I thought that this was a very thoughtful Remembrance Day thread that Locutus started last year, so I thought that I would bump it to help remind us what Remembrance Day is all about.
Remembrance Day
- Thread starter Locutus
- Start date
My grandpa did the opposite- left the mounties to join the army. My dad was born after he left for Europe and says his earliest memory was the sound of his father's boots on the floor when he came back and met him for the first time. His injuries prevented him from going back to the mounties, so he became an English teacher helping 17 year olds to interpret the poems in the early posts of this thread. He didn't like to talk about the war, but he did go back to Europe to mark the 50th anniversary of DDay (which also happens to be my birthday). He died a few years ago, but Remembrance Day has continued to be important to my dad in particular.
View attachment 924
1917 War the ultimate human sacrifice.......to lie about his or her age so she or he would be excepted to go and fight overseas....as young as 15 years old.............:-(
1917 War the ultimate human sacrifice.......to lie about his or her age so she or he would be excepted to go and fight overseas....as young as 15 years old.............:-(
Last edited:
I personally thank my grandfather who fought in the boer war, and world war one-survived both
My father, who fought in world war one-survived
My brother, who fought in world war two, regina rifles- wounded, survived
I also include all of our troops, and the families and victims who were part of the enemy, who suffered
just as we did.
I agree with Darkbeaver on many points, but in regards to world war two, hitler put everyone
in a position of 'having to defend', so there was no choice, being against war doesn't mean
you lay down and let the agressor stomp over you, we must have the spirit to rise up and
push back 'evil' people like Hitler, and whoever might follow in his footsteps.
I cherish our freedom, and I thank all of them for allowing us to keep it.
My father, who fought in world war one-survived
My brother, who fought in world war two, regina rifles- wounded, survived
I also include all of our troops, and the families and victims who were part of the enemy, who suffered
just as we did.
I agree with Darkbeaver on many points, but in regards to world war two, hitler put everyone
in a position of 'having to defend', so there was no choice, being against war doesn't mean
you lay down and let the agressor stomp over you, we must have the spirit to rise up and
push back 'evil' people like Hitler, and whoever might follow in his footsteps.
I cherish our freedom, and I thank all of them for allowing us to keep it.
Last edited:
There are lots of memories of the past in here, from many different people. Thank you Hazmart, for bringing this thread back to the light of day so perhaps some of the newer membership can read their stories.:smile:
Just a side note- to those who normally do not click on the NHL thread, today would be a good
day to go in and have a look, as they have done a nice remembrance day tribute.
Talloola
day to go in and have a look, as they have done a nice remembrance day tribute.
Talloola
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
- John McCrae
YouTube - In Flanders Fields - Lest We Forget
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders Fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
- John McCrae
YouTube - In Flanders Fields - Lest We Forget
You're a good man Andem. Thanks.
For The Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Source:
First World War.com - Prose & Poetry - Laurence Binyon
Links:
Remembrance
The Royal Canadian Legion
WarMuseum.ca - Remembrance Day, November 11
Inspiration for John McCrae's WW1 poem - In Flanders Fields
Other:
Canada Remembers | Facebook
The First World War: Canada Remembers | CBC Archives
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Source:
First World War.com - Prose & Poetry - Laurence Binyon
Links:
Remembrance
The Royal Canadian Legion
WarMuseum.ca - Remembrance Day, November 11
Inspiration for John McCrae's WW1 poem - In Flanders Fields
Other:
Canada Remembers | Facebook
The First World War: Canada Remembers | CBC Archives
This is an excerpt from Canon Frederick George Scott's: THE GREAT WAR AS I SAW IT.
In this particular excerpt he has been alerted that his son Albert has been killed and was buried without a proper service. Scott, a military chaplain set out that dark night to find his son's body and give him a service.
It is quite a good book and very reflective of the time.
