Sgt. Bill Unknown
USAAF 326th Squadron 92nd Bomber Group
My story is identical to many who have lived a life of not knowing their father as a result of the effects of war. Many would have been in this situation due to the loss of their father in combat. They would have been told the facts surrounding his loss. Killed in action, Missing in Combat, Prisoner of War. Others may know that their existence was due to a period of time when it was important to grab a moment of happiness when they could.
One day, at junior school, my teacher asked the class to say what their mother and father did at work. I knew my mother worked in an office but I did not have a father. I asked my mother and she told me that he was killed in the war. At that time in London children played in streets where bomb sites were normal. We knew about the war so there was no reason to ask further questions. My mother found a partner when I was 9 years old and after several years he became my step-father. My name was changed by deed poll when I moved to Secondary school.
At various times in my childhood and early teenage years I had occasions to question my fathers demise. My Grand-mother (my mothers mother) once told me that my mother had the opportunity to move to America but had decided not to. I remembered being carried on the shoulders of soldier in Trafalgar Square with my mother. At this time I had been given a toy car which I now realise was an american model convertible. It was fantastic, with a steering wheel that worked and individual suspension. In my early teens I became interested in who my Father was. My Mother would not tell me of any detail other then he was killed in a battle at Caen, France. My Grandmother told me that he was an American who my mother had met whilst working as a bus conductress in Bushy. My grandmother asked me not to discuss this any further and especially not with my mother as she had been warned not to tell me the truth. I had already been threatened by my step father with being put in a children’s home if I was disobedient so decided to give up the questioning.
In 1998 my step-father died leaving my widowed mother living on her own and subsequently relying on me as the only child with few other relatives. To my surprise, one day she produced a photograph of a British army soldier and informed me that this was my father. She gave me the details of his regiment and service number and I was able to confirm he was killed in action in Caen following the D Day invasion. I decided to tell her that her mother had told me that my father was an American serviceman. My grandmother had died many years before. She looked shocked and then denied that the story was true. There was little point in pursuing the subject and nothing more was said.
Following my mothers death I dealt with the disposal of her belongings and was surprised to find a photograph of an American Airforce Sergeant signed on the reverse, Love from Bill, 13033949, 92nd Bomber Group, 326th Squadron USAAF 11th November 1942. My wife, on viewing the photo, said, 'you have his eyes and smile. That's your father'. My only other relative, a cousin, when told of my discovery, said, 'We were told that your father was an American'
I carried out a search on the internet and confirmed that the bomber squadron were on active service from Bovingdon Airfield during the relevant time My birth date also coincided with the possibility that Bill was my father. I discovered that there was a veterans association for the 92nd Bomber Group in the USA. I made contact and was informed that without a surname and the State in which Bill had been recruited it would not be possible to identify him. According to the archivist for the Vets Association each State in America issued the service number. Therefore it could not be used in isolation as a means of identification. I had to accept this as a fact and gave up on the quest.
I reasoned that such time had passed that it was probable that Bill was dead. I had to assume there was a surviving family in the USA and that they would be unaware of my mothers brief encounter during the war. Let sleeping dogs lie…..
