S/Sgt. Bernard W. Mary was already assigned to the 467th when my assignment to the Group from Keams Air Base, Utah took place October 26, 1943. Very seldom saw Barney at Wendover and only met up with him a few times on board our ship, Frederick Lykes, on our way over to the ETO. When we were aboard the train for our trip to Rackheath, Barney happened to be in the same rail coach compartment with us. At dawn, everyone got out of their compartments to see what the country of Scotland looked like. When we got out of our compartment there were already GI's, rows deep, trying to see the countryside and watch the Scottish farmers working the black, rich soil of their fields with their "John Deere" tractors. Bamey looked at me and said, “I'll make room so we can see." He let off a fume of gas and those around began looking at each other, wondering who was the guilty one. Bamey looked at me, laughed, and said, "Watch." Again he fumed of, and nearly everyone disappeared. There were a few at each end of the isle and he said, "Watch, I’ll get rid of them too”. He did, and he let out a big laugh. Vince LaRussa was one of those who witnessed that procedure. It was unknown to me that Bamey could "gas off” whenever he wanted, which I became aware of later on in our operations.


One of our aircraft near our engineering hut had a problem with the Bomb Release light indicator panel. Bamey and I were assigned to correct the problem. That was early on in our operations, so we were wearing our steel helmets and carrying our carbines and gas masks. I made my way through the passageway to the bombardiers position. Bamey located himself alongside the nose wheel door, where the power junction was for the light indicator panel. We had just begun our work and Barney let off a fume. I told him that I would leave if he did that again, but he fumed off again. I thought of the gas mask and put it on. He laughed until his face turned purple.


Shortly after that, one of the aircraft had a supercharger problem that caused the fuses to blow in the supercharger circuit. All the ground checks were made and the problem still prevailed. Our engineering officer, Capt. Karas, called for a test flight crew to take the aircraft up in high altitude flight to do more checking. We took along four new amplifiers and other items that were needed. It was a sunny day with some haze. We spiraled our way up until the pilot said, "That's as far as it will lift." Somehow remember he said the altitude was 28000+ feet, and felt somewhat disappointed, because I wanted to see that B-24 go higher. So the troubleshooting began, and we found there was no walk-around oxygen bottle on board. Going down in the passageway where the amplifiers were mounted in a rack, I used an oxygen hose from the flight deck, but it didn't reach far enough. The R/O came to assist me. With amplifier and some tools, I moved toward the amplifier rack and at end-of-reach of oxygen hose, let go of the hose and made a dash to replace the amplifier. The replacement could not be completed in one dash because of blacking out. The R/O waited until I got back on oxygen and revived, and then made the next dash. Two or three dashes were necessary for the replace ment of each amplifier. After each amplifier was changed, the circuit was tested, and each time the fuse blew. After completing the checks, the pilot spiraled our way down to the base. While we were up at altitude looking down to earth, some twenty air bases were counted.


We told Capt. Karas that the high altitude checks didn't solve the problem. It was just before noon, chow time, and he said, "I want you and Barney Mary to work on that supercharger right after chow and stay on that until you find the problem. The only thing you do besides that is go to chow." We worked that aftemoon, through the night, all the next day and through the next night, and all the next day, up to 2300 hours. We went through everything in that aircraft pertaining to the supercharger circuits and units, and found where and what the guts were. It was like making an invisible blueprint in our minds. At 2300 we had one last check to make. It was located up above the wing where the wing and the fuselage merge. I took a flashlight and waterpump pliers and wedged myself into the V-shaped space and could just reach into the shallow space far enough to reach the cannon plug connector that connected two large conduits that met there. Upon opening the cannon plug and examining it with the flashlight, I found that several drops of moisture had formed between some of the terminals which caused the circuit to short and blow the fuses. After drying the connector and some cleaning, there was no more fuse blowing. I remember a bulletin coming down later in regard to that problem, an indication that other groups had experienced that problem also. Barney worked hard on that problem and did not complain about duty for such long hours; he didn't even let off a fume. We went to the Engineer hut to report that the super charger problem was taken care of. Then flopping down on the concrete floor, I fell asleep; don't remember what Barney did. Barney must have been known by nearly everyone on the line. He was good-natured and always ready for conversation and some • laughs.


