Grostenquin France

The Old 2 (F) Wing Sign

Many may have wondered whatever happened to the 2 (F) Wing sign that graced the entrance to the station for 35 years. It disappeared some time in 1989. Rumor has it that Canadian pilots from Lahr came in the night and took it away. Others suspect the French had looked at it long enough and threw it out. They are all wrong. Few know the real story. My family and I have kept this under caps for years. But now seems the right time to tell the right story to the right people. My husband, Don Murray, a commercial pilot and an ex-military Voodoo pilot, was leased out to the airline "TAT" in Paris, France, for three years from 1989 to 1992. I knew from spending the better part of my childhood in France, 1955-1959, that this would be a wonderful experience for our three boys.

One of the first things we did after we found a house to live in, was to seek out my old stomping grounds, the station at Grostenquin. We heard the French had taken it over. When we got to Grostenquin, we had to dig for information, for the locals in the town seemed to have forgotten that there was a station there at all. We finally did find it. There it was, in the middle of a farmers field, buried in trees and surrounded by cows. I was surprised to see it so overgrown. When I was there as a kid, there were few trees to offer a reprieve from the relentless heat of the sun on those hot summer days. The buildings, now dilapidated and ghost like, were merely an echo from the past, as faded as my memories. The broken windows held in the darkness just the same. The pool and rec center were barely recognizable. The hospital was in ruins as was the church across the road. Strange pipes criss-crossed over the dead buildings through the trees. What were they?? Apparently some kind of archaic heating system.

The station was deserted at best. So where were the French?? We found out that they were only using the runways and the control tower on the other side of the station.

We almost didn't get to see it at all. But we had a clear goal in mind and our determination was not to be underestimated. We had not only to see the station, but we also had to keep our new acquisition undiscovered by the authorities.

When we arrived, the first thing we saw was the blue 2 (F) Wing sign, faded and peeling. You could tell, barely, that the design had been changed over time. It stood on the right, in front of the guard house, which had the barrier down and a solitary soldier standing vigil at the window. He could see us directly and he didn't take his eyes off of us as we got out of the car and looked around. It didn't look like he had much activity going on and now was his chance to do his duty for the French army, i.e. protect the station from visiting Canadian families. Even though we used our best Canadian charm, it was "Non", we could not 'trespass' on the station. I was crushed. As we were leaving, I glanced over my shoulder at the sign and said, "That'd sure make a good souvenir". That remark carried a little more weight than I intended.

We left. But we would be back. It would be a little sooner than I expected.

A lot sooner, actually.

On the way back to Paris, we decided to stop at Lahr and visit Don's old Air Force buddy, John Evans. He was intrigued with the news that the 2 Wing sign was still there. He thought it was unheard of at the other stations that closed down that the signifying sign would still be there after all this time.

John's enthusiasm led him to conclude that he would organize a posse to steal it. Don, however, had a keen sense of privilege and ownership, being the carrier of the news and having seen it first and all. And I was there, and of all of us, it was really mine, wasn't it? So John conceded. "I'll give you 10 days."

So, guess where we went!

The hardware store in the town of Grostenquin was not equipped with the best of tools for our mission, but we found some that were adequate enough... a hammer, a chisel, a screwdriver. We stayed in a local hostel and set out for the station the next morning.

It was a beautiful day for a picnic, yes, a nice family picnic, right in front of the guard house on a patch of lawn, fully visible to the conscientious guard. It was a different guard this time, but they must have all had the same training because he would not leave his window either. Fortunately for us, the sign was facing away from him and was blocked from his vision by those overgrown trees. So we sat there and had a very long picnic while Don did his spider routine and dismantled the heavy metal sign, panel by 6-foot panel. Once he had the sign down and the panels stacked on the grass, he had to get it into the car which was in full view of the guard. This would be the tricky part. We had to get that guard away from his post.

The boys and I gathered up our garbage and took it to the guardhouse and asked the guard if we could use his washroom. This gave Don some precious time to load the car, but not enough. So I chatted with the guard about anything to keep him away from that window. It turned out that he had been on the station serving the Canadians and then the French since it opened. We talked about the time when the CF-100 crashed into the hospital. He was in the building next door and I was across the street at the church. It was fascinating to be able to pinpoint a moment of the past and share the same experience with a complete stranger.

Don eventually came to join us with a big grin on his face, like the Cheshire cat that swallowed the canary. It was only the rest of us that could see the blue chipped paint on his white shirt. But the guard didn't seem to take any notice.

He was kind enough to override the rule book and offer to take us on a tour of the station which he said would take about an hour. Well, now the sign was in the car which was parked outside the guardhouse. I was torn between the desire to see the station and the fear that some senior officer would drive by and notice the missing sign and confiscate our car and put us all in jail. I decided to take the tour.

We did make it back to Paris unscathed except for Don's shirt. We contacted the Canadian Embassy who arranged for a Hercules to pick the sign up and take it "home" to Trenton for the Military Museum. So there it sits in the attic waiting for its rightful place.

A few months later we returned to old "2 Wing". The soldiers told how the Canadian military soldiers at Lahr had come in the night and stolen the sign. They were only partly right. They took all that was left.. the wooden base. I didn't tell them the real story and I still wonder if they ever found out that it was a little Canadian family who came to have a picnic on the guard house grounds one nice summer day.