Remembrance 2024
 
As in previous years the Association remembered its fallen by laying wreaths in three separate ceremonies: Dunholme Lodge, Spilsby and RAF Waddington. The Friends of RAF Spilsby hold their service of remembrance on the same day as our own at RAF Waddington, so we were once again very grateful to them for laying a 44 Squadron wreath at Spilsby on our behalf.
 
On Remembrance Sunday itself a small number of Association members gathered together at the 44 Squadron memorial in the Memorial Garden at RAF Waddington. The short ceremony adhered to the traditional remembrance format and was closed by Kevin Lawry who read his new poem Black Thursday.

Black Thursday

On the 16th December 1943
They had been part of a mighty raid.
Seven hundred aircraft to Germany -
“Hit their capital city” the orders read.
Now they are coming home;
Twenty five fewer aircraft and
Of their crews, 168 are dead.

At their home bases
The December night is cooling fast.
When the deadly dew point is reached
Fog forms; as the last
Of the buildings blur and fade,
Their airfield disappears, made
Invisible in its thick grey shroud.
  
As they clear the Berlin defences,
The crews hold onto
Slim threads of hope that they will get back.
Under dim lights at noisy navigation tables
Plotted positions are carefully noted;
In gloved hands a calculator turns
And their ETA home is quoted.
Morale rises, they’ve made it out
Of the fiery furnace.
They drone on at 180 knots,
Getting happier, beginning to joke,
Hopes of tea, eggs and bacon and a bed
Growing -
Not knowing these comforts
Are now invisible.
  
They drop to make their beam approaches,
But, nothing seen, throttles to the wall
They go round again, and again.
Flying on instruments, fighting fatigue,
Fear now grows, slow and cruel,
As they run short of fuel.
Unable to get in off their final try,
They have nowhere else to go.
They wonder “Are there other options?”
Their answer, a chilling - No.
 
The listeners at their airfield
Hear them circling overhead;
Crossing fingers when they hear one coming in.
Only to hear it go round again instead.
One by one the radio calls cease,
The engines fade away.
A kind of peace
Seems to return.
In the countryside
Crash sites begin to burn.
 
Over England, thirty one more aircraft plough in;
No fuel left to make their Merlins roar.
168 died over Berlin;
Once home, the fog claimed 130 more.

Dunholme Lodge Memorial

On a still and quiet Autumnal morning that reflected the mood of the nation, almost eighty people assembled for the annual service of remembrance at the RAF Spilsby memorial. As the chimes of Big Ben, broadcast from London, marked eleven o’clock, those gathered fell silent to honour and remember the men of the nearby villages of Firsby and Great Steeping and the airmen of RAF Spilsby who had given their lives in two world wars. 

The Spilsby Memorial

At the conclusion of the silence and the the Last Post, Councillor Teddy Taylor placed the first wreath on behalf of Spilsby Town Council. This was followed by twenty eight further wreaths, some placed by family members. The short non-religious service, led by the Friends of RAF Spilsby, included the reading of a letter written by a twenty two year old pilot to his mother. A fitting conclusion to the reflective collection of words and verse on behalf those to whom we owe so much.