Remembrance Day 2023
As in previous years, 44 (Rhodesia) Squadron wreaths were laid at three locations: Dunholme Lodge, RAF Waddington and RAF Spilsby. As last year, we were fortunate to have the willing assistance of The Friends of RAF Spilsby, who laid a 44 Squadron wreath on our behalf at their ceremony on the edge of the former airfield at Spilsby.
The memorial site at RAF Spilsby
In the air of faded voices that echoed from a previous time over seventy people gathered at the RAF Spilsby airfield memorial ahead of the nation’s two minutes silence.
On this Remembrance Sunday held in the 80th anniversary year of Bomber Command’s first operations from these fields, the Friends of RAF Spilsby, in association with the Parish Council, led a service of commemoration to remember those men from the villages closest to the former airfield and the airmen of 44 (Rhodesia) and 207 Squadrons who gave their lives in conflict.
Councillor Terry Taylor led the tributes by placing a wreath on behalf of Spilsby Town Council. Twenty more wreaths were placed including those for families from across the UK, as well as Australia and the Netherlands. The RAFA Armourers branch was represented for the first time by John Cotton who placed a wreath for the ten armourers killed in the 1944 Easter Monday bomb dump explosion. Chairman, Richard Kidd, also paid tribute to the fallen by placing a wreath on behalf of the Parish Council. Four wreaths were placed for 44 (Rhodesia) Squadron including one from the association.
Dunholme Lodge
On Remembrance Day a simple yet appropriate ceremony was held at the Dunholme Lodge Memorial site in the presence of Hugh, Lesley, Brian and Margaret Wykes.
A brief service was also held at the Squadron’s newly-refurbished memorial in the Garden of Remembrance at RAF Waddington. The service conformed to the traditional format and was enhanced by the presence of Pipe Major Mick Stuart, in full regalia, who played a lament ahead of the two minute silence. The service was brought to a close by Kevin Lawry, who read his moving poem ‘Over There’.
RAF Waddington’s Memorial Garden.
By Kevin Lawry
At the end of the day, the cows lie chewing the cud.
Beyond the hedge,
All over the field in the almost dark
Sevens of men climb into their dark machines,
Adjust seats, straps, stow parachutes,
Settle into cramped turrets,
Swing side to side.
Then still,
To wait and wait.
A flare soaring into the dark
Starts a riot of activity, changing everything.
It’s ON chaps!”
Engines cough, once, twice,
Then roar into life,
Two, three, four, all running smoothly.
Oil pressures checked,
She settles, shaking gently.
The field drums to the huge
Murmuration of bristly birds.
Wands wave in the dark,
Her wheels begin to roll
She moves out in order
To join the growing din.
A tail gunner holds his hand up
And salutes, with a grin.
They lumber heavy into line,
Where, nose to tail, they wait.
Fingers touch teddy bear, crucifix and good luck letter.
Their mascots, their talismen, their signs
That times could be better.
A silent green light from the caravan
Releases a waterfall of sound.
High octane fuel, poured into forty eight pots,
Compressed, exploding,
Forces the power of 6,400 horses
To tear the night through her props.
To take her to the other world;
The ‘over there’.
Feet work the rudder, keeping her straight,
As hands hold the throttles at full,
Those 6,400 horses are just enough to pull her,
Her fuel, her bombs, her boys
Away into the night.
The noise goes on and on and on, on
On, until all eighteen are gone,
Swallowed up, clothed in black disguise
Their element, their fighting ground, the dark skies.
Over there.
Over there they tell us
The night gets ripped apart.
Dark shrouds top to bottom rent
By radar, flares and searchlights bent
On finding them, guiding fighters in;
Beads of light rush from the ground
To burst in razor sharp shards of shrapnel all around;
The bomb run seems to last for ever, they seem slow,
A queue of fear shuffling forward to drop fire and
explosive
Into the consuming cauldron below.
The cows are chewing the cud
As first fingers of light
Part the thin mist.
Birdsong lies light upon the air.
On the horizon, twin black towers
Of a cathedral kneel in prayer.
As the dawn gains ground
They wait for those who went over there,
Listening for the first sound
The faint droning heavy birdsong
That says they are returning, from over there,
Coming in ones, twos and threes,
Gear and flaps down,
Lined up, holding the glide path
Down to the flare, then rumble of return.
Seventeen coming into their stalls
With tales of fear and flame,
Saw one going down, no chutes though”,
Aching for tea and a fag,
They return whence they came.
On Charlie dispersal
Three Lancs tick and creak
As they cool down.
Men chattering, clattering down ladders
Parachutes thrown into the waiting truck,
Their mascots touched once more for luck.
At the empty stall, the mechanics wait
Another hour, maybe two,
“Come on lads, they’re not coming”, says Chiefy,
“Shame, that gunner always had a joke to share”, said Dan
“Hope they got out”, “Yeah, poor sods”.
Their bicycles squeak as they leave the empty pan.
The cows still chew the cud
As we pass by a history later.
It’s just a field,
A large forgotten field from where
We see the twin towers
Of Lincoln Cathedral on the horizon.
Visitors stand a moment
Looking at the huts and rusting windows,
They say,
“I wonder what they did,
Over there?”
Kevin J Lawry
November 2023
