King Edmund Falls to the Vikings

The bridge under which Edmund hid, but he was betrayed by a bride passing over the bridge. To this day, wedding parties avoid the bridge as a tradition.
Another view of the bridge.
Me at the spot where King Edmund was hung, Hoxne. A tree used to be here.
Self-explanatory.
A nearby church commemorates the dastardly deed. King Edmund hides under the bridge. The bride hears him and betrays him.

While visiting in East Anglia, my friends Alan Johnson and James Mutton took me by Bury St. Edmunds and Hoxne, where we saw the bridge where King Edmund was captured and, nearby, the spot where he was killed. Here are some photos I took of this historic area, plus a history of the good king himself.

The 20th of November 869 AD, Saxon King Edmund martyred by the Vikings

Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
Little is known for sure of the life of the East Anglian king Edmund, but there are many legends associated with him, especially his death and subsequent miraculous events.One story has Saxon Edmund born in Nuremburg, but the most credible stories have him as descended from a line of English Saxon kings, his father being Aethelweard, who died in 854 when Edmund was still a boy of 14. Edmund was said to have been crowned by St Humbert on Christmas day 854, possibly in Bures St Mary in Suffolk.Edmund’s piety is well recorded, seen in his just treatment of his subjects, and in the story that he went into retreat at Hunstanton for a year, during which time he learned the Psalter by heart, a feat that in its day would have been considered a considerable display of learning.But it is Edmund’s death which is the most remarkable element of his life. The Danes in 869 marched south from York through Mercia (the Midlands) and into East Anglia, where they took Thetford and used it as a base. According to one version of the tale Edmund refused to fight them, giving himself up to his enemies in accordance with Christ’s turning the other cheek. In another he engages the Danes in a bloody battle.The stories of Edmund’s death on November 20 869 are various too. Some have him dying in battle. Others, the majority, have him captured by the brutal Ubbe Ragnarsson and Ivar the Boneless. Refusing to renounce his religion Edmund is said to have undergone horrific treatment, either used for target practice by Danish bowmen, or even more horribly made a ‘blood eagle’ sacrifice, his ribs separated from his spine and his lungs pulled from his living body. Yet still he refused to renounce Christ, and was decapitated by the Danes in exasperation. Edmund’s head was said to have been guarded by a wolf for weeks before his followers recovered it, a story that lead to his being the patron saint of wolves, although whether they knew this before they were wiped out in England is unclear.After his death Edmund quickly became accepted as a saint and a martyr. His body when seen years after his death was intact and without signs of decay, and even more miraculously was healed of its wounds, only a thin red line around his neck showing the brutality of his end. Miracles were attributed to him, including one where his spirit appeared to the last heathen Danish king in England, Sweyen, causing the latter to fall from his horse and die in convulsions.His shrine at Beadoriceworth became an important point of pilgrimage in early medieval England, the town changing its name to Bury St Edmunds (town of St Edmund). For a time St Edmund was England’s patron saint, until St George replaced him, and there is a campaign afoot today to reinstate the martyr king to that position.

Favorite Photos From Trip: Places and Objects

Favorite photos of places and objects. Double-click to super-size.390th Control Tower, Framlingham.
Church door, Horham. This Norman church was built in 1312.

Ancient House, Horham. Built in the 13th century. Town store on left. Stayed in this house with Alan Johnson while in Horham.
Old graves in Horham Churchyard.
View of Horham village from church steeple.
Edinburgh Castle.

Window, old 95th base hospital, Horham.
Garden, Scottish Borders.
Poppies on old 95th hardstand.
Scottish Borders from walls of Hume Castle.

Dingle Harbor, County Kerry, Ireland.

Old base theater, Framlingham.
Nature re-takes the main runway at Horham (modified).

Hume Castle, Scottish Borders
Scott's Lookout, Scottish Borders

Tree Tunnel, Scottish Borders (modified)

School Year Ends, Writing Projects Begin

Near Malad Pass, not far from the Idaho/Utah border. All the rain has made the land green--for now.

A polygamist compound on the way down to Lagoon, near Tremonton, Utah.Kids on the bus, heading down to Lagoon for the 9th grade trip. We took about 300 kids down for the day on Wednesday.
Yours truly with some of my students, messing around.
My daughter Brianna graduates from high school this week. We're throwing her a party. With her is her boyfriend Patrick.

