Inscription on a head stone in a very small graveyard in Hethe, England
"O GOD, GRANT TO HIM
WHOM YOU HAVE CALLED
FROM OUR HEARTS
A LASTING PEACE"

The family story is that my uncle was a Royal Canadian Air Force pilot who died in England in 1941. But there is always more to the story, more details, and more feelings. My grandmother never recovered from his death and probably neither did his four sisters, one of which was my mother. (I probably should mention that I was born a little over seven months later and named after him.) And his presence was all around while growing up since my grandmother lived with us and helped raise us three boys. There was a photo of my uncle in a flight suit next to his plane and soft flight cap from his barnstorming days in a dresser drawer. Another a photo showed him on a motorcycle with a young lady and a look of contentment on his face. Those images certainly affected me for as a small boy I would often pretend to fly a plane using the back of an overturned chair as my cockpit. And there were stories about him, one having to do with his running with his pals on motorcycles and the police having to put a chain across the road to stop them.

There was a certain tragedy to his death, too for he wrote a letter to his mom on Christmas Eve 1941 that was never sent or finished, since he went up to fly and didn't ever make it back alive. One story was that he was trying to nurse a damaged plane back to the field. His final letter was delivered to his mother and even published in the newspaper but this did not help the family very much. Another part of the story is that he was buried in a local Catholic cemetery in Hethe near the air base at Bicester, but no one in the family ever saw his grave. One friend, a soldier stationed briefly in England during the war, hitchhiked and slept in local fields to visit the grave and bring back some measure of closure. This man for as long as he lived was held in very high regard by my family for this act of kindness.

Then in 1998 the last of her generation, my Aunt Tina, died and in her keepsakes were a copy of the newspaper article about the final letter, a photo of the church where the cemetery was located and some RCAF emblems. These items no doubt planted a seed. So when this year began and Andrea felt drawn to return to her birthplace in Birmingham, England to celebrate her 60th birthday I agreed to go along with a mission in mind.

Thus it came to pass that on a lovely Wednesday in May 2006 Andrea's Cousin Sue drove us from Lye, West Midlands, Stourbridge (near Birmingham) to the cemetery in Hethe, Oxfordshire. The route was provided by Mapquest United Kingdom, M5 to the M42 and then the M40 toward London and then onto the local roads where the route was vague and markings few. At one point we stopped on a narrow country road near another church and graveyard and asked a young man cutting the grass the direction to Hethe, which had to be within a mile or two and strangely he didn�t know. But further along a friendly man in a field popped up his head looking like someone out of the movie "Finding Ned Devine" and in a heavy accent provided directions. It was a few more turns and a few more roads but then appeared Hethe this tiny town that appeared to be no more than ten or twelve houses, some with thatched roofs, and then around a bend and about a half a mile more to our destination.



There was the church from the old photo and the adjacent graveyard. Looking around it became obvious that many of the graves were so deteriorated that it was not possible to determine who was buried there. Though the grave was numbered on the records at the Royal Canadian Air Force - #38, there were no markings or numbers in the yard.

But all was not lost for Andrea called on St. Anthony and her mom to help find it and then walked right over to one corner where there were three very bright white grave stones. His was at one end farthest from the road and obviously the first as the others were dated later.



R77398 Sergeant W.F. Boggs Pilot
Royal Canadian Air Force
26th December 1941 Age 28

Also at the top of the stone was an emblem of the Royal Canadian Air Force with an eagle in the middle and their motto "Per Ardua Ad Astra" (Through Struggles To The Stars) and the words "Royal Forces - To Dear Ally".



The grass was high and lush but the three grave stones were obviously well cared for as there were some remnants of poppies at their base. I touched the stone to commune with whatever spirits might be there and convey my representation of the entire family down through time paying respect. It had taken quite a while to get here - almost sixty five years but we had never forgotten. I had a photo of my aunt, his sister and placed it at the bottom of the stone so if any connection could be made it would be. Time seemed to stand still - the light, the grass, the stone, the smells of spring, the solitude, the sky, the stillness, the feelings, the memories, the old photos, the family stories, the passing of a generation, all combined.


I placed my lapel pin of the US flag on top of the stone and left it there. I wanted some representation at least symbolically that he was an American though he died far from home.



We didn't stay a very long time, perhaps little more than an hour, walked around, took some photos and enjoyed the moment. There were no other people or even cars going by on the road. It was a very peaceful spot surrounded by open fields and very lovely for a graveyard. One had the feeling of something very old and solid here. The day was quite perfect, too, clear and sunny but not too hot and very spring like.

Before leaving we went around the church to a small rectory and rang the bell. A tall elderly priest answered. We thanked him for the care of the graves and he said that the War Commission handled the upkeep of the graves and the parishioners mowed the grass. We chatted a while and he confided that this was kind of a retirement position as he split his time at another church. And with a twinkle he admitted that he was having trouble kneeling as his knees creaked pretty loudly when he did. We thanked him for all the consideration and left him with twenty pounds which he said he would give to the church.

As Thomas Wolfe said - "You can't go home again" but you can take it with you wherever you go and hopefully we brought a little bit of home and family to the graveyard in Hethe. And we took a little bit of England and some remnants of the past back with us in our hearts when we left.

Many say that time is not linear and the present is just a spiral away from the past and all time exists in the same moment. That day brought truth to the concept.



Peace - A Lasting Peace

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