A friend's link to an English village reveals that something good can come of war

Interesting bits of information passed on from Connie Norton, American Legion Auxiliary president: the first time ice cream was served in a cone was in 1907, and the first working oil well was drilled in 1859. And the Auxiliary's red paper poppies are traded for donations which help the group maintain the various services they provide for hospitalized veterans. A good and perpetual service, that.

Ran into an old friend, Dante Ballatore, in the bank the other day, and he was wearing a most interesting T-shirt. It had a picture of an English village stone church on it, and a red feather emblem to one side, and the word Horham under the church. He told me the story behind the picture and the emblem.

During WWII, Dante and the rest of the 95th Bomb Squadron (the first group to make a bombing run over Germany)were stationed near the village of Horham in the northeastern part of England. Over time, the villagers and the squadron members became close friends, and some good times were had in the Red Feather Club, the enlisted men's club on base.

As with all English village churches, Horham's church had a set of eight bells, which could not be rung because they were over 100 years old and in bad repair, and the parishioners had no money to replace them. Dante's group had some reunions in Horham after the war was over, and they decided to collect donations toward replacement or repair of the bells. This was done, and the T-shirt marked the reunion date that the bells were finally ringing again, plus the emblem of the Red Feather Club, which the villagers have completely rebuilt for use as a social hall.

The warm relationship between the village and the squadron is being carried on by succeeding generations on both sides.

Something good can come out of a war, after all.

Thinking of England made me nostalgic, and watching the set of screen savers on my computer — waterways and churches in Oxfordshire — made me homesick for the days my husband, granddaughter, and I spent on the Grand Union and Oxford canals back in 1994. I had written a bit about this trip in the September 2005 Column Write, but Dante's tale of church bells brings another scene to mind.

We were returning north on the Oxford Canal (a very narrow, one-boat canal) after a stop in Banbury (yes, the cross was there, in the marketplace, but a street fair made it impossible to get to) and we came, on a Saturday evening, to the small town of Cropredy.

We moored, went to the small canalside store for supplies, and then across a bridge to the village proper. Prominent were a very old stone church and an almost-as-old pub, the Red Lion. Coming down the canal, we had been conscious of church bells ringing with changing patterns of sound, and we found out the occasion from a group in the pub.

They were the Oxfordshire Bell Ringers, who went from church to church in the shire at specified times, spending a day ringing "changes" on each church's bells. It takes skill and great cooperation to change the sequence of notes from time to time, and bellringers take great pride in their avocation. This group was designated by the shirts they wore with name and emblem, and they were friendly and fun to talk to.

The pub had one of those great big fireplaces with room for settles on each side of the fire, and we took advantage of those, as the late September weather was getting chilly at night. Of course, we had the usual good pub food, served by the innkeeper's wife, who was from Palm Springs, California! Her American accent really stood out. As a balance, the young man behind the bar couldn't wait to get away from Cropredy and get to the States.

We planned to go to church Sunday morning, but a note on the church door told us the priest would be elsewhere for morning and afternoon services, and he would be in Cropredy Sunday evening. I have always been glad we decided to stay. The priest had a magnificent voice for the sung liturgy, and the responses coming from a group of little old ladies on the front row were the most beautiful I have ever heard.

There weren't many of us — two groups from canal boats and a few locals, but it was a moving service, introduced by the bellringers working in an old tower made of wooden planks with a dirt floor. The 100 year-old organ was played by a young man in jeans and sport shoes, who called our attention to the fundraising for repairs to the organ.

Typically, the church was surrounded by ancient gravestones, some of which were bracing a raised part of the churchyard which had an equally ancient tree on it.

Two other sights come to mind when I think of Cropredy: an old-fashioned glass bottle of milk on a doorstep, and one of the most brilliantly colored calico cats I have ever seen.

Gwin Mitchell Paden has been a Lodi resident since 1957. She has had careers in advertising, the Women's Army Corps, newspaper reporting, public relations, and teaching English both at Lodi High School and Delta College.

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