The school year ended yesterday, my 23rd in the public school system, four years in rural Wyoming and the other 19 here in Idaho Falls. The last week, our 9th grade class took the yearly trip to Lagoon, an amusement park near Salt Lake City. As you can see, it was a cold trip, but fun none the less.

On June 4, I'm flying to England to do research for a book on the 95th Bomb Group. Looking forward to this trip very much, and to seeing my British friends again. I'll spend time in East Anglia, near Horham, where the 95th was stationed during the war, as well as visit the American Cemetery and retrace the steps of the 95th men in London on their rare 24-hour passes. It is a humbling duty, to tell the story of these great men, many of whom I had the opportunity to meet at the 2008 95th Reunion in Tucson, Arizona in April.

Plans also to visit a friend in Scotland for a day or two, and then since I'm already over there, I'll travel over to Ireland for a week or so and travel the country on public transport.

My youngest daughter Brianna graduates from high school this week, and we are surprising her with a party. My wife's family is coming down from Missoula, Montana for the occasion.

Shortly after I return from England, I'll be going to California. It will be a busy and productive summer, and I'll keep readers posted.

95th Bomb Group Reunion, Tucson, Arizona

Today there was unlimited visibility in the American West, allowing one to see all the way to the horizon. Above is the Grand Canyon from 32,000 feet.

I took this on a one-hour break on Saturday, just a short distance outside of Tucson.

A proud 95th vet, who was also a Prisoner of War, also makes a statement for peace with his bumper sticker at right: "War is NOT the Answer". I never did find out whose car this was.

Technical wizard Art Watson figured out a solution to a troubling issue with the B-17s superchargers. As a result, he was awarded the Legion of Merit.

B-17 Pilot 'Lucky' McGinty proudly wears his flight jacket.

Charlie Gallagher models his A-2 jacket.

My dear friend Bob Capen, who was in my first book, checks out his old "office"--the ball turret, for our mutual friend Brad Petrella, Jr., whose dad Brad Petralla was in the 95th.

95th Bomb Group pilot and fellow writer John Walter checks out the living quarters at the 390th BG Museum at the Pima Air Museum. "Ah, the memories!"

Just got back tonight and then had to work till now getting ready for another week of teaching day and night school. Am I ready? No. Hopefully, I learned a thing or two about "winging it" from all the tremendous WWII vets I met and interviewed at the Reunion in Tucson the past few days. It was a wonderful experience and I'm posting just a couple photos tonight. A full report will follow as time permits.

These men only confirm what I already knew--they ARE the Greatest Generation. God bless them all! Without them and thousands like them, we would not be free.

Going to Tucson to Work on 95th Bomb Group History

The official heraldry of the 95th Bomb Group (H)

A shot of the city of Tucson, Arizona.

This Thursday, after taking the shuttle bus from Idaho Falls down to Salt Lake City, I'll be flying to Tucson, Arizona to do interviews and research for a new book on the 95th Bomb Group (H) that was commissioned earlier this year. This is a daunting task, and a mission that I do not take lightly. The 95th BG was one of the great bomb groups of WWII, flying 334 missions during the war out of bases in Alconbury, Framlingham, and finally Horham, East Anglia. The first mission was on May 13, 1943 to St. Omer, France and the last mission was on May 25, 1945. The group suffered heavy casualties, especially early in the war. 554 men were killed in action, 805 were Prisoners of War, 162 were Wounded in Action, and 64 were interned in neutral countries.

The group also won three Distinguished Unit Citations, more than any other bomb group. These DUCs were for the August 17, 1943 Regensburg Mission; the October 10, 1943 Munster Mission, and the historic March 4, 1944 Berlin Mission, where the 95th became the first daylight bomb group to bomb Berlin.

The story of this legendary group has been told in an outstanding oral history coordinated by 95th BG vets Leonard Herman and Ellis Scripture, and then finalized by Ian Hawkins, entitled 'B-17s Over Berlin' (Potomac), and also plays a major role, along with fellow 13th Wing groups the 390th and the 100th, in Ian's book 'Munster: The Way it Was', (sometimes called Munster: Before and After).

With so much good material already out there, it will be important to create a bomb group history that is unique and covers the entire 95th story from both an operational and personal standpoint.

