She met the Queen Mother and helped raise $1,600. In an ironic twist, Lady Moe was later a celebrity guest at a fundraiser for the RSPCA. Objections to her presence faded when Matthews pointed out that the society would have to foot the bill for her transportation since no 96th B-17s were likely to be returning to North Africa anytime soon. Unfortunately, the publicity also attracted the attention of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, which insisted that Lady Moe be returned to her ancestral home immediately. The 96th Bomb Group’s public information officer made a big deal of Lady Moe’s arrival one memorable portrait shows her peering out of a B-17’s right waist window with both Klimchak and waist gunner Ed “Coots” Matthews looking on. She arrived safely, although a second donkey acquired by another crew on the mission wasn’t so lucky it succumbed to the altitude and cold (or perhaps simple fright) and was dumped with the bombs on what must have been a startled Bordeaux. On the way to hit Bordeaux-Merignac before the return to England, the airmen installed Moe in the bomber’s radio room, fitted with a jury-rigged oxygen mask and wrapped in all the blankets the crew could scrounge together. She also became the first-and possibly only-one of her kind to successfully fly a combat mission with the U.S. The sale complete, the two took Moe away to begin her new life as sort of a hairy Ava Gardner, destined to hobnob with royalty and find herself in the pages of Time.Īmerican airmen give Lady Moe and a donkey sidekick a tour of the Allied airfield in Algeria. Haggling over Moe began at 800 Algerian francs, or about $16. “She was about two feet tall, weighed about 50 pounds, and looked like she was about to starve to death,” he said. Moe was perhaps the sorriest member of the household, Harris recalled. There they were greeted by donkeys, a few goats, scrawny chickens, a cow, and several people. A young Algerian lurking around the airfield overheard the conversation and mentioned that his family had a donkey that might be for sale, so Klimchak and Miracle Tribe copilot Jim Harris went to the boy’s home to take a look. A veiled Arab maiden was considered and vetoed on the consensus that taking one might be considered kidnapping. Being in North Africa, a camel naturally came to mind, but the airmen couldn’t figure out a way to fit a camel, even a small one, into a B-17. On top of this, dismal weather delayed their return for five days, leaving a bunch of airmen at loose ends-including the crew of a B-17 with the 96th Bomb Group whose name, “The Miracle Tribe,” was an homage to its pilot, Second Lieutenant Andrew Miracle.ĭuring this hiatus, Miracle Tribe member and ball turret gunner Lou Klimchak suggested a mascot might be a good idea-something besides the usual dog. The weakened Regensburg task force flew on as planned to North Africa, only to find insufficient spare parts and maintenance facilities just 60 of the 115 B-17 Flying Fortresses that made it to Algeria were deemed airworthy for the return strike on Bordeaux-Merignac. The target cities were both successfully hit, but at a cost: 60 Eighth Air Force bombers were shot down, with many more heavily damaged. While the initial strategy looked great on paper, execution ultimately left something to be desired. The vital Messerschmitt fighter plant in Regensburg, Germany, smolders in the wake of the Eighth Air Force’s 1943 raid. One force would return to England after bombing Schweinfurt’s ball bearing factories the other would strike the Messerschmitt fighter plant at Regensburg and then continue to North Africa, bomb up, refuel, and return, hitting the Bordeaux-Merignac airfield in occupied France on the way back. Army Air Forces planned to send the Eighth Air Force’s heavy bombers to two targets in southern Germany, an undertaking known as the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission-the first major U.S. Few, though, can claim an origin story quite like Lady Moe’s, whose odyssey from North Africa to the United Kingdom began as high strategy. Eighth Air Force waylaid in North Africa in 1943, the quest for distraction led to the acquisition of World War II’s quirkiest mascot: Lady Moe, the cigarette-eating donkey.įrom dogs and cats to more unconventional creatures like monkeys and parrots, animal mascots have long been part and parcel of military life. For This World War II Bomber Crew, a Donkey Was the Cat's Meow | HistoryNet Closeīoredom as a feature of military life can yield interesting outcomes.
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