8/9 August 2001
RAF Bentwaters - my two-day pilgrimage
Lori travelled with
her friend Gia and was taken on a guided tour by Linn Barringer.
Pictures by Lori Rehfeldt © 2001
Day One - August 8th 2001
Note from Linn Barringer, revised 27 August 2009 after an enjoyable re-read of this page:
This is a great read but for the impatient, click to see the pictures
version, below.
After a long flight from Dulles Airport near Washington DC where the heat had sky rocketed up to 98 degrees, Gia and I quietly landed at Heathrow Airport in London. I was elated and at the same time very groggy from the long flight. We collected our bags and made our way through customs. We took the underground from Heathrow to Liverpool Street getting off at Holborn to transfer from the Piccadilly Line to the Central Line. I felt as if I was going upstream against a very heavy throng of rush hour commuters who could not care less that we were lugging huge bags. We were, I imagine an annoyance taking up their literal precious space.
We finally made our way onto a quiet train departing London, leaving the hustle and bustle for Ipswich. Being very tired it was a real breather for Gia and me to be sitting quietly for a moment collecting our thoughts and the reality that we were in England. This was the first time Gia's ever been to England, so I watched her as she soaked in her surroundings. Our plan was to go to Ipswich, which is about an hour trip outside of London. As we neared Ipswich I started thinking back about the many trips I'd taken from Ipswich some twenty-one years earlier. Back then I took trips often alone just to go to London and see what I considered a Broadway play. At Ipswich train station, I was excited feeling as though I finally made it into my old photograph albums while at the same time seeing so many changes. My brain raced furiously remembering what Ipswich looked like way back when, and the floodgate of my mind opened up allowing my memories to soar. Prior to leaving England, I was in touch with the famous Mr. Linn Barringer and told him that I would call him in London, so that he would be there when we got to Ipswich.
The strong current of commuters in London motivated me to get to the train as quickly as possible so I called Linn when we got into Ipswich. Linn was kind enough to volunteer his time, energy and cost of petrol to drive us around. I read on his website that he had opened his friendship to a dear friend of mine Chuck Dalldorf and I respect Chuck's judgement of others so my instinct told me that Linn was not a stranger but a brand new friend and a gentleman. Linn told me that it would take him a half an hour to get there and he'd meet us in the coffee shop inside the station. Linn being very punctual was there in a half an hour. Linn saw us before we saw him. He directed us to his car where we placed our bulky luggage inside his car. Then I proceeded to walk over to what I thought was the passenger side but was the driver's side. Linn having that, rich, dry sense of humor asked me where I planned to drive. Still feeling sleepy it took a split second to realize that, yes they drive on the other side of the road.
Back some twenty years ago I drove All-American cars on British roads so there you have my excuse for walking to the wrong or other side of Linn's car. Linn took us to the town of Woodbridge where we checked into the Historic Bull Hotel. We unloaded our things and Gia cleaned herself up while I went downstairs to talk with Linn. I guess I was so excited about being in England, and I knew I had minty-fresh breath that I didn't mind that I was in the same clothes I wore the previous day. Linn was pointing out the statues and buildings near to the hotel. I told Linn that I remember going down to Woodbridge only to find the town closed that's what happened when you work swings and mids. Gia freshened up quickly and I asked Linn if I could take a picture of Gia and Linn near the town center where there were beautiful flowers going up the steps of the Shire Hall. The sky was so bright and the air was so crisp, not like the hot humid temperatures we left in Washington DC.
We climbed back into Linn's car and we were off to my old haunts RAF Woodbridge and RAF Bentwaters. Linn pointed out many of the changes and also showed us the old roads I might have been familiar with. My anticipation to see some of what many would view as "so what" spots choked me up a bit. In a strange, obscure way, I felt I had come home. We arrived to what had been the Main Gate at RAF Woodbridge what we called first Alpha 12 and then Police 12. I ignored the brick gatehouse because that wasn't my gateshack. I went over to the side of the road where my beige Formica gateshack once rested, the foundation was still there covered up a bit by weeds. I stood on the slab and imagined that I'd just been posted there and I had a long shift ahead of me. I looked in the direction off base and saw a patch of trees I remembered so many years ago and now I stood in the same place where I had slowly counted my days down. I turned around and saw foundations that once held RAF Woodbridge chow hall, the All Ranks Club and the Fireside Lounge.
