ace, Francis ‘Gabby’ Gabrowski. My grandfather told my dad he was in the same barracks with Gabby and that he was loud and arrogant as all hell! They were finally liberated by the Russians and released on 30 April 1945. He and his crew touched US soil on 2 June 1945. Most of them, like my grandfather, had jobs to do, families to raise, and just didn’t speak much of their time in the war. My grandpa married my grandmother, Helen Louise (Mitchell-St. Clair) Hentges in 1956. From a previous marriage, she had a son, my father (Michael St. Clair, born July 4, 1947), whom my grandfather raised as his own son. My dad never really knew his real dad, (Walter James St. Clair, also a WWII US Army Air Force veteran), because he and my grandma divorced soon after my dad was born. By the time I tracked him down, he had already passed away. My dad is an Air Force veteran as well, and served in Vietnam. I was born at Eglin AFB in Okaloosa County, Florida. Three weeks after my birth, my mom brought us to California, where my dad joined us after being discharged from the service. My grandpa Hentges was a wonderful grandfather! He took us fishing, horseback riding, took us to the pizza parlor and gave us pennies to ride the mechanical horse! He even met us drive his work van (well, we got to steer the van while he worked the pedals, but to us we were driving)! He would also take us to lunch at the Chino Airport in California, where we’d watch the planes land and take off. It was so much fun! My father also took us to Chino Airport, and to the Planes of Fame Museum next door to see the B-17 ‘Piccadilly Lilly II’, the big plane like the one our grandpa flew. I have been able to share the same experience with my own kids. We now have a third-generation picture of my kids in front of the same B-17, ‘Piccadilly Lilly II’. My son liked the museum so much he asked to go again, and we took a group of his friends there for his birthday, many moons ago! My grandfather passed away on Father’s Day, 15 June 1980. I was only 8 years old. We were very close. I didn’t understand. I never had someone close to me die before. It’s hard to understand that there will be no more hugs, or fun trips, or even just the sound of his voice. I’ll never get to hear his story, in his own words. His story IS history. I want to give him and all the other men and women who served the honor, the respect, and the chance to perhaps find closure, to heal old wounds, or to find answers to the unknown fate of some of the others who served. To my grandfather James N. Hentges and ALL veterans: Thank you for your service, your love, your honor and dedication to preserving the freedoms of our great countries. May God watch over you and guide you, and may He bless each and every one of you. To those who gave all and made the ultimate sacrifice, please know we have not forgotten. We will continue to preserve history and share in the memories of your lives with future generations to come. Thank you for your service. May you forever rest in peace. Melanie Watson Add to this record. T/Sgt. Allen R. McMurran 339th Bomb Squadron 96th Bombardment Group Allen McMurran, my father, served at Snetterton Heath from July 1944 to Jan/Feb 1945. He completed all 35 missions as a ball turret gunner and went home to live a full life to the age of 84. The crew of his flight gave him a cardboard Purple Heart after one of his missions because he had been peeing when a crew member yelled that the Jerries were coming in, and in his rush to prepare for action he zipped his penis up in his flight suit and ended up having to rip it loose. So technically, he was wounded in action! John McMurran Add to this record. Recomended Reading. Available at discounted prices. Bomber Bases of World War 2, Airfields of 2nd Air Division (USAAF): Liberator Squadrons in Norfolk and Suffolk Martin Bowman This book looks at the history and personalities associated with each base, what remains today and explores the favourite local wartime haunts where aircrew and ground crew would go More information on: Bomber Bases of World War 2, Airfields of 2nd Air Division (USAAF): Liberator Squadrons in Norfolk and Suffolk Bomber Bases of WW2 3rd Air Division, 8th Air Force USAAF 1942-45 Martin Bowman Airfields included are Bury St Edmunds, Debach, Deopham Green Eye, Framlington, Great Ashfield, Horham, Knettishall, Lavenham, Mendlesham, Rattlesden, Snetterton Heath, Sudbury and Thorpe Abbot, which has one of the finest aviation museums in England.This book looks at the history and personalities associated with each base, what remains today and explores the favourite local wartime haunts where aircrew and ground crew would have sought well-deserved entertainment and relaxation. Other museums and places that are relevant will also be described and general directions on how to get them included. More information on: Bomber Bases of WW2 3rd Air Division, 8th Air Force USAAF 1942-45 Links

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