It was extremely cold at the altitude at which we flew, usually between 20,000 and 25,000 feet. But I never ceased to marvel at the warmth I felt when ever I put my hand into the direct sun light shining through my windows. I often had to slip off the electric heated glove of my right hand in order to write or plot our course. I never took off the nylon glove I wore under the heavy glove as one could get a severe frost bite in quick order. There was a sharp line of demarcation between the shadows and the sun light. As the plane turned and rolled, the shadows played across my navigation desk. I sometimes bent over to let the rays warm my face. Sometimes I would get the feeling that there was no war and all was at peace. This day dreaming never lasted long as I had to constantly calculate our location and direction.

We always were issued food to carry on these long flights and as one might guess, it was K-rations. I liked the candy bars, it was British made bittersweet chocolate and to this day I like the taste. The "spam" was not to my liking so I concentrated on the cheese. I swear I got constipated on every mission from eating so much cheese but as I reconsider, it was more likely fear and tension. Anyway, it was far too cold to consider using the pot but we did have urinal tubes.

Because it was summer and we were at 52 degree of latitude, the day light hours were much longer than back home. We often went to bed with sun light peaking through cracks in our blackout curtains and right into our eyes. By the time we were awakened for the next mission, it was anywhere from 0200 to 0400 hours and pitch black out of doors. We had to stumble through the blackout in order to get to breakfast and briefing. Later on when I became lead navigator, I was awakened an hour earlier than the rest of the crew as I had to go to pre-briefing in order to meet with the group navigator and other lead navigators so we could prepare in advance for the days lead. Only then did we go to breakfast and it never failed, I was always asked, "Where are we going today?" My stock answer always was, "Big B."

If one had to be in combat with the 8^th Air Force, we certainly did have good fortune to fly the summer months (April to October). From everything I've ever read on heard, it was no fun to contend with the English winter weather. I admired and loved the English people. The country side was beautiful. I was all but adopted by an English family in Norwich who treated me like a son. I dated their daughter all the time I was there. I will tell of some of my experiences with this family in another chapter. I only want to say now that I'll never forget their kindness to me.

Talking about the beauty of the English landscape reminds me of the view from the air. Nothing in America looks like it. The field's are small and irregular. I don't think there is a straight road in all the British Isles. Hedgerows line every field and road and there are many small towns each with its stone church. Actually it was rather difficult to navigate from one air base to another in England and be sure you were landing at the desired destination due to the closeness of all the many air fields and their great similarity as well as that of the country side.

When it was not our turn to fly lead, our bombardier was required to practice bomb. Sometimes this amounted to nothing but aiming on an English landmark and snapping pictures without dropping any bombs. Most times however, we would fly to a "practice bomb site" about 50 miles south of our base near the city of Ipswich. There were large white circles on the ground with a bulls-eye dead center. Our practice bombs were one hundred pounders that exploded with a puff of smoke so the bombardier could judge his accuracy. The pilots, flight engineer, bombardier and navigator were the only crew members required. The rest of the crew had free sack time. Locating this small target area was difficult but after many many tries, one day I just didn't feel like flying so I questioned Warga, our bombardier if he knew how to locate the practice area. Without a moments hesitation he said yes. Our pilot, Peritti, said it was OK with him so off they went without me. I had a glorious time enjoying this luxury of free time but my joy did not last very long. After awhile, in stormed Peritti with the others close behind. He was madder than a wet hen. They had got lost, Warga could not find the practice area and they had flown for hours looking for it then trying to find our base again. Needless to say, I was never left behind again.

I used to brag about the accuracy of my Gee Box so one day the crew put me to the test. Peritti had two men stand beside me while I had my eyes fixed onto the cathode ray tube of the Gee Box to make sure I could not cheat. We flew around a while in various directions, the crew thinking I would get lost if I could not see out or watch my compass. What I did was preset the cursors on the screen (one on the upper base line and one on the lower). When they met I told them we were over our field. Peritti let down then I reset the cursors to the exact end of the runway. On the final approach, I told them I would let it be known when we crossed the end of the runway. No one believed this but sure enough, when the lines met, I called out that we were there. Just as I said that, I looked out the window and there it was, we had just crossed over the runway. This was a wonderful lesson for the crew.

Another time, I had been requested to be navigator for another crew who were assigned to fly to a base southwest of London to pick up something or someone, I don't remember which now. The pilots were rather cocky and said they could find this base without me. Why they thought this, I don't know but I gave them their head. They did get us to the vicinity of our destination but there was no way in heck they could have ever located this specific field. Of course, I knew constantly where we were. Finally the pilot gave up and asked where the air field was. I'm sure he thought I was just as confused as he was. I'll have to admit, everything did look alike down there but unbeknown to them, I set the coordinates of the field on the Gee Box. I gave a heading to fly and just as the cursors met, I said to look straight down and this would be the place to land. The pilot was skeptical but followed my instructions. After we landed and he was convinced that we were at the correct location he wanted to know how I could be so sure. I got out my maps and pointed out a bunch of phoney landmarks. I convinced him all I had to do was to look at the map. He was amazed that I could do that. I was not about to tell him anything about the Gee Box or how I really located the field.

Another thing I really enjoyed was flying over the "White Cliffs of Dover." Sometimes on the way out on a mission and other times on the way back, we would fly directly over these cliffs. They were really and truly white and I would guess several hundred feet high. The sight is breathtaking in their magnificent beauty. Farm land is at the top and they drop straight down into the English Channel where the Straights of Dover separate England and France at the narrowest point.