Trip to Great Britain

Intersection outside Ancient House in Horham. Horham is not far from the North Sea, in Suffolk, East Anglia. It is a two-hour drive from London.

The goal of this blog is to help me remember my trip to England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales this past summer. If anyone else gets entertainment out of it, so much the better, but the focus audience is myself and my immediate family.

I was commissioned in late 2007 to write the history of the 95th Bomb Group, a highly-decorated B-17 Flying Fortress outfit that flew missions out of East Anglia during World War Two. The group graciously paid for my trip to England to do research, and since I had not been on any kind of international trip for over eighteen years, I decided that once I'd done the research portion of the trip, I'd stick around in Britain for another week or so and go explore.
The internet is an amazing thing. I was able to do nearly every single reservation for the trip from my computer in Ammon, Idaho---from hostels to train tickets to sightseeing buses. Being a teacher, money was tight, but I've had a little experience traveling on a shoestring so it wasn't too bad--even during the worst summer for the U.S. dollar in recent memory. I did not eat out in a restaraunt once on the entire trip, depending instead on buying small amounts of groceriesand making simple meals. I stayed in hostels, some of which were very nice and some of which were seedy, but all of which were substantially less than a hotel. While on the research portion of my trip, I was very fortunate to be treated with great hospitality by my British hosts, especially Alan Johnson in Horham. I also was lucky enough to spend a day with friends in Scotland. It was a fun trip, and I am grateful to the 95th Bomb Group for believing in me enough to buy me the ticket to get there. The research was rewarding, and the 'vacation' element of the trip was also wonderful.

Former pub across the street from Alan's house.

I left from Idaho Falls with one backpacking size backpack in early June, saving money by taking the Trailways Express bus from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake City. The bus trip takes a little over three hours, but saves on airfare, as it is pricier to fly out of the small Idaho Falls airport than to make a connection in a hub city like Salt Lake. Once in Salt Lake, I boarded my plane for Denver. Unfortunately, there was a tornado that day in Denver and my flight was late arriving. The result was that I missed my nonstop connecting flight from Denver to London. The airlines shuffled things around and put me on a late flight to Chicago, which arrived at O'Hare in the middle of the night. I spent a very uncomfortable night on a departure gate bench at O'Hare, listening to the rain pound down on the glass roof, and finally left O'Hare at six in the morning. The next stop was Dulles Airport, only a short distance from whereI lived from 1968 to 1977. After a short wait, it was into the air for the long flight to England.

Thatched roof on a home in Horham. Thatch can last fifty years, and many of the local thatchers use interesting designs in their work.

By now I was way behind schedule, and the English friend who was picking me up was notified that I'd be arriving in London around midnight rather than noon. When I arrived, I made it through customs and met my friend Norman. Unfortunately, my lone piece of luggage had somehow gone to San Francisco, California, so I arrived with literally the clothes on my back. We got in Norman's car and began the long drive from Heathrow to Horham, Sussex in the middle of the night. It was very strange sitting on the 'driver's side' of the car while Norman drove from the passenger side. We got lost a few times before finally getting out of the London area and hitting the small back roads for Suffolk.

We arrived in Horham around two or three in the morning. My host, Alan Johnson, was up and waiting at his home, and Norman came in for a bite to eat and some tea before heading home. By this time I'd been traveling for over forty hours and was tired. Alan gave me a glass of brandy which helped me go to sleep. Alan's house was built in the 1200's, and is known as 'Ancient House'. The doorways between the rooms are very low and I would hit my head on them the whole time I stayed with him. The downstairs had a bathroom, kitchen and small living room. The narrow stairway led to two rooms upstairs. Alan had kindly let me use what I presume was his own bedroom, and he slept in the smaller room. The first night, I woke up several times wondering where the hell I was. It was pitch black and going down the stairs to the restroom was an adventure in and of itself. When morning came, I woke up and looked out the window. I had notseen England in the daylight hours yet. I looked out on a scene of rural greenery, rolling fields intersperced with small groves of trees.

Back side of Ancient House.

Ancient House was inhabited by two tenants. Alan lived in the back, and his cousin lived in the front and, with his wife, operated a small grocery store and Post Office. Alan's father had run this store many years before. The store had been added on to the Ancient House after the war. Before, it had been in the house itself.

Aerial view of Horham village, population only a few hundred at best.
My friend and host, Alan Johnson, a great advocate of the 95th who was a child near the base during the war and is a driving force behind keeping the memories alive.

Ancient House from the back. The kitchen and bathroom area are in the middle on the single floor, the upstairs rooms are to the left. Alan's car is parked in the back drive.
Ancient House from the right front. It was built in the 1200s.
The bedroom I used the week I lived in Horham. Note the wooden beams.

The stairway going downstairs from the bedrooms in Ancient House. Original wattle and daub in the Ancient House wall.
The store connected to Ancient House.
The Old School, just down the road from Ancient House. There is a small bar/club there that we visited almost every night. The telephone booth is roughly in the same spot as the old guard station at the edge of the 95th's air base.
Intersection at the other end of Horham Village.

To be continued...

The Old Airfield

Being from the semi-arid desert of Southeast Idaho, I was unused to the east English weather. It seemed to be highly changeable--going from a sunny day to a rain shower in a matter of a few minutes. However, I found that the rain rarely lasted for long, nor did it rain very hard, so I just went out and walked around in it and it didn't bother me.

The second day, I went to the airfield that the 95th Bomb Group had used for most of the war. The base, though widely dispersed, was mostly located near Horham village. Alan pointed me down the street, past the old red telephone booth outside the church wall, and down a narrow lane. I walked down the lane for about a hundred yards, and I was on the airfield proper. I stood on a hardstand that one time long ago had housed a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber. Poppies bloomed despite the drizzle, and the lush green grasses sprouted out of the crumbling tarmac of the hardstand.

The entrance to the base was right here. There was a guard box here, as seen below. Note the same brick wall and the old school in the background, at the same spot as the telephone booth.

Mechanics at work at a dispersal hut, Horham. This spot was probably not far from the photo above.

A model of the base, made by artist John Blott, show the field during the war. The above photo was shot from the lower right of the airfield.Below, the main runway, mostly given over to vegetation. A small strip is still used for a private runway, with a small hangar.

As I walked this runway in a slight drizzle, it occurred to me that this was the last spot that many young men of the 95th Bomb Group ever touched earth before their deaths.