When I got into Regina Trench, I found that it was impossible to pass along it, as one sank down so deeply into the heavy mud. I had brought a little sketch with me of the trenches, which showed the shell hole where it was supposed that the body had been buried. The previous night a cross had been placed there by a corporal of the battalion before it left the front line. No one I spoke to, however, could tell me the exact map location of the place where it stood. I looked over the trenches, and on all sides spread a waste of brown mud, made more desolate by the morning mist which clung over everything. I was determined, however, not to be baffled in my search, and told the runner who was with me that, if I stayed there six months, I was not going to leave till I had found that grave. We walked back along the communication trench and turned into one on the right, peering over the top every now and then to see if we could recognize anything corresponding to the marks on our map. Suddenly the runner, who was looking over the top, pointed far away to a lonely white cross that stood at a point where the ground sloped down through the mist towards Regina Trench. At once we climbed out of the trench and made our way over the slippery ground and past the deep shell holes to where the white cross stood out in the solitude. We passed many bodies which were still unburied, and here and there were bits of accoutrement which had been lost during the advance. When we came up to the cross I read my son's name upon it, and knew that I had reached the object I had in view. As the corporal who had placed the cross there had not been quite sure that it was actually on the place of burial, I got the runner to dig the ground in front of it. He did so, but we discovered nothing but a large piece of a shell. Then I got him to try in another place, and still we could find nothing. I tried once again, and after he had dug a little while he came upon something white. It was my son's left hand, with his signet ring upon it. They had removed his identification disc, revolver and pocket-book, so the signet ring was the only thing which could have led to his identification. It was really quite miraculous that we should have made the discovery. The mist was lifting now, and the sun to the East was beginning to light up the ground. We heard the crack of bullets, for the Germans were sniping us. I made the runner go down into a shell hole, while I read the burial service, and then took off the ring. I looked over the ground where the charge had been made. There lay Regina Trench, and far beyond it, standing out against the morning light, I saw the villages of Pys and Miraumont which were our objective. It was a strange scene of desolation, for the November rains had made the battle fields a dreary, sodden waste. How many of our brave men had laid down their lives as the purchase price of that consecrated soil! Through the centuries to come it must always remain sacred to the hearts of Canadians. We made a small mound where the body lay, and then by quick dashes from shell hole to shell hole we got back at last to the communication trench, and I was indeed thankful to feel that my mission had been successful. I have received letters since I returned to Canada from the kind young fellow, who accompanied me on the journey, and I shall never cease to be grateful to him. I left him at his headquarters in Death Valley, and made my way past Courcellette towards the road. As the trench was very muddy, I got out of it, and was walking along the top when I came across something red on the ground. It was a piece of a man's lung with the windpipe attached. I suppose some poor lad had had a direct hit from a shell and his body had been blown to pieces. The Germans were shelling the road, so with some men I met we made a detour through the fields and joined it further on, and finally got to the chalk-pit where the 87th Battalion was waiting to go in again to the final attack. I was delighted to see my friends once more, and they were thankful that I had been able to find the grave. Not many days afterwards, some of those whom I then met were called themselves to make the supreme sacrifice. I spent that night at the Rear Headquarters of the 4th Division, and they kindly sent me back the next day to Camblain l'Abbé in one of their cars.
On November 24th I received a telegram saying that a working party of one of the battalions of the 4th Division had brought my son's body back, and so on the following day I motored once again to Albert and laid my dear boy to rest in the little cemetery on Tara Hill, which he and I had seen when he was encamped near it, and in which now were the bodies of some of his friends whom I had met on my last visit.
In this particular excerpt he has been alerted that his son Albert has been killed and was buried without a proper service. Scott, a military chaplain set out that dark night to find his son's body and give him a service.
It is quite a good book and very reflective of the time.
When I got into Regina Trench, I found that it was impossible to pass along it, as one sank down so deeply into the heavy mud. I had brought a little sketch with me of the trenches, which showed the shell hole where it was supposed that the body had been buried. The previous night a cross had been placed there by a corporal of the battalion before it left the front line. No one I spoke to, however, could tell me the exact map location of the place where it stood. I looked over the trenches, and on all sides spread a waste of brown mud, made more desolate by the morning mist which clung over everything. I was determined, however, not to be baffled in my search, and told the runner who was with me that, if I stayed there six months, I was not going to leave till I had found that grave. We walked back along the communication trench and turned into one on the right, peering over the top every now and then to see if we could recognize anything corresponding to the marks on our map. Suddenly the runner, who was looking over the top, pointed far away to a lonely white cross that stood at a point where the ground sloped down through the mist towards Regina Trench. At once we climbed out of the trench and made our way over the slippery ground and past the deep shell holes to where the white cross stood out in the solitude. We passed many bodies which were still unburied, and here and there were bits of accoutrement which had been lost during the advance. When we came up to the cross I read my son's