I was recently contacted with the following story, which I have
reproduced in the lady’s own words:
My name is Sylvia Barnes (nee Durent). At the time of the aeroplane crash, I was
living at West Edmondsley Farm with my Great Uncle and Great Aunt who ran the
farm. Their names were John &
Isabella Langton (known locally as Jack & Bella).
On 14th December 1940, we were listening to the one o'clock news; the
weather was dreadful, torrential rain and poor visibility. I was looking out of
the window and saw a huge aeroplane dropping into the trees (the wood) at the
bottom of the field behind the farm. My
uncle and a farm worker ran down to see what had happened. Apparently my uncle John Langton pulled the
pilot from the cockpit and sent the farm worker to fetch some doors to use to
get the airmen up to the farmhouse. By
this time other people from the village arrived. The injured Polish men were brought into the
large kitchen and one looked like his legs were broken and the one I spoke to
had a big 'hole' right near his eye (Jan?). My aunt got some blankets to cover the injured
airmen (she was a St John's Ambulance member) and made them as comfortable as
she could. Our family doctor arrived to
do what he could (Dr Muckergee) until the ambulances arrived. One of the airmen had brought up some maps and
other objects which had been put in the dining room. My aunt sent me there saying I had a very
important job to do, to look after everything in the room and not let anyone
into the room until the police arrived.
I watched through the window and saw more and more people and cars
arrive and they parked on the field in the front of the farm making it
difficult for the ambulances to get up to the back of the house. There were so
many people just looking and getting in the way.
Eventually, I was told by my uncle that the stretchers had to be lifted
out of the kitchen sash window into the ambulance and the airmen were taken to
hospital.
A group of airmen, the 'crash gang' I called them, arrived to stop
people interfering with the plane's wreckage. The two officers with them slept in one of the
farm bedrooms and the others (when they were off duty from guarding the
wreckage until it was removed) slept on the floor in the kitchen and back
kitchen. These airmen peeled the vegetables and helped in any way they could
and we gave them their meals with us. A
trestle table was set up in the kitchen and the men had their meals with us
even on Christmas Day. I remember coming
down early on Christmas morning and stepping over the sleeping men to get to my
presents. It had snowed and they built
me a huge snowman and gave me small gifts and made a great fuss over me (I
supposed they were missing their own children).
In the evenings the airmen off duty would come into the dining room and
play the piano and we all sang songs and toasted teacakes on the toasting forks
in front of the roaring open fire.
For me, as a child of 7 years, it was the most memorable experience I
have ever had and often told other people all about it. I shall be 80 years old
in Novemeber [2013]and have never forgotten the events of that day and the weeks
afterwards or the brave Polish airmen who were injured in the crashed
aeroplane.
When they were well again, three of the airmen came back to the farm to
thank my aunt and uncle. The following year 2 came back and after that we used
to get a Christmas Card from them. I don't think my Aunt and Uncle heard from
them after the war.
Note: The man with the hole near his eye was Sgt
Stanislaw Boczkowski, who must have looked frightening to a 7 year old girl,
but that was just a flap of skin and was negligible compared to his other
injuries. He is still alive today and
living in Canada. One of the men was
later killed in action, another was killed in a road accident later in the
war. The others both won the Virtuti
Militari – Poland’s highest award for gallantry and both survived the war.
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