Akimbo
Fluffy
- Joined
- Jun 24, 2008
- Messages
- 10,447
It's fast approaching 11am on 11/11/13 so I thought I'd start a thread to allow us to share our personal memories of family and friends who've served in the armed forces. Just a short snapshot, not a life-story, and no political commentary please. Here's mine:
My grandpa Maurice joined up in 1916 because he thought he'd "miss the war". He was 17 years old and served as a sniper in Siberia because he was a crack shot having grown up on a farm. He grew up in a village in Yorkshire that still had a maypole and the furthest he'd ever been was Leeds. He lived to be 99.
My Dad was called up in the first draft as he was 21 in 1939. He was kept on in Tripoli after the war ended to clean up along with anyone in the 8th Army who had medical or public health training to deal with cholera and dysentery. He was demobbed in 1947. Too many anecdotes to mention but they sailed to North Africa around the tip of South Africa! They all went ashore at Johannesburg* where the locals picked up all the troops at the docks and took them home for a slap up dinner and a bath. (*I'm starting to doubt my own memory so it could have been Durban or Cape Town). He suffered years of ill-health and died aged 71.
My Dad's father Ernest was in a reserved occupation as a miner during WW2. He got a lot of abuse even though he was too old for call up, and kept the steel works for the war effort going. He was a miner from 14 to 70 and then was hit by a motorbike and died aged 72.
My Mum's favourite Uncle Jack went awol to say goodbye to his mum before his last mission as a gunner in the RAF and had had a good run of luck but knew the odds were stacking against him. He was lost in his next mission.
I'm proud of them all.
My grandpa Maurice joined up in 1916 because he thought he'd "miss the war". He was 17 years old and served as a sniper in Siberia because he was a crack shot having grown up on a farm. He grew up in a village in Yorkshire that still had a maypole and the furthest he'd ever been was Leeds. He lived to be 99.
My Dad was called up in the first draft as he was 21 in 1939. He was kept on in Tripoli after the war ended to clean up along with anyone in the 8th Army who had medical or public health training to deal with cholera and dysentery. He was demobbed in 1947. Too many anecdotes to mention but they sailed to North Africa around the tip of South Africa! They all went ashore at Johannesburg* where the locals picked up all the troops at the docks and took them home for a slap up dinner and a bath. (*I'm starting to doubt my own memory so it could have been Durban or Cape Town). He suffered years of ill-health and died aged 71.
My Dad's father Ernest was in a reserved occupation as a miner during WW2. He got a lot of abuse even though he was too old for call up, and kept the steel works for the war effort going. He was a miner from 14 to 70 and then was hit by a motorbike and died aged 72.
My Mum's favourite Uncle Jack went awol to say goodbye to his mum before his last mission as a gunner in the RAF and had had a good run of luck but knew the odds were stacking against him. He was lost in his next mission.
I'm proud of them all.