大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Richard Jackson on behalf of Dorothy Parker and has been added to the site with her permission. Mrs Parker fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.

It happened in 1945 when I was stationed with the ATS/EFI (NAAFI) in a small town called Turnhout on the borders of Belgium and Holland. We (the NAAFI girls) used to visit the boys in hospital and I made friends with Frank. He came to see me one morning telling me that a soldier from my home town of Wigan in Lancashire had been brought into the hospital and would I go and see him when off duty. I went that afternoon taking some fruit. I introduced myself to Willie and we had much to talk about even though he lived on the other side of Wigan and we were complete strangers. He asked for an apple and I asked permission from the sister before peeling and slicing it for him. The sister did say he would probably bring it up again, by all means let him have one. We talked as he ate and he even said he enjoyed it. But within ten minutes he was very sick and I had to call the sister. This exhausted him, so I took my leave of him and promised to visit again the next day.

The following morning Frank came to tell me that Willie had died during the night and it would be better not to visit for a few days. I was very unhappy and wondered what I could do to ease a mother's heartache. Willie was only twenty years old and came from a loving family. Another friend, a medical orderly, obtained Willie's address and I wrote to his parents telling of my meeting with their son. At their request I tended his grave and with the help of Eddie (the medical orderly) we planted flowers. In the meantime, another friend, Bill, aquired a box camera for me, for cigarettes.

One sunny afternoon I went to the cemetary armed with my box camera and I took some pictures of Willie's grave to send to his parents. While I was there, another funeral was taking place. It was a double one. My friend Eddie was one of the pall bearers and he told me it was the result of an accident. Two Canadian's were killed in a Jeep on the autobahn just out of town. While the funeral was taking place and with my camera at the ready, I took two pictures. One with the four pall bearers and the Army chaplain, heads bowed in prayer, and the other of the bugler sounding the last post. All the pictures turned out well.

Three weeks later, just after a spell of duty at 2:15 and leaving the canteen, I was stopped by a big, burly Canadian Sgt. carrying a large bunch of flowers. He said "Say honey, can you tell me where the cemetery is in this gawd damn town?". Because it was easier to take him there than it was to try and direct him I offered to walk with him.

We talked as we walked and I asked whose grave he was seeking. "My brother's" was his reply. "Did he die in the hospital?" I asked. "No. He was killed with a friend on the autobahn about three weeks ago".

So I was able to take him straight to his brother's grave. While he was sorting out the flowers, I was tending to Willie's grave. When he came over to me I knew before he asked what he was going to say. How come I knoew it was his brother's grave. I told him I had photos of his funeral.

He came back to my billets and after showing him the photographs, I gave him the two negatives so that he could have more printed. I never saw him again, but I knew he was just as amazed as I was at such a strange encounter.

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