I look foward to meeting many of the men I've corresponded with over the years at the Tucson reunion, and hearing their stories in person, trusty notepad at the ready, as well as getting to know as many other 95th vets as time allows. We also will have several interesting tours to places like the Davis-Monthan aircraft boneyard. I've had several excellent mentors who have taught me much about the history of the 95th, including Ian Hawkins and the late 95th BG Historian Ed Charles. Numerous contacts and friendships with members of the group have ensued over the past eight years.

In early June, I will continue my research for the 95th history in East Anglia, England, with a side trip to London, to get a feel for what life was like on the base, how the locals interacted with the young Americans who descended into their midst in 1943, and retrace the tracks the young men took while on their precious leaves in London. I'll also get the chance to collaborate with my friend historian Ian Hawkins, who will be sharing billing on the writing on this project.

I feel a close tie to the 95th and its men, and I will give nothing less than my best to make sure their story is told well, so that what they did can live forever in the pages of history.

Long Overdue Tribute to My Writing Assistant

My trusty research assistant, nearly 23 years old, 211,000 miles, and still going strong.

Many WWII airmen say their B-17s, B-24s, P-51s or P-47s became like their children or their friends. Rarely did airmen fly their entire tour in only one aircraft, but often they flew most with one ship. They painted a naked lady or other suitable nose art on her, taped up snapshots of girlfriends, and named their guns. Pilots got to know the individual subtleties of their particular aircraft--slightly different trimming perhaps, or tighter controls.

Ground crews got even more attached. Each ground crew was in the war for the duration. They became attached to the aircraft and the crews. Many a crew chief would beam with pride as his aircraft roared into the sky. It was also a great point of pride among ground crews that their particular planes rarely had to abort a mission due to mechanical problems When a plane was shot down, the ground crews were devastated. When a crew finished its tour and went home, the ground crew stayed behind and broke in a new crew.

Throughout my writing career, I have been lucky to have a similar relationship with my car. I'm not one of these people that names his car or buys it birthday presents, but I do have a real sense of respect and dare I say 'love' for this vehicle. I consider it my number one research assistant over the years. It has taken me to interviews in Washington State, Montana, Utah, Wyoming, and Idaho. It has driven me to the airport and waited patiently in the parking lot at Jackson, Wyoming while I winged off to further interviews. And it has taken me back and forth to my teaching job for 15 years without fail. If I needed to today, I could drive it across the country and know I'd get there with no problems.

Side view

My car, a dark blue Honda CRX two-seater, was born in Japan back in the early months of 1985. It must have been a good day at the factory. When I bought it in 1992, it already had over 100,000 miles on it. Today, it has 211,000. It routinely gets 45 miles to the gallon on the highway (which is more than it is supposed to get), and 30-35 in town.

The CRX came out in 1984. I remember going to the lot and looking at the new ones, thinking how much I'd like to own one. At the time, I had a 1959 VW Bug that topped out at about fifty miles an hour and no gas gauge but a stick I'd dip into the tank. Little did I know that one day I'd own one. The CRX was a very popular make for about ten years, then was discontinued by Honda. I see fewer of them all the time, though they are making a bit of a comeback with younger hot rodders, who trick them out and make them look sporty.

A brand-new 1985 Honda CRX. Mine used to look like this, before time and an over-sized farm vehicle took their toll.

It has no dome light, no radio or CD player, no air conditioning, no rear window defogger, no windshield squirters, and no rubber on any of the pedals. The driver's side door lock only works with the key. In the winter, the heat kicks in roughly the same time I get to work, not a good thing at zero degrees. It also has cracks running all over the windshield, none of which is in my line of vision. In most states in the United States that have annual inspections, this little car would fail miserably.

Two years ago, I almost lost it. I was parked at the District Track Meet to watch my son compete in the shot put (he was district champion that year and went on to be fourth in the state, incidentally). My car is so small that a girl on the track team backed her 3/4 ton farm pickup into the front end of my car, pushing in the radiator, sending pieces of blue plastic flying through the air, and shattering the headlights. I was certain it was totalled. The insurance company looked at it, said it was worth less than the repairs needed to fix it, and totalled it out, paying me the book value.

I hammered the hood flat, put new lights on, and have been driving it ever since. It is becoming quite an ugly car, and my friends think it's time to give it up. But I can't. I will drive this car until it can't go another mile.

I owe it at least that much.