It was funny because I couldn't stop talking; telling Linn the stories of the times we found buildings to be "insecure" when we meant to say "unsecured". So much for any of us with our air force jargon grasp of the English language. I stood on another slab next to what was the shoppette where I remember getting soda's and ice cream to keep awake. It was the little things back then that were so important. Linn wanted to get a picture of me waving a car onto the base and he hopped in his car and I stopped him and asked to see his identification card as Gia snapped the picture. I was so transfixed and amazed that I was there and it wasn't a dream or a bad dream because I knew this place would always be a part of me as it is for every airmen who stepped foot onto Bentwaters. I saw what was once a lively high school now fenced off and covered in over growth of thickets, trees, bushes and weeds.
We drove past the RAF Woodbridge church that I remembered once was "matter-of-factly burning while searing flames shot through the roof. Linn then asked if I'd like to visit (drum roll please) East Gate. I said, "Hell no!" No, I didn't say, "Hell no!" It was the first time in my life that I was eager to see the place I had stood alone in the middle of the night and dreading it. We had to park Linn's car several hundred yards from East Gate. From there we hiked along the brush that grew into the road. I told Linn that this road had once been clear and that you could see Folly House from East Gate. Not anymore you could see Folly House from East Gate. I noticed the forest that once stood tall and sharply uniform behind East Gate was now a thick bush of pine trees, not the long poles with just the tops covered in needles. I told Linn that those trees from long ago were so foreboding and the atmosphere in the middle of the night was downright scary. For some reason I didn't feel uncomfortable sharing with Linn my not so macho feelings about East Gate. Now at East Gate stood a brick guard shack. I told Linn that gate shack like the main gateshack was built after I left in December of 1980. I pointed to a gray metal barrier between the old wooden gate shack (that doesn't exist anymore) and the runway.
At the time when they built the barrier I was irritated because it obstructed my view of the runway and that was the only entertainment I had back then watching planes take off and land or do what they called "touch and go". They didn't build the barrier until the later part of 1980. I thought they built that barrier because it prevented the gateshack from vibrating from the piercing sonic pitch of the aircraft. I swore there were times I thought the glass plate window of my gateshack would blast out from the pressure of the loud fighter aircraft. I would often leave the door open to alleviate the pressure. Gia noticed the numerous butterflies and dragonflies. I think the insects were surprised to see humans too. As we were walking back to the car, I pointed out to Linn where Duffield and I had seen our UFO sighting. Our sighting being between the end of the runway and Folly House. Linn showed me the dirt road Penniston and Burroughs drove down to the crash site of their UFO sighting ten months after Duffield and I reported our sighting to the Desk Sergeant. Linn asked how we went from RAF Bentwaters to RAF Woodbridge. He said airmen talked about a back gate near Butley but didn't now how to get there. I thought Linn's question had an easy answer but we couldn't find the entrance to Butley Gate.
Gia and Linn were starting to get hungry and talked about lunch and I agreed but kept getting distracted going down memory lane. It was as if my brain was remembering while at the same time taking in all the changes. Roads were a little bit different, some roads and modern buildings grew out of what was once farm fields. Driving to the main gate of Bentwaters, we drove past the old Wing Commander's building on the right side of the road where we ceremoniously hoisted the flags up the flagpoles. On the left side of the road were the officer's housing, Base Exchange (BX) and dormitory areas. The main gate to the cantonment side was over grown with weeds, long gone were the beautiful rose bushes that decorated the road welcoming visitors, and was fenced off. We had to go up to my old round about and go through the area that once held our hospital clinic Quonset huts. They were now gone. In its place was a housing area and the road was named Wacker Field Road after my former Wing Commander Colonel Rudolph Wacker. Then we drove past the "new" commissary that rested quietly on my left. I remember when they broke ground to put up the commissary. Now the commissary's face was worn from years of neglect. On our right side was the base gym where I learned to play racquetball. Now the base gym stood dangerously with it's collapsed roof and vandalized shattered windows. There was a building in front of the gym where a tennis court once laid. Still not having eaten anything for a while, we decided to leave the dormitory area for the next day.
