SHORT BURSTS
Short Remembrances: Poignant to Humorous
(Originally published in Courage, Honor, Victory)
M.J. ("Doc") Steele, bombardier, 336th Squadron: During one of my occasional trips to London between missions in the late summer of 1944, I visited a tailor's shop, just off Oxford Street, and was measured up for a classic "Ike" Eisenhower jacket. I paid £40 in advance and was advised to collect my jacket approximately four weeks later.
On my next visit to London, at the scheduled time, I was shocked to discover the tailor's shop had completely vanished. In its place was a twenty-foot-deep, rubble-filled crater, the results, I was told, of a V-1 flying bomb attack.
After expressing my condolences and sympathy to my informant I took the next train back to Suffolk. I subsequently submitted my claim for a £40 refund to the German government, but to date no response has been forthcoming.
Wayne Hanson, pilot, 336th Squadron: It was always interesting to watch the mannerisms of new crews as they joined the 95th as replacements. At first they kidded around and played volleyball. After they'd flown a few missions, they wouldn't play around anymore. Only card games, mostly poker, were continued.
At night we could hear the B-17 engines being revved up by the groundcrews up on the flight line, preparing the bombers for tomorrow's mission. When the C.Q. man (charge of quarters, or Wake-up man) left the 336th Squadron headquarters, we could hear the ominous sound of the doorknob being turned.
There is really no way to describe the mixed emotions of fear and getting on with the job, but I always made a point of leaving my wallet with a kind, understanding older sergeant who promised to send it home for me if I didn't come back.
Irv Rothman, top-turret gunner, 336th Squadron: Paul Keith, our co-pilot, had an English bike, which he absolutely adored. He went everywhere on it until one very wet day in December 1943. He zoomed down a hill just outside the base, lost control, hit the roadside bank at high speed, catapulted over the handlebars, crashed straight through a thorn hedge like a train, went arse over elbow, and landed in thick, stodgy English mud.
His bike was a write-off, and he looked as though he'd gone three very tough and bloody rounds with a tractor when he staggered into our barracks.
James Johnson, S-2 (Intelligence Section): We were constantly warned that "careless talk costs lives" by large posters and signs virtually everywhere we went, and security was, generally speaking, rigidly observed.
However, we had been at Horham for quite some time when two of our Intelligence Section people went to London for some much-needed rest and relaxation. On the train from Diss to London, one of them got talking to an R.A.F. officer, the way fellow airmen do. During their conversation, our man casually mentioned some aspects of our method of decoding the field orders when they arrived via teletype machine from Third Air Division headquarters prior to a bombing mission.
On the train's arrival at Liverpool Street Station, the R.A.F. officer immediately summoned two military policemen and ordered them to arrest our man. He was subsequently court-martialed and served a lengthy prison sentence at Leavenworth Prison, Kansas.