name upon it, and knew that I had reached the object I had in view. As the corporal who had placed the cross there had not been quite sure that it was actually on the place of burial, I got the runner to dig the ground in front of it. He did so, but we discovered nothing but a large piece of a shell. Then I got him to try in another place, and still we could find nothing. I tried once again, and after he had dug a little while he came upon something white. It was my son's left hand, with his signet ring upon it. They had removed his identification disc, revolver and pocket-book, so the signet ring was the only thing which could have led to his identification. It was really quite miraculous that we should have made the discovery. The mist was lifting now, and the sun to the East was beginning to light up the ground. We heard the crack of bullets, for the Germans were sniping us. I made the runner go down into a shell hole, while I read the burial service, and then took off the ring. I looked over the ground where the charge had been made. There lay Regina Trench, and far beyond it, standing out against the morning light, I saw the villages of Pys and Miraumont which were our objective. It was a strange scene of desolation, for the November rains had made the battle fields a dreary, sodden waste. How many of our brave men had laid down their lives as the purchase price of that consecrated soil! Through the centuries to come it must always remain sacred to the hearts of Canadians. We made a small mound where the body lay, and then by quick dashes from shell hole to shell hole we got back at last to the communication trench, and I was indeed thankful to feel that my mission had been successful. I have received letters since I returned to Canada from the kind young fellow, who accompanied me on the journey, and I shall never cease to be grateful to him. I left him at his headquarters in Death Valley, and made my way past Courcellette towards the road. As the trench was very muddy, I got out of it, and was walking along the top when I came across something red on the ground. It was a piece of a man's lung with the windpipe attached. I suppose some poor lad had had a direct hit from a shell and his body had been blown to pieces. The Germans were shelling the road, so with some men I met we made a detour through the fields and joined it further on, and finally got to the chalk-pit where the 87th Battalion was waiting to go in again to the final attack. I was delighted to see my friends once more, and they were thankful that I had been able to find the grave. Not many days afterwards, some of those whom I then met were called themselves to make the supreme sacrifice. I spent that night at the Rear Headquarters of the 4th Division, and they kindly sent me back the next day to Camblain l'Abbé in one of their cars.
On November 24th I received a telegram saying that a working party of one of the battalions of the 4th Division had brought my son's body back, and so on the following day I motored once again to Albert and laid my dear boy to rest in the little cemetery on Tara Hill, which he and I had seen when he was encamped near it, and in which now were the bodies of some of his friends whom I had met on my last visit.
Remembrance ceremony visits vets
TORONTO - An annual Remembrance Day ceremony at the Runnymede Healthcare Centre is a much-anticipated highlight for three generations of the Galea family of Toronto.
Jim Galea, 94, was adourned with his British army medals on Saturday, as the Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada, a regiment formed in 1860, marched to a stage accompanied by a bugle band to perform God Save the Queen.
Galea, his wife, Mary, 88, and other veterans were among 100 seniors and others attending the event at the Runnymede Dr. centre for complex continuing care.
Mary served in Victory Kitchens in Malta during the Second World War. She was among hundreds of volunteers who cooked food for civilians and soldiers.
There was a two-minute silence after a band played The Last Post and as former Liberal MP Sarmite Bulte read Flanders Fields.
Remembrance ceremony visits vets | Toronto & GTA | News | Toronto Sun
TORONTO - An annual Remembrance Day ceremony at the Runnymede Healthcare Centre is a much-anticipated highlight for three generations of the Galea family of Toronto.
Jim Galea, 94, was adourned with his British army medals on Saturday, as the Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada, a regiment formed in 1860, marched to a stage accompanied by a bugle band to perform God Save the Queen.
Galea, his wife, Mary, 88, and other veterans were among 100 seniors and others attending the event at the Runnymede Dr. centre for complex continuing care.
Mary served in Victory Kitchens in Malta during the Second World War. She was among hundreds of volunteers who cooked food for civilians and soldiers.
There was a two-minute silence after a band played The Last Post and as former Liberal MP Sarmite Bulte read Flanders Fields.
Remembrance ceremony visits vets | Toronto & GTA | News | Toronto Sun
Remembrance Day to me is remembering the actions and sacrifices of people who were and are more man than iam. Even our fallen comrades from Afghanistan i hope their families are doing well and that they are stronger now as oppsed to then. We have to let the world know that we remember and that the Radical elements of any form of organization are still on notice...
Seventy-some years ago the people of my parents' generation girded themselves and went off to war against one of the most monstrous tyrannies the world has ever seen. I still remember the high school history class in which this was first borne in upon my awareness, by one of those rare and gifted teachers who could tell a story so well you felt like you'd been there, as he was. It was from him that I first learned, among many other things, that in the first wave onto the Normandy beaches in 1944 were the Royal Winnipeg Rifles and the Regina Rifle Regiment. Prairie kids, I thought, like me, many of them not much older than I was at the time. I looked around at all the children of privilege in that classroom with me and wondered, "Could we do that?" I didn't know, and I still don't. I'd like to think we could, but because of the heroic, and ultimately successful, sacrifices my parents' generation made, it's a decision I've never had to face. Instead my life has been one of extraordinary security and comfort and privilege, and for that I've always been profoundly grateful.
