Derek Hewitt's account of May 8, 1944: It was early morning on the 8th of May 1944 around 6-15am; I can remember it well, even though it was 60 years ago. At that time my dad (Ralph Hewitt), was a small haulage contractor with a couple of Lorries working around Norfolk, we also had a one pump filling station, so as you could imagine a BIG DEAL! In those days, although no longer owned by my family it is still in existence today known as Frettenham service station.
We were used to aircraft taking off and flying over our house what with R.A.F Coltishall 1 ˝ miles away in front of us and R.A.F. Horsham St Faiths 1 ˝ miles behind us, especially with the Liberators from Horsham taking off although we were not directly inline with the runway they pull to the left on takeoff which would be going to the north after which they would either do a circuit or head straight out, in doing this they would fly right over our house at quite a low level, so you can imagine we got very used to them and they sometimes did not even wake us on their early morning takeoffs.
On the 8th of May 44 it was a different story, I remember it was about 6am I heard one hell of noise, a crash, and a wallop and bang, bang, bangs, I jumped out of bed to see what it was, by the way I was about nearly 14 years old at this time. My dad obviously jumped out of bed as well, he and my mother Grace were in the front bedroom of the house and I slept in the room at the back. He had looked out of the window in the bedroom and could see flames and smoke from a crashed plane a short distance down the road from our house, he shouted to my mum and I, “I think there’s a plane crashed down the road, I don’t know exactly where but it’s flipping close“. He said “I‘m going down the road to see what I can do, there are some poor devils in there and they might need help.”
I came out of my bedroom onto the landing, Dad said to me, “You stay here and look after your mum”. He then dashed down the stairs to go outside, before going outside he stopped to put his boots on, he looked like a “Phantom flasher” in his long John underwear, shirt and heavy work boots. So off he went, and I heard the front door slam shut. Just then mum rushed up and said, “He’s forgotten his trousers, he hasn’t put his trousers on”. So with this I said, “I’ll take them to him”. Mum said, “No, no, you don’t”. To which I replied, “Mum, it’s a really bad frost out there, he can’t go without his trousers”.
So okay, I was really keen to go anyway, off I shot after Dad with trousers and braces hanging round my neck, I caught him up a short way from the house, and shouted to him to put his trousers on. He said, “I don’t want my bloody trousers, what are you doing here, go back”. I said, “No, I’m coming with you, Mum said you’ve got to have your trousers”. I can clearly remember the both of us crawling down the hedgerow towards the plane which was only a 150 yards away from our house, soon arrived at the scene and what a sight it was, there were bullets exploding in the fires and ricocheting off the road and the trees in all directions, I don’t think we realised how close we were to getting hit and killed.
When we got in amongst the wreckage the heat from the many fires was nearly unbearable. Anyway, wherever my Dad was going I was going too, because he needed his trousers, which I still had round my neck. My goodness what real mess it was, bits of plane and debris strewn across the road and onto a piece of common land, which is still there today. If you go there and really take a good look at it, you can still see where it happened. As I said before, there was a mass of fire everywhere; the plane had disintegrated into small pieces lying about everywhere - engines, fuselage, and a bit of the tail plane sticking up in the air with a big “K” on it.
Dad and I went in amongst the wreckage and saw airmen lying on the ground in various places. Some were crying, some were shouting and others were not making any noise at all. I threw Dads trousers on the ground and got on with job of helping him to get these young chaps away from the fires. Whether we shouldn’t have done so I don’t know, but at the time we just wanted to get them away from the inferno. I remember one of the fellas [it turns out that this was John Rogenmuser, navigator], he was very young looking with dark hair and what seemed at the time a dark complexion. He was slipping in and out of consciousness; while he was awake, he kept saying, “My back, oh my back hurts”. My Dad and I very carefully carried him away from the fire and laid him on the grass roadside verge, where I put some packing beside his back, which I think now, was a parachute. He was chewing on a piece of gum as hard as he could.
My Dad and I went back in again to see if we could help anyone else. At this time another man joined us, this was Albert Sydell, who lived right opposite the crash site. We really didn’t speak to each other but just got on dashing in and out of the fires, trying to get these poor young chaps out of harms way. After what seemed a long time another couple of chaps arrived to help but by this time we, (Dad, Albert, and I), had got everyone out that we could find. After a while some American Jeeps arrived. I remember one standing on the road and Dad and I lifting the first young chap we got out up onto the bonnet of the Jeep, and then also another one, so there were two on the front of the Jeep. This was all we could think of to do at the time. We propped their heads up against the windscreen, they lay there side by side. Where they were taken to from there I don’t really know. More American servicemen started to arrive in Lorries and took over from there onwards obviously.
There is one thing that happened that I remember very clearly indeed. I remember looking up from where I was kneeling beside one of the airmen and seeing walking towards me through the wreckage, smoke, and flames one of the airmen, he looked just like a ghost, he seemed to me to be about six foot tall. He had taken his flying helmet off and was carrying it, he appeared to have, as far as I can remember, very light or blonde hair. He didn’t seem to be injured in any way at that time to me. I think he was the upper turret gunner and had been thrown out of the plane, right across the common, landing in a very large bush, which cushioned his fall, escaping serious injury. What happened to him later I don’t know.
I have still got the medals and letter of commendation for bravery from Winston Churchill awarded to my Dad plus various other letters of congratulations from other government departments, of which I am obviously very proud of now. At the time of the crash, I was 14, although a very big and mature minded lad for my years, even so at this age at the time there were not any bravery awards given.
I often wondered what became of those young men afterwards. Although it is many years ago now, sometimes I will see something on the TV or read an article in a newspaper and clear, lucid memories of that frightful day will come into my mind, it was a day I will truly never forget.
I hope as we travel on through the decades that future generations of young people are taught of the sacrifices, that the young generation of those terrible years had to endure, many, of course paying the so called “Supreme sacrifice” so they can live as they do now.
