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I was 12 years old when the family moved to Old Bolingbroke.
From the house, we could see the airfield being built. It
was 1942.
In
the school playground, me and my pals would often be wondering
what type of aircraft would be coming to East Kirkby. We thought
probably Halifaxes, Wellingtons or maybe the light bombers
such as the Blenheims or the Mosquitoes.
I
remember it was a clear August day, a Sunday. The days were
beginning to mellow and harvest would soon be upon us.
We'd
just gone in for lunch when I heard the sound of aircraft
engines and, to my surprise, it was the new 4-engined Lancaster
bomber. That really excited us.
It
circled the airfield, as if it was inspecting it, then more
arrived. One by one we counted 19. They made a loud, sweet
sound. We could even see the crews. We were thrilled to think
that they put on a bit of a show for us and I'm sure they
did.
We'd
often be playing out on our bicycles; whenever we heard the
engines started up, we'd make headway for the end of the runway
to see them take off. (The most I ever counted was 41.)
They'd
circle around East Kirkby, the same would be happening at
RAF Coningsby, Spilsby, Woodall Spa. Sometimes the gunners
would wave to us; they'd move their guns or wave their hands.
They
were all volunteers, every one of them; they were my heroes.
I
used to pray they'd come back in the morningÂ…...many
didn't.
by
Fred Panton
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Fred's story