That is what Remembrance Day has always meant to me, and that's what I've always been thinking about when I observe the ceremonies on the day. This year, with my son serving aboard HMCS Vancouver and deployed into a conflict zone, I have something else to think about. I was surprised when he chose a career as a naval officer, I'd detected no hint of that interest as he was growing up, and like any parent I'm not comfortable with the thought of a child of mine putting himself into harm's way, but I cannot and will not gainsay his choice. The quality of my life exists because there are tough people prepared to defend it. My son is now among them, not only for me, but for others around the world under the duty to protect doctrine that motivated the Libyan intervention on the side of revolutionaries trying to overthrow another hideous tyranny. It's important and necessary that there be such people, and this year my perspective has shifted a bit. I will be thinking not only of the fallen, but also of those who stand ready. They too deserve honour and remembrance.
That is what Remembrance Day has always meant to me, and that's what I've always been thinking about when I observe the ceremonies on the day. This year, with my son serving aboard HMCS Vancouver and deployed into a conflict zone, I have something else to think about. I was surprised when he chose a career as a naval officer, I'd detected no hint of that interest as he was growing up, and like any parent I'm not comfortable with the thought of a child of mine putting himself into harm's way, but I cannot and will not gainsay his choice. The quality of my life exists because there are tough people prepared to defend it. My son is now among them, not only for me, but for others around the world under the duty to protect doctrine that motivated the Libyan intervention on the side of revolutionaries trying to overthrow another hideous tyranny. It's important and necessary that there be such people, and this year my perspective has shifted a bit. I will be thinking not only of the fallen, but also of those who stand ready. They too deserve honour and remembrance.
It's easy to forget as we live in our modern world with peace and security in our everyday lives that having that peace and security came at a price. I try to be reflective and to think of those past, present and future who have literally, figuratively and symbolically stood for me and for all of us. Those that have sacrificed their lives in the past and those who are willing to put their lives on the line now. These past several years of watching flag draped coffins coming home have driven that point home to me. I'd like to think that, if only on this one day, each one of us can spare at least a moment to honour those people for their valour. From the bottom of my heart I do.
Recessional (By Rudyard Kipling):
God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle line—
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
Far-called our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
Amen.
God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle line—
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies—
The Captains and the Kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
Far-called our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!
Amen.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them
-Laurence Binyon
Remembrance Day to me, like many others, is a fairly solemn occasion. I always try to observe the moment of silence at 11:00 am, even if I am not at a cenotaph or ceremony. I never served, myself, but was a Royal Canadian Army Cadet for 5 years and have always had an interest in history, especially the military parts. My mom was in the RCN in the '60s (she was actually in uniform the day Kennedy was shot, and said it was one of the scariest days of her life, as no one knew what was going to happen), and my maternal grandfather served as a free Belgian in WW2, in the Belgian SAS battalion. I think of Grandpa a lot at this time of year, in part because of Remembrance Day, but also because his birth and death were in early December.
Grandpa and his brother, my great uncle Karel both left the farm close to Unity, Saskatchewan to sign up. I don't know a lot about it: Grandpa never liked to talk much about it, so most of what I know came from my mother. I don't know why they joined the Belgians as opposed to the Canadians and I probably never will as both men and their wives have been deceased for years. Grandpa developed some pretty strong opinions while in the service, this I DO know: he tended to dislike the Americans, thinking the Battle of the Bulge happened because "they were drunk, celebrating Christmas and Germans caught them with their pants down". He also gained a very pronouced dislike of the French, both European and Canadian versions, in large part because of their overall stubborness in clinging to the French language in operations, even most of the countries they were working with were predominantly English speaking (Grandpa was also Flemish Belgian, and their... disagreements with the French in Belgium go back centuries). Mom said Grandpa was offered a staff post if he wanted to stay in the military after the war, but he had "had enough of the g******ed French bulls***" and went to meet his Scottish war-bride and their infant daughter in Saskatchewan. A lot of this seems at odds with the soft spoken man, I knew and loved but I also heard some of the comments, like his opinion of parachutists from the Canadian Airborne Regiment dropping on the field at Commonwealth Stadium at the pregame or halftime of an Eskimo game ("stupid bloody thing to do, jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. We only did it because we had to!").
I never even knew the Belgian battalion of the SAS existed until a few years ago, when a historian made contact with some of Mom's cousins. looking for any old information/stories/memorabilia Grandpa or Uncle Karel might have left with us. Mom always said he was a "free Belgian paratrooper". I had heard of the SAS of course, initially in my cadet days, and more as the years went by and I read more, news and historical accounts, and was impressed that my grandfather had served in such a prestigious unit. I can't say that I was more impressed, because I had known for years that he was some type of airborne soldier.