We headed over to the Technical Site of Bentwaters. Again, the adrenaline rushed with memories standing tall at Alpha 10 that evolved into Police 10 which was really the main gate of the Technical Site of RAF Bentwaters. We drove around the round about to the Technical Site of Bentwaters or what we SP's called "the tech" side of Bentwaters. We stopped at the gate where we shared my old pictures of Bentwaters Technical Site main gate from the late 1970's with today's guard. The guard was genuinely interested to see that the gate shack used to be a fiberglass box that he mistook for a temporary building that rested on the left side of the entranceway as we drove onto the base. I pointed out a green building that was one of the few buildings that still existed and was in my photos. We could also see the wash rack and transportation building that still remained. It's funny how my eyes coveted and longed to see what I remembered. The old farmhouse that strangely sat across the street from the old law enforcement building was gone from the corner of Thompson Drive. The law enforcement building was gone too. In the place of the old farmhouse was a two or three story Security Police (SP) solid brick building. Behind the SP building were an older building but one that I remember as the "new" one story SP building. The new "one story" SP building was barely opened and I never did step foot in it - back then or now.
The old light aqua green colored Quonset Hut that posed, as our post office on the right side of the road was gone. However, our personnel (CBPO pronounced "see bow") building still stood across the street except now it was beige. In fact quite a few of the buildings that were olive drab green were now uncharacteristically painted in desert colors. The air force must have had lots of excess beige and brown paint. Linn and Gia finally convinced me that it was time to get some lunch.
We went to a nondescript building that was between the RAF Bentwaters Fire Department and the control tower. Now it was a café (Granny Smith's Kitchen) run by some British folks. It was there that we ate some veggie pies and chips (their version of French fries). After we ordered our meals, we sat and met a British spitfire fighter pilot from World War II and his American son-in-law Alan who was stationed at RAF Bentwaters in the mid eighties. Now to me this is where the story gets coincidental and has a "gee, what a small world we live in" flavor to it. Before Alan spoke a word Linn made a witty comment, "See other American's eat at the café on Bentwaters", pointing to this young guy who was sharing lunch with an older gentleman. The way Linn was talking, I thought he knew them. Alan introduced himself and was talking about the buildings he directed and managed to see be built. Then I asked Alan if he's been to Linn's web page and in awe Alan looked at Linn as Alan's face lit up with recognition, he asked, "Are you THE Mr. Barringer?" I looked at Linn and said, "Hey I feel like I'm with a celebrity."
Gia talked with Alan's father who told stories of how he helped teach the American's to fly in the United States. We then talked about how Linn's website has brought so many people together, allowing us to share our stories whether good or bumpy. I think Alan was also amazed that I came back 21 years later. We exchanged email addresses and said our good byes. From there we went to the air tower. I pointed out the various aircraft parking areas that we sometimes used to park aircraft that weren't loaded up with weapons. I also pointed out the area where the Drug Dog Handler would burn many kilos of contraband drugs.
Linn introduced Gia and me to John Kemball one of the owners of Bentwaters. He was very respectful of my history and time I spent at Bentwaters to allow Linn to guide us around Bentwaters. So, there wasn't any climbing over any fences. We signed waivers so that in case we got ourselves in trouble we couldn't sue. We then headed upstairs into the air tower. I was impressed with the décor of some of the rooms that must have been a commander's office and meeting room. The air tower still had the vast windows minus the equipment. The air force did a good job stripping all electronic equipment from the building. We did notice some stickers and various signs with emblems of proud squadrons. Inside one of the rooms we saw maps and drawings of the base that went back to 1979. I think I could have spent a few hours in that room alone scanning the schematic drawings of Bentwaters. The weather was faithfully changing from sunny to icy cold raindrops as we stood inside the Bentwaters air tower. We never did get to see the Woodbridge air tower where I went to investigate the UFO sighting since that is now an active British army base. Being in the air tower looking all directions felt like I was on top of a privileged world. Privileged to go places that I was once restricted from.
