I’ve been very fortunate with the guest blogging challenge and had 2 offers. This time from my friend Kieran Marshall who has submitted a semi-real article based around the D-Day events in 1944. His own challenge was to write an essay containing the line ‘I was in the right place at the right time’….
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The weakening rays of the soft summer sun slowly slid down the horizon. The sky turned a wonderful pink. The clouds, carried away by the wind, slid effortlessly across the still skies. The day couldn’t have been perfect. Yet it could….
The year was 1944. War waged on in the air, ground and sea. Men were murdered by men. Boys stood up to the might of armies and were destroyed. Youth disappeared in the muzzle flashes of war. We were lucky, I suppose. I was a rear gunner in a Lancaster. The job was extremely lonely and perishing cold. All I saw was where we were. The comfort of the quadruple 0.303in machine guns cheered me up a little.

As the day drew to a close, we were ordered into the bombproof briefing room. The paint peeled away from the steel, revealing shiny pieces of pure stell.
Idle chit-chat carried on until the squadron commander walked in. He was tall with a bushy brown moustache. His uniform was spotless as his shoes sparkled in the dim, bare light
The intimidating black velvet curtain slowly pulled away. We were expecting a
long haul of six to seven hours. We expected the long, thin red ribbon to stretch to Hamburg.
But we were wrong. The squadron leader, S/Ldr Adams, saw the three hundred-odd faces stare back in amazement. We would go to the coast of France, drop our deadly cargo, then return. The flight time was expected to be 3 hours.
The briefing was quickly over, so I shall not bore you with the details. The heavy feet of men echoed around the vast expanse of the airfield. Our flying gear was dragged on, weighing us down rapidly.
Then we had to wait for two hours. Those few hours always seemed to be the longest. Tonight though, it seemed quite fast. Always a bad sign…..
The crew climbed aboard the great lumbering Lancaster. The precarious yellow ladder slowly bent every time some weight was put on it. While the crew went right, I turned left to enter my ‘house’
The turret was barely big enough for me. All around was protective Perspex. The frame was angular and unwelcome. But the guns in front of me were welcoming. Like seeing an old friend, the guns were beautiful
The starter motors clicked on the engines. Soon, the roar of the four Rolls-Royce Merlin engines filled the airframe, vibrating everything. But I couldn’t see them, only hear and feel them in every bone and organ in my body
The roar rapidly evolved into a crescendo. The ‘Lanc’ surged seemingly forward and lumbered into the air. The WAAF’s waved us away, their hair floating in the gale caused by our engines
The monotony of scanning and searching the skies began. Left, right, up, down, left and back right. My eyes flicked around the dark skies, hunting for the ‘Hun’
We bombed a coastal gun battery. The light flak had hosed up to us, but that was it. Suspiciously quiet that. I wondered why..
None of us knew there was an enemy aircraft below us. The first I knew was the
blasting cannons. The skipper screamed, ‘Abandon aircraft at once! Abandon aircraft at once!’

I had the best chance at surviving. The turret turning around and I rolled out of
the blazing aircraft. The wing was lit up with the fire and vivid red flames. It soon
exploded, leaving an acrid smell of pork in the area
Floating down in my parachute, I had a really important thought. ‘I’ve missed my own wedding!’ I was due to ‘tie the knot’ on 7 June, 1944. Tonight was the 6 June The icy cold depths of the English Channel lay below me. Vast and dark, I hit the water. I banged on the parachute quick release and inflated my life-vest. Then I realised I couldn’t swim.
I floated around for a while, and then when I thought I’d die in the freezing cold
night, I was knocked unconscious by a boat.
I came to, the sound of gunfire reverberating in my head. This, I was told, a tank
landing craft going to the beaches of France. ‘The liberation of France and Europe – The Second Front!’ called an American. Moments later, he was blown to pieces by a landmine. Sand, dust and body parts flew up into the sky. Poor bloke
The door of the boat flapped open as the tanks began to roll. The engines purred as the guns glorified the air with a bang.
As soon as the last part of the track splashed onto French sand, the door snapped shut and we reversed out of hell. The engine of the boat roared out as we headed for the white cliffs of Dover
When I returned to dry land, I was hurried into hospital under protest. Blood stained my arms, legs and face. That boat did quite a bit of damage when it hit me.
I wanted to see my crewmates. But every time I asked they came up with various
excuses. After three days, I had enough. I asked the pretty nurse, Siobhán, whether they were dead. They were and she started blubbering and crying. Her ponytails, tied beautifully, hung down almost in respect of the dead as she ran away from me
As for me, I was saddened. We had been a crew for four years. I guess I must have been in the right place at the right time. No, I was in the right place at the right time.