大象传媒

In July 1941 my family moved into a house in North Luffenham. We had been bombed out on September 15th 1940 and since then had lived in lodgings, usually two rooms. It was luxury to have a seperate kitchen and living room, and three bedrooms. It was situated on the southerly side of the newly built airfield.
At ther same time 61 and 144 Squadron Hampdens arrived from Hemswell. When they were taking off the aircraft flew by at 50 - 75 feet and we could see the crew who waved, and noted two yellow bombs clipped under the black underside of the wings. Airmen often walked by on their way to the camp from the railway station, and we, along with other village boys would ask for 'souvenirs'. Generously they would empty pockets to find spare buttons, shoulder flashes or 'foreign stamps', Canada, New Zealand, Australia, even
Jamaica and India.
At the start of the long summer holiday I fished the river Chater with a local pal, Nobby York. Memory recalls all these days as beautifully warm, the skies endlessly blue and no rain. One particular afternoon we sat in the long grass, the staccato churring of grasshoppers filled the air, the grating call of grey partridges could be heard in the distance. Sometimes a water vole would paddle by pausing to gnaw at the rushes, a blurred blue flash regularly dashed just above water as a kingfisher flew off to catch minnows for his hungry brood.
Intent on our purpose, we did not see the RAF chaps until they sat down beside us. They asked of our luck and examined our fishing tackle, primitive, a bent pin sufficed as a hook, mother's sewing cotton the line, and to act as a weight I had attached a large red 15mm cube shaped button. We left our spot and moved upstream towards the Moor Lane bridge. Just below this bridge was a small 45cm deep dam, its purpose to give enough depth to allow the sheep to be driven in when they were dipped, It must have been an historic arrangement, the walled duct through which they were guided was of dry stone construction and appeared very old, the bed of the river at this point was paved and surrounded by a one metre wall. As we peered in for shoals of minnows, one of the airmen pointed out a large bluntish object that slightly jutted out from the base of the wall. I thought is was moss but he suggested I dangle my bait in front. A white mouth snatched my worm and retreated into the wall, a huge eel. That was the last I saw of it and my pin, and mother's red button. I was quite upset as I had never hooked anything so large, but the expert from the aircrew consoled me and told me to meet him again the next day.
They were all there and had 'borrowed' proper hooks from the dinghy equipment and welded them to fine spring wire with a 'T' shaped handle. Nobby and I fished, the lads getting their fun from our obvious glee. This was the start of a friendship that lasted as long as 61 and 144 remained at North Luffenham. They came to our homes and played cards and we saw them in church on Sunday's. Of course the personnel changed from time to time and we guessed, but never asked.
We were aware that flying in those days was a very dangerous occupation, Hampdens crashed locally. Sometimes local people assisted in getting crews out. In 1942 a Wellington (29 OTU) failed to take off and came to a halt just in front of our house with one wing on fire. My father, holding my baby sister at the time, handed her to mother and ran to assist. He managed to help the crew out and told me afterwards that he could hear voices, but at first could not locate their position. On another occasion, 9th March 1942 a Hampden from 408 Goose Squadron, temporary occupants of North Luffenham collided with a pillbox gun emplacement less than 100 metres from our front door. Magnesium flares ignited and lit the whole area, bombs and ammunition exploded. The Pilot, Sgt. D.C. Hunter was wounded but sadly the crew Sgts R.Ball, W.D. Morris and FF Mackinnon lost their lives. Nobby and I attended the funeral and collected bullet cases after the guard of honour had fired the salute.
Both Squadrons left North Luffenham in April 1942. During their brief stay almost 250 aircrew lost their lives. 18 lay buried in the parish cemetry. I still remember my anonymous friends and think of them flying off into a dangerous lethal night after spending blissful afternoons with us by the Chater. We all owe them everything and they are never forgotten.

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