We climbed back into Linn's car with me still unintentionally gravitating toward the driver's door. Linn zipped up and down the runway. That was something I would never, ever do while stationed there and I was missing a very cool perspective of Bentwaters. I did drive the taxiways and remember having to stop to let a plane drive by me, but never did I drive on the "runway" and now I was on a ghost town runway. Interestingly being on the runway showed me just how small Bentwaters really was. It just seemed larger since we were confined to use the perimeter road. We drove off the runway and onto the perimeter road (Thompson Drive) past several buildings. I was very impressed with Linn's history and knowledge of some of the building I never had the privy of learning what they were used for.
Before I knew that they were all related to the squadrons that worked directly with the airplanes and pilots and that was it. Linn showed me where my friend Chuck Dalldorf worked and the hangar where Chuck lost his friend and colleague in a violent explosion. Linn pointed to a small garden that Chuck created outside his work area. Very cool Chuck! Chuck was and still is the kind of guy who finds the positive and beauty in life that's why to this day I call him my friend. Linn took us over to some buildings where the bag and box nasties (our meals) were made for our numerous alerts. From there I directed Linn to the petroleum area (POL site) that was directly behind Butley Gate. From the POL site you could barely see the gate that led off base to East Gate. I assured him that there was a gate there, and we drove through the POL site to find access to Butley Gate.
Weapons Storage Area (WSA)
I got momentarily very quiet as we drove toward the Weapon Storage area (WSA) - another place I was not permitted to step inside because I was a LE and not a SP although my badge said, "Security Police" which we shortened to SP. LE's back in 1978-1980 stood for Law Enforcement. The evolution of the Air Force changed us and combined us into Security Forces but that was way past my tenure in the Security Police field. Back then I remember meeting old guys who told me that they were AP's that being short for Air Police but that was way before my time. I pointed out the non-munitions storage area (NMSA) to Linn. Explaining, I could not guard bombs in the WSA but I could guard bombs in the NMSA. Linn couldn't figure out how a bomb could be a non munitions. I told him that is what I was told and I accepted the label even if it was and is confusing. It wasn't my place to question. I agreed that NMSA doesn't make any sense. I reminded him that my job wasn't to know what I was guarding but to guard.
Then we drove into the Weapon Storage Area (WSA). I couldn't believe it. We drove past what I liked to call, "No man's land" into the WSA without a badge. We went in there without a need, without anything but our minds and my memories. Gia was very, very tired and opted to stay in the car. I went out with my trusty camera and Linn following. I tried to show Linn how we used to open windows with flimsy latches. Unfortunately, the flimsy latches were working quite well. Linn and I climbed the tower although the steps creaked a lot. I thought the view from the top was great and thought about all the SPs I knew and now know like Ken Kern who did his share of work in the tower. I was also surprised at how small the WSA was.
The NMSA was two times the size of the WSA and when I guarded the NMSA, I did it alone. I saw sand bagged bunker on top of one of the bomb shelters in the WSA and climbed up the steep mound. Linn and I went into every building in the WSA and noticed sheep had found homes inside the bomb shelters although we didn't see any sheep. I enjoyed the echo of a few of the buildings. There were also plenty of rabbits running around - no surprise there. The NMSA held several horses, which again looked odd from my point of view having guarded non-munitions there. Gia spotted us and walked around with us, we showed her the cavernous echo chamber like buildings. She patiently smiled while I continued going down memory lane, having fun in places I've never been before.
