Acme Time Travel Incorporated - Volume 1
In remembrance 28th Nov 1944

The remembrance service was well attended. Robert Cullen had been a popular boy and had had many friends. The Rector looked over at the people seated below him. He had known the boy too. Walton-on-the-Naze was a small town, and although he had only lived here for three years, he had seen the boy (well, a man really) about the town.

He looked down at his notes, then looked up to see the boy’s mother, Margaret, staring up at him.

A young woman sat next to Margaret, holding on to her, either to give or to receive comfort. The young woman was called Mary Sands, and she and Robert had been inseparable for all the time he had been here.

He looked down at his notes again. Using them to steady his mind.

“We are here today to remember Robert Cullen. A young man of this town, who has given his life for all of us. A bright boy, a kind boy. Always there to help a friend.”

He glanced up quickly, to check that he had their attention.

“Many of you here today,” he continued, “will remember him from his time at the Technical School, where he proved to be a most able pupil. His qualifications from his education there enabled him to join the Royal Air Force in 1937, aged only eighteen, where he trained as an air mechanic. He went on to receive promotions, ultimately achieving the rank of Sergeant Mechanic. At this point in his career, it would seem that Robert became deeply affected by the deaths of many of his close friends who were working as aircrew. The number of deaths amongst those young people flying ... flying on nightly bombing raids ... they left him ...”

The Rector looked up again. He had given eulogies before, but this one ... he felt unable to explain his feelings ... unable to say what needed to be said.

Robert’s mother was looking up at him, tears in her eyes.

“It would seem,” he said, “that Robert felt the need to offer himself up to ... to fly ... to fly on the bomber raids that were killing so many of his friends. Accordingly, he requested to re-train, and was sent to an OTU.”

He felt rather than saw that people were looking up at him.

“Sorry,” he said, before continuing. “He was sent to an operational training unit. This is where flight crews spend months training to work together ... until they comprise a tightly-knit team.

Robert had requested to re-train as a Wop/AG, which stands for Wireless Operator / Air Gunner. Sadly, Robert was killed when his plane, a Vickers Wellington bomber crashed during a training exercise.”

The Rector looked up again. Several of his congregation were looking shocked, some were looking perplexed. The fact that Robert had been killed during a time of war, when so many people were dying in front-line engagements, and he had died simply training to fight.

“I should tell you,” the Rector said, “and this is after speaking earlier to some of Robert’s friends from the RAF ... you can see them down there in the back row ... that there is a very high casualty rate amongst recruits undergoing training to be aircrew. This would seem to be because they are forced to train in machines which have been withdrawn from operational service. Machines which have been withdrawn usually ... usually owing to them having various mechanical issues ... severe and recurrent problems. Problems that have made them too dangerous to ...”

The Rector realised in horror that he had forgotten to stick to his notes. He had spoken before the service to Robert’s RAF colleagues. He had wanted to try to get a better picture of the young man. And now he had inadvertently revealed to his congregation some of the feelings ... some of the raw emotions ... some of the anger felt by Robert’s friends.

He could tell that Robert’s colleagues were clearly saddened that anyone should die, but to die simply learning how to fight. To die in equipment that had already been declared a death-trap by the operational commanders.

Robert’s friends had found it hard to forgive ... and they had passed their feelings on to him.

And he had given way to his own emotions. He had vented his own feelings, when he should have been ...

The Rector took a handkerchief and wiped his face. He struggled to put it back in his pocket, so let it drop to the floor.

He continued, “I can see some of his air force colleagues here today, and they have told me that they have fond memories from the time that he was with them.

Also, we should remember that his plane was one of two aircraft, both were lost that same day, both flying from the same operational training unit.”

The Rector couldn’t seem to get the image out of his mind. He was fairly sure that a Wellington bomber had a five-man crew. That meant that ten young men had died that same day, crashing to the ground as their untrustworthy machines fell apart around them. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He bent down to the floor and picked up his handkerchief again. He wiped it across his eyes, which were stinging. He re-adjusted his notes. He squared them neatly in front of him.

“It is difficult to understand,” he read, “why the Lord should wish to take away our young people in the prime of their lives. Maybe some comfort can be gleaned from the fact that they have chosen to give their lives for us. They knew of the dangers, and they knew of the untold grief their deaths would cause us. Still, they gave their lives willingly, and from their courage we should gain some comfort. Robert Cullen gave his life for us, and he gave it gladly. We should honour him in his choice and praise him for the pain he sought to bear in our stead.

May Robert stand forever on the left side of Jesus Christ Our Lord, forever and always.

Amen.”

The Rector looked up at his assemblage, looking to find a face that he could look at without losing his own composure. Sitting next to Mary Sands was John Cullen, Robert’s older brother. Now twenty-seven years old, the boy sat gazing impassively back at the Rector. It wasn’t clear at all whether the boy understood the proceedings taking place. The Rector understood that John barely spoke a word from one day to the next, though he would gladly walk around when he had been taken out with Robert and his girlfriend. The Rector had often seen John accompanying them on walks along the cliff top. Times like those were when John gave the clearest impression that he indeed gained some form of enjoyment from life.

The Rector saw Mary half-turn towards John, giving his hand a squeeze. He had looked back towards her, his dark eyes gazing emptily.

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