A short time after that Barney asked me to go with him on a pass to Norwich. I really didn't care to go but thought if a comrade is good enough to ask, one should also be good enough to accept. We checked at the Engineer hut and found there were no duties for us. We got our passes, got in our dress uniforms and headed for Norwich on G.I. bikes. After we were into Norwich a ways, there was a sign OFF LIMITS FOR G.I. BIKES. I called out, “Hey, Barney, why are you going beyond that sign." He said, "Ah, come on, it's not far to the Pub. Fye been there before. No one bothers." So, down the long hill we went, some distance to the Pub. We parked the bikes behind the Pub where they could not be readily seen, went in and joined the crowd. Barney was one for beer drinking and drank at least two to my one. Time came for the Pub to close, Barney had just ordered a round of beer and said, "Go order one more round before they close." I said, "We haven't even drank the round you just ordered. What are you going to do with that beer?" "I'll take it out," he said. I said, "They will see you carry it out." "No they won't," he said. When it was time to leave, Barney said, "Hand me those mugs of beer. He put one under his overcoat in the armpit on one side and the other mug in the other armpit, and we walked out. The beer was dripping from the bottom edge of his overcoat when we walked out. We sat down and Barney finished off the two beers. He was very groggy and his eyes wanted to close. I kept talking to him to keep him going, and asked, "How do you intend to get back out of town?" "Oh, I'll make it," he said. He got on his bike and flopped right over. I said, "You're not going to make it." He said, "Lean the bike against the wall, then I'll get on." As he peddled along the wall, the stucco was grinding at the left shoulder of his overcoat. When he got to the end of the wall, down he went. I said, "Let's push the bikes until we are out of here and up the long hill. Maybe you will then be sober enough to ride the bike back to the base."


When we were at the top of the long hill and past the off limits sign, things looked a little more hopeful. Then Barney fell, striking his chin against the curbstone, really cutting his chin open. Some English people came along and saw that Barney's chin was bleeding a lot and one of the women said there was an air raid shelter and aid station down the hill. I said, "I don't want to go back down there because it's off limits for these G.I. bikes and the MP's will pick us up." The women said they would not call the MP's. So back we went. Barney got first aid and a lot of bandaging around his face and head and we were told an ambulance would come and pick us up. I thought, "Oh boy, a ride back to the base." We waited a long time. It was already quite dark, probably around 2100 hours. A U. S. ambulance came. We got in with our bikes. After driving a ways, the ambulance stopped, and Barney and I were told to get out. I saw a signboard by the doorway of the building where we stopped. When we got to the doorway, I could see the lettering on the signboard was PRO VOST MARSHAL. I thought, "O-o-h boy, here we go for some debriefing." It was a dimly lit room with a large wooden table, and a Major and a M/Sgt, each standing on different sides of the table. Both were over six feet tall, heavy build, and they looked like they hated themselves (it was enough to scare the HOLY HELL out of you). They started snapping questions at us and Barney tried to help answer with his bandaged jaw. I said, "Barney, don't talk, your chin will start bleeding again." Really, I did not want him to talk because they would then smell his strong beer breath. I sorta posted myself between the table and Barney to keep him behind me, as his overcoat smelled somewhat like a brew vat. Luckily, somehow the answers I came up with seemed to satisfy the Major and M/Sgt. We were told to go back to the ambulance. I thought it would not be long before we would be back at Rackheath, but the ambulance kept going, on and on. It seemed longer than it would take to get to Rackheath. Finally we stopped, the door opened, and I was told to get out. I looked at Barney who stayed in the ambulance. It was around 2400 hours.


