Firstly....the web address for Norfolk Tourism
http://www.tournorfolk.co.uk.
When I moved into South Wymondham from an industrial town, I soon began to
relax. What better way to relax at the sight of the postman trundling down a
narrow country lane towards a couple of thatched houses on the fringe of an
old airfield. I recall, getting out of my car on a warm day and retracing my
steps back from the night before; when lost in the country, I turned off up
this dark lane and suddenly found myself in an expanse of nothingness. I got
out of the car and a cold open wind nearly cut me in two. A few wooden signs
left over from the war, told me I was about eleven miles from the town and
with that, I almost got back into the car, under a lot of pressure from my
partner. Something did not feel right about this. No trees, no bushes and no
houses or buildings at all. I was at the crossroads where the darkness hung
heavy and a atmosphere was brewing. I got in and drove off and eventually
got home and that was that.
A year later, again on a warm day, I drove out the car and fancied a walk.
I eventually went on to walk many miles around that neck of the woods......
idylic surrounds, peaceful and relaxing, a few wild red poppies sulking in
the hedgerow and the usual unmistakable rural noises...Then suddenly, I came
onto a wide expanse of field mostly yellow with rape seed beginning to grow
high. The mystery was now over. This was the place I had landed on a year
ago. It felt very much the same, only more colourful and gentle, hay bales
were in a row on what I could see was a part of a runway. And then further
on another wide expanse of concrete until I figured that this was once a very
large airfield.
A day later, I went into Wymondham library and secured myself a book from
the local studies librarian. Airfields in the South of Norfolk. I skimmed through
and then I saw that indeed that was an airfield used by the americans during
1942 where the Flying Fortresses flew off into the open skies from two runways.
The village next door was Deopham Green. A Picturesque village that must have
had a rude awakening when the bulldozers moved in to lay all those miles of
bending concrete. Once I had the book, I was able to go back and see the actual
design of the base with its layout of runway and perimeter track. Then the
imagination took over. I was able to position where the bomb dumps were kept.
The dispersals. The main runway, but sadly no look-out tower. Only a bald patch
where it had once stood with all that activity. Then on the fringe I saw a few left
over nissun huts and brick huts, one I later understood was the cookhouse. I had
walked around several times in the space of two days and really enjoyed it.
I later found out, that there was a man who took visitors around the site and
filled them in on its history. Sadly, as the years have gone on, very few have
arrived from the States and elsewhere to link up with the locals and the memories
of those traumatic times.
This was an interest to me for some while as there were other airfields to see
some still in very good condition and though most of the tracks and runways
have gone, gliders still use what's left.
I moved out of Wymondham some years later. Two years ago I went back to
walk about but this was not on a sunny day. It was leading up to Christmas and
darkness sank heavy on the old site. Now, it looked desolate and forlorn and
brooding under a grey sky. A cold wind like I had met before, went inside of my
clothes and a chill masked my face. I was standing on this piece of runway and
felt the tall dry grass snap and crackle about my turn-ups. The wind seemed to
carry forth a mixed sound of memories. But the cold broke the spell. I walked
quickly back to the car as if spooked by something..........