大象传媒

October 1944: A peaceful farmer鈥檚 field. Suddenly, severed wings split the earth, as Wellington bomber X, HF465 disintegrated on impact with the ground. Six young men forfeited their lives that day for our future freedom. They were on their final training flight prior to active bombing missions over occupied Europe.

This event, long forgotten by most, is not a priority for those who never experienced death and destruction in their teenage years. But it remained poignant to an eighty-year-old widow who still grieved, one of the young war brides who received the fateful telegram that day: 鈥淲e regret to inform you鈥�.鈥� Fifty years had passed, including immigration to Canada, a new life with another husband and family. Yet still the powerful memories lingered, the questions remained.

Where did the plane fall? Why did the too young crew die? Who else had been left behind, grieving? Finding answers became a personal quest. Access to recently-released WWII records provided the clues.

鈥淟oss of control鈥� was the duly recorded cause of the crash. The real cause? A pilot, barely out of his teens, struggling valiantly to maintain control, but trained too few hours to fly a massive fabric-covered warplane. Not nearly enough flight time to handle the sudden reality of volatile weather, iced-up wings, and the aerodynamics of a heavy but fragile aircraft. Still, he tried his very best, for all of them.

Few realize how many of the Allied Air Force crew killed in WWII died on training missions such as this one. Few memorials are erected to remember those who gave their lives to the war, but not in battle.

Military records note the exact location of the crash. Tentative Internet inquiries piqued the interest of local residents. Investigations began. Eyewitnesses were found. Yes, a plane had crashed in a local farmer鈥檚 field. Pieces were scattered, bodies were recovered, one survivor was rescued. A farmer, now 97 years old, had been first to reach the wreckage. He still remembers, too well. A farm boy, then eight years old and leaning on the barn door his uncle by his side, had witnessed the free-fall of the wing-less aircraft. He still farms that very field. Bits of the aircraft are occasionally turned up by the plough.

The widow had to see the site; was determined to know every detail. Somehow it might assuage the grief. Fifty-six years after the crash, she flew to Cheshire, England. She found it to be just a farmer鈥檚 field. But spirits haunted the hedgerow, where the holly bushes had been roughly pruned by the plummeting aircraft. No scars remained in the earth now; no hints of the wind and the ice and the screaming impact. No, only memories lingered. And a bit of the aircraft, presented by the farm boy to the grieving widow.

She laid flowers. She wept bitter tears. The local people observed in respect and wonder; that their field could stir such memories; that someone would come 鈥渁ll this way鈥� to weep at the site. They thought it a touching and final good-bye.

Three years later, an email enquiry arrived from England, from a local historian seeking information on the plane crash engraved in local lore. Too many deaths had gone unobserved. Too many widows were passing on and taking their memories with them. The next generation needed to be reminded. He was suggesting a memorial to the crash victims. Would she be interested鈥�?

And so, in October 2003, it came to be 鈥� an elegantly simple blue-brick memorial built by local volunteers using donated materials, located on a small lay-by near the field. The names are touched with silver - six souls and one survivor. The dedication ceremony was attended by a lone bugler, standard bearers, an honour guard. Local residents streamed into the field to observe the event. The families came, to lay wreaths in respect, to honour their fallen relatives. Representatives from the Royal British Legion and Royal Air Force saluted and spoke their words. The mayor carefully folded the flag. Heads were bowed in prayer. Voices were lifted in praise. Six lives were lost that day, in training for a battle never fought, yet as dead as any who died on the cruel battlefields in Europe. Gone, but remembered still.

We often forget that what we have now is due to what they gave then. We need such visual reminders and dates of Remembrance etched into our busy calendars, to remind us to honour the past, while we live in the present and dream of the future. One widow鈥檚 quest to know the past resulted in a lasting memorial for the next generation to remember to never forget.

鈥淭hey gave their tomorrows for our today.鈥� 鈥� Memorial Inscription, Prince Hill, Cheshire, England

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.