Walter Davis Gernand was born February 15, 1917, in Beaumont, Texas, the youngest of the three sons of Clarence A. and Catherine Perthuis Gernand. Julius “Julie” William (February 4, 1913) and Clarence “Bubba” James (October 17, 1914) rounded out the household at 1575 Emile St.
All three Gernand brothers enrolled at Baylor University in the mid-1930s and excelled in athletics – Bubba was the last Bear to earn letters in five different sports (baseball, basketball, football, golf, and track) – and their exploits filled the pages of The Lariat. Walter, a business major, was president of the Jefferson County Club, lettered in football and basketball, and served as a yell leader. He was well known enough on campus that when he proposed to Shirley McMurray over the Christmas holidays in 1938, it was even reported in The Lariat.
As graduation neared for Winter Quarter 1940, Walter bought a second ring, a Baylor class ring from the Balfour Company. He chose one with a distinctive ruby-red stone and had his initials “WDG BA 40” engraved on the inner band.
Shortly after Clarence and Catherine drove from Beaumont to attend his Baylor graduation, he enlisted in the Army Air Corps in early 1941. After completing flight training at Gardner Field, he was sent to the Air Corps Advanced Flying School in Arizona. According to the research of Frank Jasek – Baylor alum and author of Soldiers of the Wooden Cross: Military Memorials of Baylor University – Walter was commissioned a second lieutenant and received his “wings” on December 12, 1941, just five days after Pearl Harbor. Within a few months, he was flying P-38 Lightnings with the 50th Fighter Squadron in Iceland. Walter saw combat in Europe – a military photograph shows Gernand receiving an Air Medal and he is listed as also receiving a Purple Heart.
In February 1944, Walter transferred to the 8th Reconnaissance Photo Squadron, part of the 325th Photographic Wing, preparing the way for the Allied invasion of Normandy.
On June 8, 1944, two days after D-Day, Walter and 8th Combat Camera Unit photographer Sgt. Elbert Lynch left from Watton Air Force Base, west of Norwich. Their DeHavilland Mosquito, powered by two Rolls Royce engines, documented remaining German coastal defenses and enemy troop positions in the battle-scarred terrain of Northern France, then returned to England. After refueling at a base near Middle Wallop, Walter guided the aircraft toward Watton.
But as witnesses later told Army Air Corps investigators, the Mosquito suddenly struggled above High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, just northwest of London. The plane broke through the low overcast and plummeted toward a field next to a park. At the last second, Walter apparently saw children playing in the field and violently veered away. The Mosquito made a half-turn and crashed into a nearby railroad embankment, instantly killing both Gernand and Lynch.
Both men were interred with full military honors in the Cambridge War Cemetery and Memorial, near Cambridge, U.K. “Gernand was a local hero because he avoided landing on a nearby park where some children were playing,” one resident later told The Baylor Line.
A bronze plaque honoring Gernand’s sacrifice is displayed on a lamppost in the parking lot behind Sid Richardson Building.
In a landscape pockmarked with the blackened wreckages of American, British, and German aircraft, what remained of the Mosquito NS555 was left undisturbed for nearly 30 years.
II
In February 1973, a group of children playing on the railroad embankment uncovered one of the airplane’s Rolls Royce Merlin engines. Soon, a small group of citizens of High Wycombe, augmented by members of the Chiltern Aircraft Preservation Group, worked to reveal the wreckage, buried nearly 15 feet in the ground. In the shattered cockpit they discovered a ring in remarkably good condition, save for the shattered red stone, with the inscription “WDG BA 40” still legible inside the band.
At the scene that day was Alan Hunt, who was both a reporter for the High Wycombe newspaper, the Bucks Free Press, as well as a member of the Preservation Group. The crash site had been just a few blocks from the newspaper’s offices and Alan wrote an article about the discovery of the wreckage and the unusual ring. Wartime news restrictions had meant that local people never knew the name of the pilot who sacrificed himself to save their children. But with those restrictions lifted, Alan began searching for additional information on the airplane and its crew.
