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I was 17 in 1944, working in an industrial laboratory while waiting for an aircrew selection board. The combined RAF/American Army Air Force offensive against Germany and targets in Occupied Europe was in full swing as part of the build up to the invasion in June, the RAF by night, the americans by day. There was a big airfield a few miles to the west which was used intensively by the RAF for operational training. Late one afternoon, around 4.30, as the light faded, scores of B17 Flying Fortresses came over, Flying very low, breaking formation, wheeling into the circuit above the airfield, each one silhouetted against the clear wesrern sky. Some had engines stopped, others wheels half down, many were firing red and white distress signals indicating wounded on board or severe damage or critical fuel states, filling the sky with a spectacular display of pyrotechnics. The returning Fortresses had been diverted from their bases in East Anglia which were fogbound. How many landed safely I don't know. Classified information of course. I still have a vivid memory of that drama in a Winter sky in 1944.

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