Central Security Control (CSC)
We got back into the car and headed over to Central Security Control (CSC). We pulled into the parking lot where the SP vehicles used to sit. CSC hadn't changed at all. It was as though it was locked in an open-air time capsule. It was a little bit run down sitting in the midst of overgrown grass. There was sheep poop all over the floors of CSC. I went to the darkened patio area where we received our weapons and radios, loading and unloading our weapons. On the back wall was a bulletin board that held the schedule of our duty posts for the following day. I remember the Desk Sergeant painstaking typed the schedule that would tell me what gate I'd be manning on a manual typewriter. This was in the olden days well before we used electric typewriters let alone computers. I went out the back door and walked along the crunchy stones to the break room remembering the television set that had once sat in the corner. I walked through a double door that led me into the hallway. Off to my right side appeared to be an office, maybe for the officer in charge or the flight chief. Around the corner to my right was the entranceway into the armory. It was pitch dark so I didn't venture further into that room. To my left was the men's bathroom or the only bathroom since they didn't have women's bathroom. The bathroom door was lying oddly in the entranceway. Past the bathroom on the left was a snack room and on the right side was a room that held a lot of communication equipment. The floors were littered in sheep poop so I didn't linger.
Outside I looked for a souvenir but didn't find anything. So instead I took some pictures. The grass was pretty high so I didn't wander over where the 81st Security Police sign was planted. The building was ugly then and ugly now but I was in awe of its history. I imagined myself going to the back patio area to get my .38 caliber weapon. I could see myself talking to the guys knowing shortly that I'd be posted alone somewhere on some gate. I could see myself rushing off to Guardmount with my Motorola or ITEK "brick" radio, weapon and alert bag. Oh and maybe I'd have some fresh olive drab "D" size batteries for my official flashlight. The metal barricade still stood strong, still protecting the armory from unknown enemies. I wished the lights still worked in the armory just to see the overly coated oil based shiny gloss painted walls, doors and windowsills. I wanted to see some human life, see some of the guys from my youth making me laugh and expelling the stress from the looming fact that soon I'd find myself alone on post.
Linn with his vermouth sense of humor and kindness chided me a lot about the times I eloquently talked about "freezing my butt off on post". I did. He was studying me, wondering if I had an axe to grind or if I was a whiner about my time there. He found neither. He heard consistency in my stories. I agreed that I was a very young kid who chose law enforcement as a career because it sounded like fun. To this day I respect anyone who works in security and law enforcement. The problem that I encountered at Bentwaters was that the NCO's and some of the officers found pleasure in taking away basic necessities like taking bathroom breaks. After talking with Linn I understood that I was angry about the bad leadership, management and the good old boy network that drove the 81st Security Police Squadron because it didn't have to be that way. It was preventable. Linn could see that my experiences from my Bentwaters days forced me to grow up, forced me to put up and shut up, forced me to survive and motivated me to prevail. My time at Bentwaters prompted me to be the best that I could be because I was better than the way I was treated. As a young child I shattered walls from my blue-collar family by getting my degree. I was smart, and even though several Non-commissioned Officers (NCOs) and officers tried their best to drag me down, hold me back that I still believed in me and that's all that counts. The leadership in the 81st Security Police Squadron gave me a run for the money, the good old boy network was in full force and had its share of being a mean, nasty place to work, but you know what? If life at Bentwaters was a game, then I won, as did so many other airmen who came before me and after me.
Some people wonder what I have to say. This page is filled with brand new memories of a very old ghost town. I am pleased for those airmen who look at Bentwaters as the best time of their lives. I wish that my working situation was on a fair and equal playing field, that I didn't have to feel pressured to always prove myself, that I didn't have to be perfect because I wasn't perfect. Bottom line to this story, I was a kid from Long Island, New York who was trying to fit in while finding herself in this big world God gave us. The voices and souls of young airmen will forever live on RAF Bentwaters. There are the "war stories" that I must say "Thank you Linn and your website for sharing our stories." Once a young airman told me before I was posted out onto East Gate to look out onto RAF Woodbridge runway, for I might see East End Charlie, the pilot who crashed into the runway, walking the runway, wondering what went wrong with his aircraft.
