Breaking the silence

I have borrowed here from the title of Ted Barris’s new book on war veterans who long have kept their experiences to themselves.  Barris certainly raises the question if veterans have wisely put these experiences in their proper perspective as part of the past. Are they to be admired for moving on and forgetting the horror of war? Yet, there must have been another side to this lasting bond between a band of brothers. War must have had a profound effect on them. They were and still are so very young to lose comrades in combat. I think that survivors may never have completely escaped the trauma of near-death for themselves or for the deaths of comrades. Barris suggests that we would all benefit from sharing some of this human trauma and that it would put us more in touch with where we are today.

Win Birch was my husband who served with 423 Squadron in Coastal Command in Fermanagh, Northern Ireland in the Second World War. He piloted the Sunderlands that flew over the Atlantic in search of submarines, out to get the convoys that were bringing arms and supplies to Britain.

He crashed once, delivering a damaged plane to Belfast for repairs. He related the story to me as a report, just as it was written in his log book Very matter-of-fact as to time and place etc. His log book, incidentally, I have since donated to the air force museum that exists at Castle Archdale , where the seaplanes once were based.

It was hard to write about this brush with death because I could not get inside his head.  But I reached his emotional side when he spoke of how he thought of his mother as he sank forty feet down in the water. That she would receive the telegram from the War Department or two service men would appear at her door, bringing the news. I thought that empathy with her spurred him on in his effort to survive.  So here is my tribute to Win and his mom:

Air crash

answered the call

trained as a pilot

Mom!  After only eight hours,

I soloed!

flew blue prairie skies

then they sent me to Ireland

miserable Ireland

it rains all the time

rain rattling on Nissan huts

rats in the corners

squealing and scuttling

flying boats floated

on gray choppy waters

rocks under the surface

ripped up one aircraft

needed some mending

flew up to Belfast

over that land

that tapestry land

forty green shades

white needle point sheep

sea smooth and peaceful

then the landing went wrong

plane cracked asunder

ice water rushed in

Jesus H.Christ

This is the end!

going down fast

right to the bottom

the green murky bottom

Mom! That grief on your face

“sad to regret

... died doing his duty”

Not Yet!

kicked off my flight boots

window was gone

swan up in the sea

cold, cold sea

lungs ready to burst

‘til my head broke the surface

still flaunting the scars

and telling the story

but...

when dark clouds scud across the moon

Mom

...that was one long cold trip to the bottom