THE LUCKY BASTARDS CLUB (A Reporter`s Tale) By Denis Price

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`I`m a bit worried about this,` said Austin, the man from the `Daily Record`. I looked at him and then peered through the clubhouse window at our aircraft. `You`ll be alright`, I said reassuringly, `Its got the right number of wings and wheels, it`ll be a piece of cake`. I winced at the use of wartime RAF slang and swore I`d never read`Biggles` again.

`It`s not very big`, he said, `How can six of us get in there, it`ll never get off the ground!` I looked at his forehead, a thin film of sweat was starting to appear. `Look mate` I said,`You don`t have to come, but it`s the highlight of the trip, miss this and you`ll never forgive yourself.`

Feeling guilty at exerting even more pressure on an already nervous passenger I moved away. It was easy for me, Her Majesty had given me many flying hours in the past but I still couldn`t get enough of it and here we were, being offered a flight over Norfolk`s old USAAF airfields, what an opportunity! Austin`s concern over his life expectancy had begun early that day, the minibus taking our group to the airfield had suffered a front tyre burst at seventy miles an hour. Luckily our driver managed to guide the crippled vehicle off the road with the accompanying screech of the metal rim on tarmac and the stench of burning rubber .

Our destination was Seething Airfield, former home of the 448th Heavy Bombardment Group, Following a tyre change we continued our journey after many a discussion on the theme of `how lucky we`d been`.

Our first port of call was the former control tower which had been converted into a memorial museum in tribute to the base`s wartime occupants. Among the many items of equipment, uniforms and squadron records, a yellowing photograph stood out among others. It showed a group of young men in flying kit, all smiling at the camera, above their heads was a large painted sign saying, `THE LUCKY BASTARDS CLUB`. The caption below explained that these airmen had completed their tour of 30 bombing missions, allowing them to return home to the U.S. This at a time when only one in three had a chance of survival.

Back in the clubhouse our group was taking some ribbing from the regulars, `So it`s Dan taking you up is it? He must have got his licence back then, you`ll be alright though, he`s quite safe when he`s had a drink`. We were still laughing nervously, even Austin , when Dan arrived quite sober. Following brief pleasantries the five of us filed out onto the tarmac and climbed into the American built, six seater Piper Lance.

One of our group we`d nicknamed` `intrepid explorer`in view of his many exploits, rushed to sit next to the pilot, the remaining four of us were crammed kneecap to kneecap with Austin and me facing forward into the eyes of the remaining two, facing the rear.

With the pilot pointing out to us the emergency exit, which happened to be next to Austin, we strapped in and settled back as he attempted to start the engine. Once, twice,three times, I`d had a car like this once, it wouldn`t budge without a tow! By this time the man from the `Daily Record` was getting decidedly edgy, With the engine failing to start at the fourth attempt the plainly embarrassed pilot announced that he `would use the booster`, this worked and with a collective sigh of relief we slowly taxied away from the clubhouse and took up position at the head of the old main runway.

As an enthusiast what a sensation that was! I know it`s sad and you`re right, I should get out a bit more, but to take off from the same spot as those Liberator Bombers, many never to return, was a defining moment for me as our engine roar increased in tandem with increasing power. Breaking my reverie, I glanced quickly at Austin, with earphones clamped firmly over his baseball cap complete with 8th Air Force badge he looked tightlipped and tense, just like the kids of sixty years ago but without the chewing gum! At 1128 exactly it all went wrong.

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