Copyright November 11, 2001 by Marion C. Hoffman
This story began in early December 1944, during WWII in England while flying with the 8th Air Force, 91st Bomb Group, 323rd Squadron and ended on June 14, 1945, when I arrived home in Indiana.
With the Christmas holiday season nearing I wanted to send a photo home to my family as a Christmas present, convincing them of my well-being while flying combat missions. It was at a photo shop in Royston, England where this story began.
Our airbase was located about three miles from Royston. When I approached the British folks who operated the photo shop they understood the situation about Christmas presents. However, they did not question whether I was flying combat missions or not. I was just another Yank with money to spend. The general attitude from locals was a ‘Come on in and bring your money’ during the war. Yet, perhaps this was not the attitude shared by these storekeepers.
Exciting things had happened during out tour of duty in all the missions we were assigned. By Christmas 1944 our number of combat flights already numbered 22. We, as a crew, had obtained different combat fatigue problems as a result. Although R&R (recreation and relaxation) had been granted, it was not enough to cure our combat fatigue. Little did I realize the seriousness of the results of combat on the human mind and body. Forgetfulness became a mental problem, the stress and pressure of combat, unbeknownst to me, was taking its toll.
Missions were flown on Christmas Eve followed by holiday activities. Another mission on New Years Day, and then a mission on January 6, 1945, our 25thmission, was flown. It was on this mission that we were shot down. The marks left from the fatigue of these missions was now becoming evident.
A mental block must have caused me to completely forget picking up and paying for the photo from the shop. Yet, I did remember celebrating Christmas 1944 with other soldiers. It was a puzzle my mind would have to work out some time later.
The Christmas Eve mission had been diverted to Bury St. Edmonds because the airbase was weathered in. We landed in darkness and did not get back to the base until Christmas Day at 1800 hours for dinner.
On January 6, 1945, we were shot down and became Prisoners of War (POW). I went through a four month ordeal as a German POW, barely surviving a near fatal illness. During these months my parents were notified that I was Missing In Action (MIA).
My mother contacted U.S. Representatives, U.S. Congressmen, Indiana State politicians, Air Force generals, colonels, and many others attempting to locate her son. She was desperate to find me as four of her eight sons were now in the service. With no knowledge of her sons whereabouts she prepared to post a Gold Star banner on the front window of our home. Fortunately for us all this was never necessary.
On April 29, 1945, I was liberated from POW Stalag. I traveled from Landshut, German, Camp Lucky Strike at La Havre, France, by ship to Boston, Massachusetts and home to America.
Arriving in Indiana on June 14, 1945, going through the front door of our home, where on the living room mantel was a single photo. The photo taken back at the photo shop in England. I was shocked into reality as I remembered the photo being taken and the events that had transpired. The pieces of the puzzle were now falling into place in my memory. It affected me so much that I began to cry. I urgently asked my parents, How did you receive that photo? My parents thought their son had been thoughtful and sent it home, not forgetting them for Christmas. Yet, they held in question the lateness of its arrival with my personal belongings. It was then that I revealed the truth of my story to them.
In England, after I was shot down, some good soul from H-Block dormitory, where we lived, must have received the call from the photo shop notifying them that my photo was ready. This person knew that Id been shot down, most certainly MIA, and perhaps a POW. There was even the possibility that I had been killed. Realizing the importance this photo would hold for my parents this person took the time and expense to purchase, pick up, and pack this photo with my personal effects. The effects were then, as was customary, sent home to my parents. As many of my belongings never made it home the emotion I felt in seeing this photo on my parents mantel was now understandable. My emotions were due to another soldiers selfless act of kindness.
I had survived being a POW, I was home again, and the photo was on display in my family home culminating the war adventure for me. Combat in WWII had made a peculiar void in my memory, being home was the healing my memory required, and now I was feeling normal again.
In closing, my wife, Bernita, and I cherish this photo even today. It has played a very important part in our life relationship. This photo is displayed prominently on a shelf in our home with many mementos of yesteryear. On Christmas 2001 we will celebrate the 57th Anniversary for this once forgotten photo.
There are two other stories written about my experiences in relation with this story. They are titled My Most Memorable Christmas which tells of the Christmas Eve mission, and Easter Long Ago that describes my coming home. If these experiences are of interest to you look for these stories in future editions.
Published in U S Legacies Magazine March 2004
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