Event took place 18th May 2002
Sixty Years slipped quickly by,
No tears now to shed by torted eye,
But memories still recall these men,
Who cannot come to us again,
Their was youth spent,
Their manhood lost,
Our Peace was gained,
At such a cost,
God Grant that we, may live in peace
And see the day, when Wars shall cease
The Royal British Legion (Downham & District Branch) Committee are proud to advise that all research, publicity and administration costs have been provided free of charge and the cost of the plaque has been covered by public donations, for which they would like to express their gratitude to ALL Donors. A sum of money will be lodged with the Charities Official Investment fund, the interest will be used to purchase a wreath which will be laid on Remembrance Sunday every year in perpetuity.
Thanks also to Mr. Alistair Goodrum, the RAF Air Historical Branch, the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, many RAF Association Secretaries (for directing letters to local newspapers in an attempt to trace relatives) and, many others including. The Hilgay Band, the St John’s Ambulance Service, the British Red Cross, Norfolk Constabulary and also the assistance of Sgt Mark Brotherton of the 48 FW RAF Lakenheath who provided information about the crew of the B17, and finally to the Ladies who prepared the refreshments.
This poem was written by Charles O’ Reilly, one of three, who escaped by parachute from the Flying Fortress (B17)
In Memoriam
For my crew – England 1945
Drawn from desperate sleeps our crews awoke.
Shivery – fingered, we lit cold cigarettes,
Which glowed bright points to reassure
Of others’ presence, near, though phantoms seemed.
Talk was low in whispered nothings, not wanting
To remember yesterday, and the day before,
And the days before –
Of the once – live flesh that fell
In streaming lines of iridescent light.
Each day we lifted into the black –
Into that English blackness deeply cold,
Into those pre – dawn skies,
Where soon, miles high in opening light,
Long vapour trails pointed those skies
And where we were.
And then a shattering of steel
Sent points of light
Through the darkened bombers’ spaces,
And flak rang our ears with pain.
Down on blood – wet spent – shells
The gunners sprawled.
Fingers tore at useless masks,
Which etched deep lines, and they
Gasped for oxygen’s life – giving breath,
Denied, by several lines left dangling.
With shrill staccato beats
The flak formed in ugly puffs of smoke;
And tiny planes bit deep like wasps.
They made the skies appear like that
when once in rage
Fell streams of angels through the days and nights,
Engulfed in fire until the air was clean again.
God seemed far from skies as those
When shattered parts and planes and crews
Enclosed by fire and soaked in burning oil,
Fell, until the earth reached up in mercy
To claim those of us who dared
Trespass those sacred realms of sky.