大象传媒

My name is Linda, I am Canadian. I have a degree in British and American History. I came to have a tremendous interest in many aspects of history, especially World War I and World War II history, through my grandfather, who was posted in a coastal community in East England called Shorncliffe in 1917 World War I. I only know him through one letter he send to my grandmother back in Ontario, Canada that she printed in the local newspaper. He addressed this letter from "Shorncliffe". Grandmother had four children at the time, but grandfather left to fight for "King and Country" (Grandfather was British by birth, as was Grandmother, he had been stationed in India during the 1920's before he and grandmother came to live in Canada - he was a farm worker.) In 1917, there was a "conscription crises" here in Canada, meaning that more men were needed to go overseas to fight. So, regardless that Grandfather Charles was over 40 years old, the army took him anyway. I don't believe he got to the Continent. In this letter, which I framed and hung on my wall, as grandfather left no papers and died before I was born, he described an air raid over Shorncliffe. My grandfather described the bursting shrapnel as like a swarm of bees humming and having to pick up pieces of men (dropped by zeppelins?). Huge craters from heavy bombs were described by Private Charles as "large enough to hide a team of horses and a wagon in". My grandfather also spoke casually about having to "guard four German prisoners in the hut". As I never knew my grandfather, these words left me with a great understanding of my grandfather and the horrors of war. Grandfather Charles returned to his home in Ontario, but he was left permanently disabled with a bad heart (no doubt caused by the awful bomb concussions he spoke of), and he died just as my father was leaving Canada to fight in World War II in 1940.

My father, George, was born when my grandfather returned to Canada and spent a great deal of time with him. As a result, George was left with a great sense of duty to Canada and a keen appreciation of his British heritage. When WWII was declared, my father wanted to sign up to go immediately, but Perth County, our home area, was not signing up men yet, so my father went to London, Oxford County, next door. When my father was in training in a city called Kingston before going to Halifax and overseas, he got word that his father died. How strange to be fighting another war after losing your father indirectly from the war that was supposed to "end all wars!"

My father became a signal dispatcher, arrived in Britain, and stayed close to London for the duration of the Blitz. I was made familiar with his lifestyle over in Britain during the war because every year when I was a child, father George would take out his old war trunk, lined with British zinc, that his parents had given him, and showed me and my four other siblings all the wonderful contents he had saved. We saw his pay book, a hunk of petrified chocolate, his Harley motorcycle helmet and goggles (interestingly, although he spent more than four years on a motorcycle following the army, my father never drove one again after returning to Canada). The "real finds", however, were a real German Officer's cap, a real Nazi German flag, his packsack and canteen. They are treasured items in my family and shown to children on Remembrance Day. I understood my father much better and why he sounded bitter about Germans sometimes when he showed us the pictures he had taken in Britain and in Holland after it had been liberated and his unit was stationed there. I had often wondered if my father had to kill any Germans - I think he told my brother-in-law, whose parents were born in Holland, a lot more vivid stories about such things than he told his children. Dad would talk about hiding under a jeep while a German stutka plane was strafing it and I understood that a signal dispatcher's job was just as dangerous as any frontline soldier.

After D-Day, my father followed the allied army into occupied France and his unit was chosen to stay in Holland after liberation. He brought home a small pair of wooden shoes which I treasure. He spoke about the kindnesses of the British and Dutch families he was billeted with. Going to London for sightseeing during the blitz meant usually being picked to clean up bomb sites and help with fires instead but he managed to take some pictures. Dad spoke especially about St. Pauls Cathedral and being given special permission to go to the "Whispering Gallery" there to hear his voice when there was no one else around. I got to visit Britain one year ago and of course, St. Pauls was one of the first places I visited in London. It was so crowded with tourists in April that I couldn't have heard my voice reverberate back if I had wanted to. How did my father feel at a time when war had closed down all the sites that tourists take for granted now? I closed my eyes and tried to imagine.

I am glad I had the privilege to come to England, Scotland and Ireland and see and feel first hand the feelings of loyalty, duty and affection my grandfather and later my father felt when they fought for the freedom of people, not just back home but around the world. Through these recollections of my relatives facing an uncertain future with stoic courage, I certainly understand why my father never wanted to leave St. Marys again after coming home. Strangely enough, my father never went back to Britain, even during the 50th anniversary celebrations of WWII. Perhaps, even though he had a great fondness for England, he felt the countryside and cities would have changed too much for him to recognize. Perhaps the memories of war and friends killed were too much to bear. He always remained an "Englishman" at heart. I was called "Ducky" as a child for years and at Christmas we had special "crackers" and other traditions that made me very aware of my British heritage. My father's life was changed forever during the years of war he spent in Britain and he made sure his children would always remember. If there are any descendents left of those British families who took my father in during those dark days - thank you! I believe we still have some family over in Britain - though the ties are getting weaker.

My father has been gone for two years now, but I continue to teach my nieces and nephews about his journey and my grandfather's journey through two different wars. The weapons may have been different but the feelings and relationships made - when you didn't know if you'd be alive tomorrow, were the same in both wars. My Aunt Daisy, my father's sister, went to Britain as a nurse and married a Canadian soldier over there.

Thank you for the chance to discuss my father's role in World War II and the lingering memories that still are with me and my family today. I wish you every success in your quest to compile as many stories as possible about war conditions in Britain while there are still men and women alive to discuss them. Future generation should never forget the sacrifices and lives altered for their freedom so many take for granted today!