Remembering the 390th

‘Twas way, way back in 43,
The 390th to us came,
Our village life changed overnight,
‘Twould ne’er be the same again.

Our quiet and rural way of life,
Had been unchanged for years,
The signs of war were with us now,
‘Twould bring us hope, and tears.

The sound of trucks, plus all those Jeeps,
Transport of ways and means,
Whilst on the base we’d see and hear,
Those famous B 17’s.

The sight of U.S. personnel,
Their tunics neatly pressed,
Their chewing gum, their Lucky Strike.
It had us all impressed.

As dawn did break on countless days,
We’d hear Wright Cyclones roar,
B 17’s began to take-off,
To join the hundreds more.

Formation made, the lead group in place,
With trails from engines burn,
They’d head towards their target and,
We’d hope they’d all return.

To Regensburg ans to Schweinfurt,
To Bremen and Bonn,
To Marienburgh and to Emden,
Berlin to target on.

The “sweating out”, the “waiting game”,
For aircrews to come back,
Whilst they faced all the hazards,
The fighters and the flak.

The hours those ground crews waited,
For their planes to return,
Tense times for all, with memories,
What stories would they learn?

At last, the sound of B 17’s,
Is heard, and some appear,
With feathered props, some flares are seen,
Plus battle scars to clear.

SOME have made it back to base.
Crewmates, they’d give a hug,
De-Briefed, then down to village hall,
To jive and jitterbug.

Or visit pub and celebrate,
Or mourn their colleagues lost,
Or recall moments when they saw,
War, and it’s tragic cost.

Or get a bus to nearest town,
Or see our countryside,
Or get some leave to marry their,
Radiant Suffolk bride.

Alas, few saw their missions end,
And go home after war,
Some quietly rest at Maddingley,
Their names live evermore.

The dawn still breaks up on the base,
All’s quiet at Parham now,
Control Tower stands out proudly and,
Around it, crops now grow.

An aircraft hangar still remains,
Birds sing, where engines roared,
One looks up skywards and recalls,
Where B 17’s once soared.

The Tower is a museum now,
With relics from the past,
And memories of those far off days,
That will forever last.

It’s times like this that we recall,
The debt we owe to you,
To those who toiled hard on the ground,
And those brave crews that flew.

The tears, the thoughts of those dark days,
The memories of those lost,
I reminisce with you in rhyme,
I recall war, and cost.

But war must not be glorified,
That’s something we soon learned,
The choice for us must surely be,
The peace your actions earned.

Let’s hope the peace, so costly bought,
Will with us always be?
These thoughts of 60 years ago,
A treasured memory.

Compiled by Frank Whayman
(Ex. 432nd Sqdn. A.T.C.)

(North Green, Parham)
Harkness Way, Hitchin, Herts

Editors Note:

Frank was a 16-17 year old Air Training Corp Cadet NCO with close contact with the 390th BG operations where he had non-combat flights in the B-17.

A framed picture format of this work is on display at the 390th Bomb Group Memorial at Parham Airfield, Framlingham