We came across this beautiful and moving memorial to the men of 158 squadron RAF, quite by chance, after a trip to the beach.
My father flew in bombers during World War II. Like many of his generation, he rarely spoke of it. He flew some 180 or more missions. On one mission, acting as tail gunner of his bomber, he was chased by Messchermidt ME109 fighter planes for some 90 minutes. In this time, the German planes shot off some 13 feet of one wing of my father's aircraft. Later, within a short time, my father's hair turned white. I am not surprised.
Returning from one mission, my father was collected from his aircraft, along with the rest of his crew, by a lorry to take them to the debriefing room. Arriving outside the debriefing area, my father jumped down from the tailgate of the lorry and fell awkwardly, breaking his ankle. The following day, his crew went out on a mission. They never returned.
I took a few moments to look at this memorial, and bow my head to the men who gave their lives so that I and my generation can live in freedom and to make my own small act of meditational gratitude.
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