SENTRY DUTY
If I had been able to choose the type of duty I might have had in World War days it would not have been sentry duty.
Ironically, as I glance though the notebooks I kept during the years as a G.I, some of the most durable memories are associated with being in such a spot.
Ours was an unusual situation. We were a small groujp sent to England to prepare a new airbase for operational use by a Bomb Group which would fly in months later from the states. We were to set up basic frameworks for various functons to serve that groups needs. We were unaware of the fact that we were just one of nineteen such air bases which would spring to life in Norfolk County, England alone.
With the help of a small contingent of Royal Air Force personnel back from some rather severe beffeting on the isle of Malta who were there for a period of R&R before reassignment, we did some unusual things.
Sentry dutry required manning posts around the “aerodrome” we were starting, at the gates and certain vital installations such as two large, wooden water towers. One of our duties was, however, to "site-sit" fallen planes - all British and a few German at that time. The guard was needed to keep people from stealing the wrecked planes, especially at night. The wreakage of a crashed plane could all but disappear within a week if such care was not taken to ward off seekers after anything which could be resold on the various gray or black markets of the day.
One might think such a post would be acceptable, but the usual plan was to put a man "out there"
at eight in the evening and pick him up at about eight the next morning. It was a lonely, all-night duty. We had a carbine rifle, an ammunition supply totally two shots, and we did not have flashlights because “torches” were among the many items in short supply and those that were available were needed far more in other areas. We were there, you see, more as a deterrent to thievery than anything. The dismal foggy conditons most nights and planes overhead along the North Sea coast did not give a feeling of security.
In such situations a man does a lot of thinking.
We usually took a canteen full of hot coffee or tea with us. We stopped at the nearest fish ’n chips place and bought a double ration of that favorite food wrapped in newspapers, and an old towel or an extra jacket to ward of cold dampness if the night turned foul. One nibbled and sipped all night. Those who smoked did so a bit removed somewhat fromt the wreakage because the odor of petrol was often evident at such sites. One seldom hit the same such site more than one or two times, because reclamation teams moved by day and took it all away for safekeeping and salvage.
A favorite guard site was in front of a small, thatched, story-book cottage at one of the gates. of the base. The village constable and his wife lived there. Every morning the 5 A.M. the front door opened and a piping hot mug of tea was handed out with a cheefell greeting to, start the new day for the guard standing just outside the door under a small overhang of doorway thatch. That cottage had it’s wall lined with rows of carefully preserved, yellow-spined copies of “National Geographic Magazine” and every man who stood guard at that post was asked to write home to see if missing copies could be sent from home. I have often wondered if they ever got the copies they needed.
In a sense, I suppose, we all “pull guard duty” at some point in our lives. It can be a rewarding time, too. We are forced to take stock of and, perhaps, to re-evaluate our experiences in a positive sense as we ward off potential dangers, real or imaginary.
A.L.M. January 21, 2004 [c420wds]
