Stonehenge, Sand Pits, and Garbage Dumps
Stories from my childhood
When I was a kid, we lived in Lakenheath, England about an hour's drive north of London. My father was in the Air Force, and we were stationed there in the 70s for four years. I was five years old when we arrived and have many fond memories of living there. Even the injuries I received make me nostalgic.
Typically, when an Air Force family goes to England, immersion doesn’t occur with the English people. Air Force people tend to stick with other Air Force people and they don’t fully experience English/native culture — or if they do it is marginal or tourist-based.
Our experience was different however, because my father was asked by the Mormon church to become the Branch President — the ecclesiastical leader — of a small branch of the church in Cambridge, England. We spent every weekend and at least one weeknight every week in Cambridge, developing friendships that felt as strong as family.
We even had an Auntie Doris, who was no relation, but we called her that, nonetheless. I remember having tea there on many occasions (and by tea, I mean the repast, not actual tea, as Mormons don’t drink tea).
Cambridge was at least a 45-minute drive from Lakenheath. The scenery was diverse — with fields, farms, and forests — but my mother often…