A historian by nature, he later said that it would be “extremely difficult for me to explain the terrific emotion we all felt” at the discovery that day.
Alan’s article was picked up by several English newspapers and intrigued townspeople placed advertisements in various publications, all asking for any information on the class ring, which also featured the words “Baylor University” and engravings of a bear and a single spire. A man named R.D. Barfoot saw one of the advertisements in a London newspaper and suggested that they contact officials at Baylor University in Waco, Texas.
Baylor officials responded quickly and their research on the class ring soon led them to Walter’s elder brother Julius. Julius arranged a meeting in September 1973 in Waco with his 84-year-old mother, Thomas Turner from President Abner McCall’s office, and Baylor trustee Ed Streetman from Beaumont to present the ring.
At the meeting, Julius said that the family had originally been told that Walter’s crash had occurred in France and that they were grateful for updated information.
“I tried to forget but you can’t forget a thing like that,” Catherine told the Houston Chronicle. Catherine had originally asked for the ring to add to her small collection of objects related to Walter, but ultimately gave it to Baylor. The precious ring was then placed in a locked glass display box surrounded by articles detailing its strange journey and placed in the Baylor Lettermen’s Lounge at Floyd Casey Stadium.
III
Born on Aug. 19, 1938, Bucks Free Press Deputy Chief Reporter Alan Hunt had grown up in the village of Downley, 30 miles west of London. As a small child during World War II, he watched the Nazi terror bombing of London. By age 6, he could distinguish between Allied and German aircraft by the sounds of their engines.
From an early age, Alan was obsessed with all things American – especially their automobiles. He apprenticed in journalism around 1953 and worked his way to reporter, photographer, and editor on a staff that at one time included a young Terry Pratchett, who would become a legendary writer of fantasy novels. Save for his compulsory two-year stint in the British army from 1957-1959 as a military policeman in Germany, Alan had spent his entire career in newspapers.
“Alan was the very essence of a British gentleman, so kindly with a wry sense of humor. He was incredibly talented – writing, editing, photography, cars – and it was always amazing to watch him hammer out a story in record time using just three fingers as he typed away.”
The discovery of the ring and the kind reception of Baylor and Waco officials to the Gernands, coupled with his lifelong fascination with the United States, made a powerful impression, Alan said in an interview a few years later. He was 35, with a wife (Jacqueline) and three small children (David, Julia, and Geoff). What would it be like to live in the United States? Turner introduced Alan to Woody Barron, managing editor of the Waco Tribune-Herald. Alan then boldly wrote Barron inquiring about openings for an experienced reporter with a shorthand speed of 180 words per minute. Alan also enclosed a copy of his story on Capt. Gernand’s class ring. Barron was impressed, enlisted the support of Congressman W.R. Poage for immigration purposes, and Alan was hired for the next available opening on the staff. He arrived in Waco in April 1975, two years after the original article was first published, followed two months later by the rest of his family.
Alan quickly adapted to life in his new home, though he admitted that he sometimes missed “that good strong cup of hot English tea with my breakfast” and confessed that he “would dearly love a pint of English best bitter.” As a reporter and photographer, Alan’s insightful, beautifully written articles soon appeared on the front pages and throughout The Waco Tribune-Herald. He said in another interview that he especially enjoyed his two large American-made automobiles, both purchased shortly after his arrival – a battered 1960 Buick and a 1969 Chevy Caprice. Alan was a generous and patient mentor to young reporters at the Tribune-Herald, including me, when I arrived fresh out of graduate school in August 1978 and essentially clueless about the realities of daily newspapers.
Alan moved to the Baylor public relations office in 1980 as Associate Director of Media Relations, primarily covering the business and law schools and libraries, along with general news articles and photography, as needed. Among those who worked with the courtly Englishman from High Wycombe was Lori W. Fogleman, now Assistant Vice President of Media & Public Relations. “I adored Alan and loved working with him,” Lori said. “Alan was the very essence of a British gentleman, so kindly with a wry sense of humor. He was incredibly talented – writing, editing, photography, cars – and it was always amazing to watch him hammer out a story in record time using just three fingers as he typed away.”
