Cramsie Day 2012

Bill Cramsie and 43-9699 continue to make news as we mark today the 67th Anniversary of the day that he and his gunners Charles Henshaw and Jack Steward disappeared without a trace.  Those who are familiar with the story will know that Bill has not rested in peace during that time.  In fact, he has pulled, pushed, cajoled and clawed his way into the hearts and minds of scores of people from California to the U.K.  The search for Bill Cramsie began seven years ago.  It should have begun sixty years earlier, but a tiny human foible precluded that.

Readers of this blog will know about "First to Fall" and about Ross Stewart.  Some will know that Ross discovered an anomaly in the records that may well lead to closure on this search.  As Lt. Cramsie was flying alone at 400 feet above Bradwell Bay, he made a call for a bearing to the RAF base there.  His hope was to make an emergency landing before the overburdened left engine of his A-20 Havoc failed completely.  He had lost the other engine much earlier due to intense flak over France. 

 

The call was heard by his friend, classmate and fellow pilot Marion S. (Scotty) Street, who was also flying on one engine and could see Cramsie below him.  Street was within sight of the main flight as they crossed the English Channel and entered Bradwell Bay.  They were on a direct course from just east of Dunkirk to their home station at Wethersfield.  The call for a bearing was heard and acknowledged by the ground station and a determination of Cramsie's position was made by triangulation of the radio signal.  That location was logged at latitude and longitude coordinates that placed Cramsie at 40 miles east of the station at Bradwell Bay and actually in the North Sea.  The Missing Air Crew Report includes a map with that location marked by an "X" and an arrow showing the coordinate he was advised to follow.

This reported location has always been at odds with common sense and the official reports of pilots who saw Cramsie's plane below them on the return from France to England.  Ross Stewart astutely realized that the reported longitude must contain a number inversion.  Plotting the corrected coordinates put this position precisely on the line and at the proper distance from land that all contemporary reports of pilot would suggest.  Ross also discovered through an internet charting resource that there is an unidentified aircraft wreck at this very spot, which happens to be a large sand bank that is partially exposed at the lowest tides.  He then located a 35-year-old British aerial survey photo that showed a twin-engined aircraft at that spot.  The photo was taken from 26,000 feet and detail was insufficient for positive identification, but it looked very much like the profile of an A-20 Havoc.

As Ross expanded his search for information to local divers and fishermen, he met Roger Gaspar an expert in these waters and a man with extraordinary background and skills.  On Easter Sunday morning, the two of them coordinated a trip to the site with the help of Alan Bird, an Oyster boat's captain, to determine if that wreck was still to be found.  Why on Easter?  It has to do with the Spring tides being at their lowest point of the year for a couple days and that bad weather was forecast for the following days.  These intrepid explorers boarded the waiting craft at 4:00 AM and anchored off the sand bank in the early AM, approaching it with a dinghy as the tide receded.  Their effort was well rewarded.  At precisely the coordinates expected, they did find the wreckage of an aircraft and some indications that it may be an A-20.  Further examination of the wreckage is presently underway and it is hopeful that a solid identification will soon be possible.

The main part of the aircraft which was visible in the 1970s aerial survey is apparently now covered with sand, but is likely in the immediate vicinity of the tail sections and main landing gear shown in the photos above.

The story of Bill Cramsie and "9699" has always seemed to write itself and to lead people to the place they need to go.  I feel comforted in the fact that it happens to others, not just to me.  There are a lot of people with the desire to see closure on this long episode and obviously a lot of will to prevail in that quest.

Walking on the stones

I was born in March of 1943, as Bill Cramsie was anxiously anticipating graduation from West Point and moving on to his life's dream — flying. Amidst the complex weave of human experience, Bill's life and mine first crossed in 2005 and have crossed so many times since that I've lost count. In March of this year, the day after celebrating my own birthday, I'll board a jetliner for England where I'll have the opportunity to briefly visit the base at Wethersfield where Bill spent his last days.

