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Published: December 31st 2008
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Many spent their Thanksgiving with family, I spent mine with the history of my family. On this day, I traveled to Northend Village, a small town in central England to visit a plaque. It is a very important plaque as it marks one of the places where World War II affected our family the most. 65 years ago, a plane went down. On it were 10 young men, among them my uncle, Samuel Maurice Aston.
Kiko and I are greeted by a local, Mark. It is a very cold day, wet with fog. We walk from the pub over to the monument. I read the plaque that lists the ten names, the last one of my uncle. Little crosses decorate the memorial, made by children each Remembrance Day in the U.S. The British seem to really appreciate the sacrifices Americans made, even going as far to say we "saved them from the Germans."
Mark takes us over to the church, small ancient, where there is a notebook with all the research about the crash. Mark's cousin, Steven, is the one who did all this research. I didn't get to meet him, but corresponded with him before coming.
Mark
then rides along with us and shows us the crash site. It is a field just behind the village. He tells us that it was 8:30 in the morning, on a day most likely like this very one, with a lot of typical fog and very low visibility. The crew had taken off from a local airstrip, Poddington. The "Army Air Force" would send the planes out in large numbers to watch out for each other.
The plane was climbing in circles to get high enough to cross the English Channel. The mission was canceled and orders were changed to go back to the base. Unfortunately, on a freezing day like today, the planes wings had picked up a thin layer of ice. With its heavy cargo, the pilot lost control.
Mark's mother was witness to the accident. She was 11 years old at the time and said she heard a loud crash. They knew something was wrong. I glance across the field and imagine the scene--metal, burning, people running frantic. It is a sad scene and I think about how many stories like this there are.
We get in the car again and head to Mark's
mom's house--I would meet one of the only living witnesses to the tragedy.
Coming to the front door, it looks typical for the area, an English country house. We find out it was built in the 1600s and it has walls 2 feet thick. We are invited in and make ourselves comfortable in front of the fire. Mark's mom is a busy English woman, insisting on her visitors' comfort. We have tea, followed by cakes. We politely decline the invitation for lamb stew, regretting having eaten before arriving, but at the same time, not wanting to be a bother.
Most of the talking is done by her husband, and I'm glad to listen to his tales. He was young in the war, just enlisting as the war ended. He offers Kiko a taste of his 1928 cognac, saved for the most special of occasions. And the phone rings with Steven's mom, inquiring to our whereabouts--she is ill with MS and unable to walk, but interested to know about us. It turns out we are the first family members to visit the site.
Toward the end of our evening, Mark's mom opened up about the sounds and what
The Monument
Look at the little crosses that children made for Remembrance Day happened on that fateful day. She, a child at the time, vividly remembers the candy bars among the many items tossed from the planes. But she also recalls how scary it was and that they knew, of course, that no one would have survived.
Mark leaves and comes back with a thin piece of metal. They dig up a lot of artifacts in this area, anything from Roman jugs to WWII bullets. However, being an avid pilot himself, he knew this piece was from Maurice's plane. He send this piece to mom.
This Christmas I was happy to bring mom this piece of plane, the real story about what happened on that fateful day, and stories about the warm people who are there, caring for the important site. And I'm proud--of the sacrifices that Americans made during the War, of the contribution that my family made, and the role I could play for the next generation.
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