Thank you Linn and your wife Vivien and your friends Roger and Lesley for breaking bread with Gia and me. Linn you are a good listener and a friend for life. You listened without prejudging me. You see Bentwaters will always be a part of me, as I will always be a part of Bentwaters. Ironically Bentwaters will always be my home and like in the story Field of Dreams, "If you build it (a museum), they will come."
Day Two - August 9th 2001
I did say I was in the Bentwaters area for two days...
After spending my first day in England on very little sleep, Linn drove Gia and I back to the Bull Hotel where I took a brief nap. Later on that evening, we had made plans to meet Linn and his wife Vivien and their friends for dinner at the hotel. My thought was that the evening would be short, since I was still very jet lagged and was afraid I might get either way too silly or way too cranky.
Gia and I waited in a quiet bar area for Linn and his guests, while they waited for us in a noisy, friendlier bar area across the way. Neither Gia nor I knew another bar in the hotel existed. We were still tired and didn't have the energy to venture around the hotel looking for Linn. We just figured he'd find us. I told the waitress that we were waiting for Linn and she immediately knew whom I was talking about and that he was in the other bar area. We felt a little bit silly but everyone understood that no one was late. We all ordered our meals at the bar area and then moved over to the dining area.
The meal at the Bull Hotel was excellent. We immediately talked about our day and my reflections of my time at Bentwaters. I couldn't help but comment that being at Bentwaters and Woodbridge felt so surreal as though I jumped into a recurring dream. I think what made my time now so eventful and full was that I was around safe, none judgmental people. I could express my feelings without retribution.
It's funny that Bentwaters and Woodbridge had a history that we all share. A new friend of mine recently shared this with me: We were there at different times in our lives but the feelings everyone had are about the same, just the faces and names are different.
I know when my friend wrote that piece he was talking of both the good times and bad times. There were some funny times that helped me get through my time there. When I laughed and I did, I knew I'd be okay. Toward the end of my time at Bentwaters, I was tired and wanted to be left alone. I didn't have any resiliency to fight against a network that was gobbling up airmen and spitting them out.
I think most of us newbies got to Bentwaters and we wanted to do well. I believe most did not want to fail or be labeled. We were kids, "jeeps", green behind the gills, for many of us we were either no wingers or mosquito wingers (zero or one stripers).
The evening flew and it was getting late, I believe the waitress wanted to close up. So we hugged and said our good nights and made plans to meet Linn the next morning. Linn wasn't too comfortable with the hugs but quietly hugged back.
Our plan for the following day was to go back to various places (mainly near signs) and take pictures. We also wanted to go near the chow hall and the dormitory area. Now I have to say after seeing pictures of tents that the guys lived in back in the 1960's I feel the dormitories were luxury. It all depends on perspective.
We climbed over a gate and walked on the main road between the church and the Camelot (now Angel) Movie Theater. Now the sidewalks were brick. Back then I remember the sidewalk was cement. The chapel was missing it's cross, and the gardens still looked okay even though no ones been inside.
[Editor's comment: The Chapel is in use, as St. Felix church]
The chow hall that sat right next to the 'new bowling alley' Linn explained to me was a pub for a short while. {Ed. The Anglia Inn] I had the toughest time envisioning the chow hall as a pub. I think the airmen would have loved having a few pints instead of the institutional food and drinks we had there.
Across the street was the parking lot that rested next to the grassy park where a girl from my dormitory who worked in Supply barbecued vodka soaked steaks. No longer sat a grassy park, but a parking lot with an abandoned Burger King restaurant.
The parking lot next to my dormitory was still there and the old credit union could not be seen because of a thick growth of trees in front of it. That was a strange sight. I had Linn take a picture of me at the bus stop in front of the chow hall. We then proceeded to the front gate. They had painted the library a strange color. It made the building look tacky. There was a fancy roundabout in front of the library. That was the road we used to take to get into the Officer's housing and to the shoppette.
The old commissary building and recreation center still stood. However the shopping area where there used to be a bookstore, television rental and shoppette were long gone. In fact most of the buildings back there were gone to include the officer's club. In it's place was a huge NCO club. It wasn't a pretty building but it was large. Not far from the NCO club and not far from the Burger King was a new gym. It was state-of-the-art and is still in use today.