Touching an object related to another person can sometimes evoke powerful and mysterious feelings. Whether it be a grandmother's locket or a father's wartime military uniform, the tactile connection is very real and often metaphysical. So it was with Bill Cramsie's class ring when I first held it in my hand. I had the same feeling a couple years later as I sat in a train northbound from New York City to West Point. With Bill Cramsie's ring in hand, I felt that we were actually companions on this journey that he had made many times.

I have little doubt that Wethersfield, with Bill's ring in hand, will be one of those "thin places" for me, where the barrier between the present and the past is vulnerable. I plan also to visit the American Cemetery at Cambridge, where Bill's name is inscribed on the Wall of the Missing. As I stood before a similar wall at the Veterans Museum in Branson, MO last September, I had a very calming flush of emotion—different in a way than those more anxious moments with the ring and with West Point. Bill Cramsie's name is inscribed at Branson among those of all U.S. veterans killed during WWII. In reality, it is one of thousands upon thousands and is rarely, if ever, noticed. But as Tom Rickels, the nephew of Bill Cramsie, and I stood together before that simple inscription, it felt as though a calling had somehow been fulfilled.


I had anticipated that the writing of First to Fall would be a final chapter for me in this extraordinary experience, but apparently not. The story continues to unfold and the opportunity to walk on the stones that Bill Cramsie walked on merely fanned the flame.

I'll report back after this visit.

Two of the Many

On this Memorial Day, 2009, we should all pause to reflect on the many sacrifices that have assured our rights and freedoms in America. Some will enjoy a Memorial Day parade and perhaps attend a memorial service at a local cemetery. Volunteers, across the land, will be placing flags on the graves of a million or more veterans—many of them in the 128 National Cemeteries—and flying flags from their homes. It has become a fitting tradition that on this day we honor those who perished during time of war. We tend to focus on what we have gained through their sacrifice, but we ought to remember as well what we have lost. These gallant men and women were among the best that our country had to offer on the altar of peace. It boggles the mind to think what more we could have done with the benefit of their presence these many years.

William Edward Cramsie and Robert John Rooney were clearly exceptional young men. They had endured much to graduate from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in June of 1943 and to earn their wings in the Army Air Corps. They were Irishmen and proud of their heritage. They also were room mates at the academy and close friends. They served with honor and distinction during WWII flying twin-engine attack bombers in the 416th Bomb Group. Both died in action tragically, and needlessly, under heart-wrenching circumstances. These were men that could have climbed almost any mountain and certainly would have been leaders in any field of endeavor that they chose. Their loss is striking to us, but must have been monumental at the time for those who knew, loved and admired them. Although we can look back into their lives and reconstruct events, or postulate actions and emotions, it is a feeble attempt at best to recapture the essence of who they were and what we have lost. The best that we can do today is to honor their memory as a very small tribute to them and to the many that they represent.

William Edward Cramsie

As a boy growing up in the Sierra Nevada foothills, where his immigrant Irish grandfather was a pioneer in the gold rush days, Bill Cramsie dreamed of nothing but flying. His sole ambition was to become a West Point cadet and an Army Air Corps aviator. Through extraordinary effort and persistence, he achieved that goal. He graduated from West Point in the class of June 1943. Thrust into the fury of World War II, that class became the most highly decorated class in the history of the academy. Lt. Cramsie was assigned to the 416th Bomb Group and began flying combat missions out of England in the Spring of 1944. On April 10th, the day after Easter, his aircraft was badly damaged by flak while attacking a V-1 Buzz Bomb site in Flanders. Making three heroic passes over the target, and being hit on two of those passes, the aircraft could not be coaxed back across the English Channel. Bill and his two gunners perished as their A-20 Havoc crashed into the sea. He was the first member of the West Point class of June 1943 to be killed in action -- the “First to Fall”. His body was never recovered, but his spirit lives on through the metaphysical power of an amazing artifact. After 60 years, the class ring of Bill Cramsie mysteriously appeared and prompted a major effort to learn and tell his story -- a story that can finally lay his spirit to rest. The story of Bill Cramsie is a story of triumph and tragedy, of honor and humility. It is also the story of an incredible journey in our own time, the author’s search for this young man, and the strangely metaphysical aspects that led to a spiritual bonding of the present with the past.