Lori’s favorite story of Alan involves the wartime rationing of certain foods and, of course, sugar.
“Alan said that to make up for the rationing, he and his childhood friends would cut out pictures of ice cream cones from magazines,” she recalled, “just so they could pretend to have the treat. From that moment on, I thought about that childhood, what Alan had lived through, how frightening that time must have been – but also how he emerged resilient, purposeful, remarkably creative, and kind to everyone.”
At Alan’s Baylor retirement in 2006, Lori gave him a Baskin-Robbins gift card, though she suspects he used it to “splurge” with his grandchildren.
“That would be very much Alan,” Lori said. “His friendship was so meaningful, and his stories touched me deeply.”
After his 2006 retirement from Baylor, Alan actively engaged in his beloved hobbies of photography, visiting flea markets, collecting automobile memorabilia, spending more time with his three children and three grandchildren, and – naturally – happily working on big, muscular Detroit-made cars.
IV
Alan and Jacqueline’s youngest son, Geoff, was only four when the family moved to Waco and Geoff inherited his father’s love of history and automobiles. “He amassed quite an archive of automobile literature,” Geoff recalled, “which he gave to me as a kid. I continued and added to his collection and discovered what ‘archiving’ was.” Following graduation from Waco High School, Geoff worked in retail before joining the U.S. Navy in January 1996, where he served in naval aviation and enjoyed several deployments to Japan.
After his military service ended, Geoff returned to Waco and enrolled first in McLennan Community College, then Baylor, earning his bachelor’s degree in history in August 2005. His first position out of school in February 2006 was with the Texas Collection, working under Thomas Charlton and Ellen Brown as an archives assistant. “My younger days as a collector of automobile literature and photographs introduced me to the world of preservation – and how important it is to save things,” Geoff said.
Eighteen years later, now with the title of Audio and Visual Curator for the Texas Collection, thousands of Baylor stories and pictures have crossed his desk, but Geoff said that he has never forgotten the story – or, perhaps, stories – of Walter Gernand’s Baylor class ring.
“Like most people, I think about it,” Geoff said. “What if Walter David Gernand had not crashed in High Wycombe, where would I be today? My father knew nothing of Baylor University before reporting on this story. My family didn’t come to Waco, we didn’t come to Baylor – Waco and Baylor came to us. It literally fell from the sky on June 8th of 1944.
“I can’t think of a better way that Gernand could have left his legacy. He gave his life for his country. He saved countless school children. And his legacy lives on through my father, who retired from Baylor after 27 years.”
Geoff’s office is in the Texas Collection, which is housed in one of Baylor’s oldest buildings, Carroll Library. Geoff noted that Carroll also served as Baylor’s library when Walter was a student.
“I’ve got a strong connection to Gernand and obviously Baylor,” Geoff said. “But it’s something that’s very hard to explain to people because it sounds like something out of a novel.
“And when I tell people I’m from England, they ask, ‘Well, how did you get here?’ I say, ‘It’s very much a long story – and it’s hard to make this long story short.’
“But it begins with a ring.”
V
But it doesn’t end there. The story of Walter Gernand and his Baylor class ring, of Alan Hunt’s journey, and of Geoff Hunt’s deep Baylor connections has a poignant coda.
Sometime between 1973 and 1975, someone broke into the locked glass display case in the Letterman’s Lounge at Floyd Casey and stole the 1940 class ring with the shattered red stone.
Years later, the display case, with its yellowed clippings chronicling the ring’s strange journey, was about to be discarded when Geoff retrieved it from the trash and stashed it away in a Texas Collection storage room, adding what Geoff calls a “terrible twist” to the story.
But today he still has the case … because this particular ring has been lost – and found – before.