From there we walked up to the old gate shack not far from the gas station. There I found the spot where the gate shack stood, the one that Colonel Wacker drove through giving me his gloves because he saw how cold I was.long story and you can find it here.
I walked across the street near the BX to see if any of the rose bushes survived the weeds. The rose bushes were long gone. The presentation of welcoming people onto the base from that old main gate was nonexistent. Do you remember a sound center building they put beside the BX? Well that was gone too. In it's place was a modern automotive hobby shop.
The base with all its history is lost amongst those living in the officer's housing area. I saw children on their bicycles that weren't even glints in their grandparent's eyes riding around as though American's never ran the base.
I did mention to Linn, how cool it would be to own one or two of the buildings. The only problem is what to do with the buildings? Tim Egercic mentioned the idea of turning a building into a bed and breakfast.
From there we left Bentwaters. I thought to myself that I won't wait so long to return to Bentwaters. We drove to Wickham Market where I saw my old flat. Then we headed off to Ipswich trains' station where we said our proper thank you(s) and good byes to Linn. I spared Linn my hugging ritual. Our visit was lovely and memorable.
I hope my story motivates others to get on an airplane and visit the old place. It will bring back many feelings. For me it was a very positive experience.
Off-base
Lori and Gia arriving at Ipswich station
Gia
and Linn on the steps of the Shire Hall in Market Hill, Woodbridge
Gia
and Linn on the steps of the Shire Hall in Market Hill, Woodbridge
Lori
(left) and Gia in The Bull Hotel, Market
Hill, Woodbridge waiting for coffee to be served
The
church, Butley
Lori
by that unusual steel sculpture signifying Capel St. Andrew.
The
apartment in Wickham Market, where Lori lived while serving at the
Twin Bases
RAF Woodbridge
Lori re-enacting guard duty at the main gate of RAF Woodbridge.
Lori standing on the slab that once held
the soda and snack machine next to the RAF Woodbridge 'shoppette'
near the MAIN GATE. This building used to be OD Green.
Lori and Linn standing in front of where
the RAF Woodbridge Chow hall and Fireside lounge and other buildings
once stood. Note the foundations.
Taken near the RAF Woodbridge Church through
a chainlink fence...across the field is the runway and on the
other side was the weapons range.
RAF Woodbridge Bomb dumb today...spent many
nights there.
RAF Woodbridge Bomb dumb today...spent many
nights there.
The
road leading from the alleged UFO sighting towards RAF Woodbridge
East Gate.
The
gates at the new East Gate. The new gate shack is in the background.
Further
into the base, In the area where the old East Gate gate shack
stood
In
the area where the old East Gate gate shack stood
A
picture from the past - the old East Gate shack
Another
picture of the old East Gate shack, with the guard ready for anything
In
the area where the old East Gate gate shack stood
RAF Bentwaters - Domestic Site
Right
on the site of the gate shack where Lori was handed the pilots
gloves
by Gen. Rudi Wacker, near the BX, RAF Bentwaters domestic side.
Across
the road from the picture above, the DUI scoreboard
The
Camelot movie theater, later the Angel Theatre, now demolished.
Barracks
The
old gym
A
bus stop in front of the chow hall and across the street from
the
female dormitory,
although we were only housed on the third
floor
RAF Bentwaters - Technical Site
Not
the cosiest job in Christendom, in an English winter;
an earlier
picture of the Bentwaters main gate guard shack
But
in summer, it really could be quite warm;
another earlier picture
of the Bentwaters main gate guard shack
Linn
using hi-res scanner and Paint Shop Pro to get a close-up of the
guard in the picture above.
Entrance
to the Weapons Storage Area (WSA) RAF Bentwaters.
From
the guard post atop the WSA entry point
On
the steps of the WSA guard tower, RAF Bentwaters.
Hot
Row from the WSA guard tower, RAF Bentwaters.
Lori and Gia right
by building 599 in the gathering
gloom of the evening, Wantisden
church in the background.