大象传媒

Growing up, I was treated to many different accounts from my Grandad of his experiences during World War Two. It's only really as I've got older that I've realised the significance of his experiences and how important it is to keep them alive and in the public domain (and why I think this website is such a great idea).

Most people know the main fact of the war, the dates, the causes, etc. But it's the personal stories which have the greatest impact and help later generations to realise the real human consequences of an event that happened only a short time ago.

For most of the War my Grandad was based in India and I can vividly remember him telling me of how he rode Elephants and how he would shake his boots each morning to make sure no creepy crawlies (or worse) were lurking inside. I can remember him telling me how he and my Nan had been penpals during the war. They had never met but the women back home were encouraged to write to the men to keep their spirits up. Out of this correspondance grew love and they ended up being married for over forty years.

Of all the stories, the one that has stood out is one that was told to me, not by my Grandad but by my Mum. During his posting in India my Grandad was blown up by a landmine. He broke his back and was initially told he would never walk again. Luckily, after spending nine months in hospital, he did learn to walk again and, when well enough, was sent back to England. It must have been pretty awful travelling from England to India on his own while still recovering from such horrific injuries, but what must have made it even worse was that he was sent back in the uniform he'd been wearing when he'd been blown up and it hadn't even been washed.

Once back in England, he was under the impression that he would not be posted out again and his involvement in the war was over. However, as soon as the necessary authorities discovered that he had reasonably recovered they sent him all the way back to India!

Although he never let on to me, my Mum told me that he was very bitter about his treatment during the war. Consequently, he only ever wore his medals once and ended up giving them away.

When my Mum told me this story, it gave me a whole new outlook on what it must have been like for my Grandad and countless others on a day to day basis and it's why I thought suitable to post on this website.

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