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It was the squadron in which my father served. His Lancaster was shot down not far from Germany’s border with the Netherlands in March 1943. Only one member of his crew survived. The rest, including Sgt. Wilfred Henry Broadmore, are buried in the Catholic cemetery at Tubbergen. To my relief, the girl began smiling, then laughing, then matching all my moves as cheesy as that sounds. Some three long songs later, handsomely soaked with sweat, I suggested we step out to cool off, as it was winter there and thus around 20deg C outdoors. I got us a pair of cold beers and we walked out to the parking lot. She was not American but Swedish and had just sailed up from NZ on a crippled yacht, barely making it, on the final leg of a six-year round the world journey.
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