Hey, I found my 1959 Ground Observer Corps certificate and a badly corroded set of wings. (I've been sorting through important documents stored in my late father's files.) We used to live near a naval air station, so we always had plenty of patrol bombers to report. I think our record was 24 in one day. But, you know, not a single Russian bomber got through!

What we'd do when we were on duty was fill in the blanks with regard to any airplane we saw, and then phone in the information to air command headquarters, which in our case was Bangor. After a while we set the whole routine to the tune of "The Old Oaken Bucket" and it went something like this:

Aircraft flash, one bi-motor bomber,
Overhead, no delay,
Foxtrot Papa, 1-4 Black,
Flying southeast, very high.

No one else seemed amused.

Some idea of our status, from the perspective of the military, may be inferred from our retirement ceremony where we got our certificates and wings. The officer who presided had his leg in a cast; we assumed that he couldn't vacate the room as fast as the other potential volunteers, or had injured himself in the process.

Anyway, I'm real happy to have rediscovered my wings.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble