Beautiful, Beautiful Ireland  

How beautiful it was that day! The helicopter flew at about five hundred feet above the ground. That's almost low enough to see the look on peoples' faces. The glorious green of the countryside extended out into the ocean, it seemed, for at least half a mile, as if it were reaching out to greet us. That finger of water was emerald green. An Irish green welcoming carpet, it appeared. Beautiful!

Military helicopters have a noisy way of announcing their approach with the awesome "Shwoop, Shwoop, Shwoop" of the propeller blades and the throaty grown of the engine. 

An Irish farm woman stepped out of a tiny cottage to see the source of all of the noise.  She held a broom in her right hand and cupped her left hand over her eyes. I could see her so clearly I can almost remember the color of her dress. 

As she watched us approach, the flock of sheep in the field behind the cottage began to panic and raced to safety. When we were directly over head, one of the wildly frightened sheep found the open back door and ran right into the cottage as she stood out front. The entire flock took pursuit. The woman dropped her gaze from the sky and began to chase after the sheep, but not until the last one made its way in the back door and out the front with the misses in hot pursuit. What a glorious view. What a hilarious, glorious ride! What a glorious and happy welcome! 

An ambulance was waiting at the landing area. It didn't seem to be in any hurry as I was the last of the injured. They were so friendly and accommodating. I wanted to see the city, so the crew took the long way to the hospital. We passed a beautiful lake with giant white swans. It is a lake I have never been able to find again on subsequent trips to Cork. Maybe I imagined it. The sun was beautiful. Every face I saw had a smile on it. I saw hundreds of them. My God! The Irish are so beautiful! 

I spent only a few hours at the hospital, mostly being chased by nurses carrying big long needles as I teased them back. I was having fun in a hospital, but I couldn’t stay. They didn't have the space for me and hardly had space for the others for that matter. 

So there I was, born again in Ireland with only five or six hours to test the sod. An Army medical aircraft came to fetch us and those who could leave were flown to the 7505th U.S. Air Force Hospital near Swindon, England. I stayed there in England for two weeks before being transferred to another hospital near Frankfurt, Germany. Those three weeks in the hospital and the months that followed are another part of the drama. 

The survivors who stayed on the rescue ship, the Celerina, landed in Antwerp, Belgium and were taken directly by air to the 97th U.S. Army General Hospital in Frankfurt, Germany. Most were released within a few days. 

Of the 76 persons on the plane (68 passengers and 8 crew members), 51 made it to the raft, but only 48 lived to touch land. Captain Murray’s  wife was on board as a passenger. They planned on taking a few days of European vacation together, but she didn't make it. The date of incident was Sept. 23, 1962. Our first sight of land was near Galley Head peninsula southwest of Cork City, Ireland.  

Back to-> [Flight 923] - [Impact] -  [The Raft] - [The Rescue Ship] 

Return to-> [The Irish Connection]