The effects of war on people.
- Thread starter travmell
- Start date
A good chance of death is one that comes to mind.
Depression.
Widowhood.
Loss of livelihood.
Loss of home.
Loss of political autonomy
Opportunity for sex with soldiers
Chance to make money on the black market
Job opportunities as guerilla/freedom fighter / insurgent
Those are a few that come to mind
The psychological and physiological effects can even be passed on to the next couple of generations
If you look at 'happiness' research showa that about 50% is determined by heredity and predisposition. 40% how we choose to percieve things, and only 10% worldly belongings and enviromental
So don't be shocked to find people in a war torn country just as happy as canadians, if they focus on the things good in their life rather than bad.
So don't be shocked to find people in a war torn country just as happy as canadians, if they focus on the things good in their life rather than bad.
It is my opinion that this is not the place to seek that sort of information. Since you are able to access the web then google in something like: the psychological effects of war. You will be provided instantly with much real information.
I would not speak to my own children about my experiences in war. Why on earth would you expect anyone to post something on a site like this? I smell a scam, a BIG scam.
Hi Old Medic,
My father was a veteran of WWII; and two brothers of Vietnam during the worst part of that war in the late 60s and early 70s. None of these family members have spoken of the tribulations, horrors of war and are unlikely to do so. Father was in Canadian military and spent entire war as motorcycle messenger in Italy. Brothers were US Marine and Army. When one has relatives and friends in military who actively serve in war we observe the courtesy of NEVER questioning them about their experience. One brother did confide in me regarding the most horrid incident over 30 years later. This confidance has not been betrayed and never will be. I think he gained some peace after that but he did not offer any more and I did not ask.
If it is a kid looking for answers they are unaware of this courtesy and respect that must be paid to a veteran.
I think that is the intent of the OP, the effects on the victims of war, not those who participate. But for that you would need the stories of millions of survivors.
I was in born in Budapest in 1937, just as the great depression was coming to an end. Little did we know that the industrial recovery was due to military spending as Hitler's party was preparing for war. My father, who was unemployed until now, finally found employment in a factory, and my mother who supported him could now stay home with my three year old brother and me.
My idyllic early years started to cloud over with the general anxiety in the population, of the impending war. In 1944 my father was drafted into the army and was sent to the Russian front. The Germans began their bombing campaign. I was now in grade one in school, and the ever frequent air-raids found us there. The school had no bomb shelter and we were quickly sent home, for me it meant running home in absolute terror the half a mile distance among farmers fields, with low flying aircraft overhead, sometimes machine gunning, sometimes dropping bombs.
We lived in a three-storey apartment building with a pasement for tenant storage. When the seige of Budapest began the cold damp and dark basement became our shelter, where we huddled shivering, not really fooling ourselves that if a bomb struck the building would collapse on us. Later, during the Iraq war one such apartment was actually hit by the Allied Bombings and televison brough the images of the horrific carnage of women and children blown apart, body parts and blood everywhere...
My parents had the foresight to prepare for the war, we had dry beans, peas and corn that we could boil to eat. For weaks in and out we lived in fear of air raids, hurriedly boiling the little we had left, then winter came and the pipes froze, we no longer had water. Sanitation? This is how colera breaks out...
Finally the Russians drove out the Germans and we found ourselves under occupation by a war crazed hord of armed soldiers. Looting, raping women and children and shooting the resisters on spot followed. It lasted several months til some sort of order could be restored. The population was starved and the economy had to be restarted. We were ordered out of the shelters and people ordered to clean away the ruins. The monetary system collapsed, we survived by bartering away the little we had. Poor diet and nutritional deficits have taken their toll, if people got sick they died or not, children were born with physical defects or already emotional cripples with lifelong effects.
The school reopened. I lost a year, but was happy to get back to grade two, even thought we shivered in an unheated classroom with nothing but rags on our backs, our hands red then blue from trying to hold a pencil. My first meal of the day was after school and when my mother got home from work at three a clock. My father never came back from the war and we did not yet know lthat he has been killed. We now had potatoes to boil, and that was pretty well all we had to eat. I began to have nightmares. Sometimes I woke up screaming in panic attacks. There were no councellors to deal with post traumatic stress then, you just had to learn to cope all your own.
I understand the war for the Americans was a blast, especialy for those on top, parading in smart uniforms and having parties where the ladies admired you... but we did not know anything about it then, we just trudged along.
When I was only 4 or 5 years old, the Polish, English or Canadian liberators - I don't know who - were on their way through our village. Some of their trucks had stopped across the street and I as a youngster I wandered over to see what they were doing. Then a kindly soldier started talking to me. Of course I didn't know what he meant. Then he got the supplies out and started making a sandwich. He was going to give me one too. He put on the jam or marmelade real thick and I was sure it was gonna be a good one. Yet in my 4 years under war rations and food rationing I NEVER EVER had seen a sandwich with jam, let alone white bread. So in my childrens mind it took forever to make a strange looking sandwich, using white bread and jam.
I think I unintentionally insulted and greatly disappointed him because I ran home, leaving the soldier standing there with a specially made treat, just for me.
I think I unintentionally insulted and greatly disappointed him because I ran home, leaving the soldier standing there with a specially made treat, just for me.
My father who saw action from the Battle of Britain, threw Africa, Italy, Southern France,
through Holland, Belgium and into Germany, rarely spoke about the real horror he saw.
