Whilst walking yesterday we passed through the Millennium Green park in the middle of the village. The plaque there set out the wartime history and notable events of the village alongside a map.
We live up an unmetered track passing fields and orchards on either side and at the end are four cottages, a farm house and the hall which gives the lane its name.
On 25 February 1943, a Halifax bomber from 102 Squadron crashed here, killing all seven crew members. Right here. Outside my door, where I sit now, in my front room, just across the lane from my window. Seventy-eight years ago, a plane came down whilst returning from a night sortie to Nuremberg, apparently it never even made it to the coast. The bodies were recovered and the pilot, Flight Sergeant Charles Bray is buried just over half an hour away in Suffolk. I will go and visit his grave soon.
As this virus thing plays out, with more and more very sick people being admitted to hospital, it’s impossible not to feel extremely grateful for what I have every day. My family, my health, my home and ability to work. But most of all my family and the gift of being able to see them and be with them every day.
I’ve really missed the weekend walks today. It’s always hardest straight after the weekend. It’s often the most challenging day at work too, or may be that’s just my perception? So, it’s when they’re most needed. We talked (whilst walking) how it will be good when the evenings get lighter and we will be able to walk after work. Still a way to go till then, in more ways than one.
The Bald Birder 