We were in front of a high mansion-type building with massive framed doorway. A small S/Sgt. in O.D. uniform said, "Follow me." As we went in, there were doors to the right and left, and a small movie hall type ticket office cubical straight ahead. He entered the ticket office and gave me a brown paper envelope and said, "Put all your valuables in here." I thought, "Now what." Then he went to the big door on the right and said, "Follow me." The door opened to a huge hall-like room, filled with iron-barred cells. They were nearly all filled with drunks, cut-throats and colored guys. The room was filled with sounds of cussing, yelling and moaning. The S/Sgt. said, "In here," as he opened the gate to one of the two remaining empty cells. There was a steel cot with a mattress rolled up at the head of the cot.


Sitting on the cot, I thought, "Man, what else." I was wondering- where Barney was or how he ended up. An angry feeling welled up in me, and I sat on the wire bedspring with my back against the rolled up mattress. Hearing all those noises in there made me more angry and I did not sleep. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, the door opened. The S/Sgf:'said, "Time for chow." Going out, there stood a "Duce-and-Half with the steel ladder from the end gate, and standing at each side of the doorway as I
came out was a guard with a sawed-off shotgun at the ready position. I thought, "Man, this is getting worse ail along." The guards ushered me into the truck and one sat at each side of the end gate. We drove to a mess hall and sat down at a wooden table. The mess hall was empty. I guessed it to be about 0800 hours. Someone in whites brought me some oatmeal in a dish without milk or sugar (they must have thought a hard criminal like me didn't deserve it). Then the guards sat up on the table', at a position so that the end of the sawed-off shotgun barrels were about 30" away from my head on each side. I thought, "All this for a comrade." I was so angry I didn't care to eat but ate the oatmeal because it gave me something to bite on. It took me about two minutes.


We went back to the jail-house mansion, and waiting there for me was a jeep and two MP's from Rackheath. I recognized the tall hard-boned looking one from a number of times I saw him at his duties around the base (actually he was a good MP). The other one I did not know. The S/Sgt. gave me back my belongings, the tall MP motioned me to the back seat of the jeep and we took off Rackheath. It was a long ride and to this day, I don't know where that jail-house mansion was located, and really did not care to find out. We pulled up in front of our 789th orderly room at about 1200 hours. As I was climbing out of the MP's jeep, James Aldret from the electrical section walked up to the orderly room. (He was also one of our hut members.) He said, "Hello, Yard-Bird, where the hell were you last night." After that, I went by the nickname of Yard-Bird for sometime. Aldret was the electrical sections artist. The G.I. issue bike to the section was No. 582, and whenever someone used it for a 'Pubbing" mission or a pass, Aldret would paint the proper symbol on ole 582's fender; such as a beer mug for a pubbing mission, flak for a hazardous mission. He painted a purple heart for Barney's busted chin mission. Didn't hear or see any sign of Barney around. It seems about two days later a
message came for me to report to our 789th Sqdn Executive Officer, Major Chadwell, in dress uniform. Sounded like more debriefing. He asked about the G.I. bikes off limits and otherwise. He seemed to be satisfied with the answers I gave him. He looked like a stem and disciplined officer, but I think he was also a kind-hearted gentleman. About four days later I got to see Barney. He was happy and beaming (I was still smarting). Barney said, "Hi, Al, where were you the night of the pass?" I said, "Where the hell do you think I was!" I went on to tell him what all took place after we parted that night, and he really had a good laugh about it. He said, "You know where I was—in a hospital, in a nice bed with clean sheets and nice nurses taking care of me," and he laughed some more. Not too much later, Bamey was assigned to duties out of our Sqdn., not sure where. He also went on to marry an English girl, Gwin, don't remember her last name. I was at their wedding celebration. Her parents were very likeable people. Also met another Norwich family, pleasant people, last name was Anderson. Wish I had noted their address and kept in touch over the years. Kept in touch with Barney after the war, wrote a letter to him and quite sometime later received a letter with a Norwich, England return address. His wife answered the letter. It was sad news. She said that just six months after she came to the U. S. to begin life in their home, Bamey became ill and died and she went back to Norwich to live with her parents. She enclosed pictures of herself,Bamey and their toddlers, twin boys.—rest in peace,


Now, after all the years, thinking back to that experience with a "comrade", I feel it added much more meaning to my memories of the 467th, and feel I would not have wanted to miss out on it.