He also made it clear the allies were not saints either.
He was also of the opinion that had Churchill not become Prime Minister, the results
could have been much different. He was not a man who supported the concept of war
and he believed little the propaganda had to offer. He told me a few stories though and
I do not share them because I believe the discussion was between him and I.
I also wonder why someone would wait this long to start a school project,
through Holland, Belgium and into Germany, rarely spoke about the real horror he saw.
He also made it clear the allies were not saints either.
He was also of the opinion that had Churchill not become Prime Minister, the results
could have been much different. He was not a man who supported the concept of war
and he believed little the propaganda had to offer. He told me a few stories though and
I do not share them because I believe the discussion was between him and I.
I also wonder why someone would wait this long to start a school project,
I remember one of the few comments that my grandfather made about WW1: In the next war, I'll fight on whatever side is against Belgium.
Kathie Bondar, I was born in Pecs, Hungary in 1939. When the War actually touched Hungary, we lived in part of Hungary that is now part of Slovakia. At that time my father was serving in the Hungarian Army, which - as history shows, unfortunately - was aligned with the Germans. Our house in Rimaszombat (now called Rimoskva Sobota) was a beautiful place and as such it was occupied by all the armies in the conflict. First came the Germans in their march eastward. Then Germans again, in retreat. About that time I saw some of my best friends in kindergarten taken away, because they were Jews. Then came the Romanians. Then came the Soviets.
I was too young at the time to realize the actual brutality of Voroshilov's mongols, who never saw an indoor toilet in their lives. They were in awe of a wristwatch and a radio. They were also crude and rough and treated my mother and grandmother, who lived with us at the time with the utmost disrespect. They corralled my sister (three years older than me) and me and wanted to us to say: Papa officer! But we just told them: Papa soldat!
After the smoke of war cleared, came the bitterest and most cruel blow: Since we were not Slovaks, we were kicked out of our home, since that part of Hungary where we lived was claimed by and repatriated to Czekoslovakia. We had to leave everything behind, we were allowed to take 60 kilograms of our belongings with us.
Thru all this time, with my father a prisoner of war, my mother was a tower of strength. Between the lowly jobs she had to take, she managed to teach my sister and me about God, and managed to teach me to read before I entered Grade 1.
The years between 1948 and 1956 were the years when the Communists attempted to win my soul, along with the souls of my contemporaries. History shows that October 23rd, 1956, proved their utter and dismal failure.
I hit the road and left Hungary all by myself when I was just a few months over 17 years old. Came to Canada in 1957, and a strange twist of fate, the date of my setting foot in Canada is the same as the birthday of my wife of almost 42 years.
I do not wish to be accused of a long rant, so I will not, at this stage, elaborate whether the war affected me in a positive or negative way.
I was too young at the time to realize the actual brutality of Voroshilov's mongols, who never saw an indoor toilet in their lives. They were in awe of a wristwatch and a radio. They were also crude and rough and treated my mother and grandmother, who lived with us at the time with the utmost disrespect. They corralled my sister (three years older than me) and me and wanted to us to say: Papa officer! But we just told them: Papa soldat!
After the smoke of war cleared, came the bitterest and most cruel blow: Since we were not Slovaks, we were kicked out of our home, since that part of Hungary where we lived was claimed by and repatriated to Czekoslovakia. We had to leave everything behind, we were allowed to take 60 kilograms of our belongings with us.
Thru all this time, with my father a prisoner of war, my mother was a tower of strength. Between the lowly jobs she had to take, she managed to teach my sister and me about God, and managed to teach me to read before I entered Grade 1.
The years between 1948 and 1956 were the years when the Communists attempted to win my soul, along with the souls of my contemporaries. History shows that October 23rd, 1956, proved their utter and dismal failure.
I hit the road and left Hungary all by myself when I was just a few months over 17 years old. Came to Canada in 1957, and a strange twist of fate, the date of my setting foot in Canada is the same as the birthday of my wife of almost 42 years.
I do not wish to be accused of a long rant, so I will not, at this stage, elaborate whether the war affected me in a positive or negative way.
As mentioned some soldiers had no love for the Belgians. My dad did tell me they were
among the worst when it came to trusting anyone. The Dutch were the most solid when
it came to the treatment of Canadians. He once told me travelling through Belgium he
and others would watch for traitors in the crowd writing down their numbers and unit
numbers if they could. When they saw anyone do this they would round them up in most
countries, in Belgium however he said We shot the bastar*s. I have heard other soldiers
in our family and friends of my dad who did not like them either.
among the worst when it came to trusting anyone. The Dutch were the most solid when
it came to the treatment of Canadians. He once told me travelling through Belgium he
and others would watch for traitors in the crowd writing down their numbers and unit
numbers if they could. When they saw anyone do this they would round them up in most
countries, in Belgium however he said We shot the bastar*s. I have heard other soldiers
in our family and friends of my dad who did not like them either.
It is unfortunate that the German people had to go through such horror whether they wanted to or not. Hitler was a madman and he brought the people down with him. Sad. Sorry for your experience.
It is doubtful that you insulted him. He would have been puzzled more than anything because in his mind he was offering a starving child a delicious treat and probably it did not occur to him that you had never seen such a thing. You acted like the small child that you were. The white bread and jam may not have looked appetizing to you so you ran home.