Mom related some of the little Grandpa had told her and her brothers about the war mostly along the lines of: dropping into France and hiding beside a road while "half the German army rolled by, too scared too move to go to the bathroom". Mom also told my sister and I of one night when Grandpa and his brothers got into the vodka, and Uncle Karel and Grandpa talked in quiet voices of what they had seen when they had been present at one of the camps being liberated. Mom was never positive which one (she thought possibly Belsen Bergen but that was liberated by the Americans according to the records), and she said Grandpa never talked about it again, at least where his family heard.
The only other thing Mom said, was something I've heard from other veterans: Grandpa and Uncle Karel never thought of themselves as heroes, no matter what others said. To them, they only did what they had to do: the heroes never came home. I think of this a lot whenever discussions of military missions come up, and I am thankful, especially on Remembrance Day, that Grandpa and Uncle Karel did come home, even if Grandpa's life was still too short by my reckoning (he died on his 65th birthday, December 3, 1981).
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them
-Laurence Binyon
Remembrance Day to me, like many others, is a fairly solemn occasion. I always try to observe the moment of silence at 11:00 am, even if I am not at a cenotaph or ceremony. I never served, myself, but was a Royal Canadian Army Cadet for 5 years and have always had an interest in history, especially the military parts. My mom was in the RCN in the '60s (she was actually in uniform the day Kennedy was shot, and said it was one of the scariest days of her life, as no one knew what was going to happen), and my maternal grandfather served as a free Belgian in WW2, in the Belgian SAS battalion. I think of Grandpa a lot at this time of year, in part because of Remembrance Day, but also because his birth and death were in early December.
Grandpa and his brother, my great uncle Karel both left the farm close to Unity, Saskatchewan to sign up. I don't know a lot about it: Grandpa never liked to talk much about it, so most of what I know came from my mother. I don't know why they joined the Belgians as opposed to the Canadians and I probably never will as both men and their wives have been deceased for years. Grandpa developed some pretty strong opinions while in the service, this I DO know: he tended to dislike the Americans, thinking the Battle of the Bulge happened because "they were drunk, celebrating Christmas and Germans caught them with their pants down". He also gained a very pronouced dislike of the French, both European and Canadian versions, in large part because of their overall stubborness in clinging to the French language in operations, even most of the countries they were working with were predominantly English speaking (Grandpa was also Flemish Belgian, and their... disagreements with the French in Belgium go back centuries). Mom said Grandpa was offered a staff post if he wanted to stay in the military after the war, but he had "had enough of the g******ed French bulls***" and went to meet his Scottish war-bride and their infant daughter in Saskatchewan. A lot of this seems at odds with the soft spoken man, I knew and loved but I also heard some of the comments, like his opinion of parachutists from the Canadian Airborne Regiment dropping on the field at Commonwealth Stadium at the pregame or halftime of an Eskimo game ("stupid bloody thing to do, jumping out of a perfectly good airplane. We only did it because we had to!").
I never even knew the Belgian battalion of the SAS existed until a few years ago, when a historian made contact with some of Mom's cousins. looking for any old information/stories/memorabilia Grandpa or Uncle Karel might have left with us. Mom always said he was a "free Belgian paratrooper". I had heard of the SAS of course, initially in my cadet days, and more as the years went by and I read more, news and historical accounts, and was impressed that my grandfather had served in such a prestigious unit. I can't say that I was more impressed, because I had known for years that he was some type of airborne soldier.
Mom related some of the little Grandpa had told her and her brothers about the war mostly along the lines of: dropping into France and hiding beside a road while "half the German army rolled by, too scared too move to go to the bathroom". Mom also told my sister and I of one night when Grandpa and his brothers got into the vodka, and Uncle Karel and Grandpa talked in quiet voices of what they had seen when they had been present at one of the camps being liberated. Mom was never positive which one (she thought possibly Belsen Bergen but that was liberated by the Americans according to the records), and she said Grandpa never talked about it again, at least where his family heard.
The only other thing Mom said, was something I've heard from other veterans: Grandpa and Uncle Karel never thought of themselves as heroes, no matter what others said. To them, they only did what they had to do: the heroes never came home. I think of this a lot whenever discussions of military missions come up, and I am thankful, especially on Remembrance Day, that Grandpa and Uncle Karel did come home, even if Grandpa's life was still too short by my reckoning (he died on his 65th birthday, December 3, 1981).