Letter from a German Medic: We Remember

Tags

faith, family, love, remembrance, Remembrance Day

We remember.

Not just because it was world history or national history…but because it’s personal history.

In my small hometown, everyone knew someone who had fought in the Great Wars. For my family, it was my great uncle. I have shared this story before, but every time I think about it, I am astonished again and again, that love and compassion never died.

My Great Uncle was killed in action in 1944 – but it is the letters from “the enemy” that make this a remarkable story.

  My Great Uncle was born in 1924 and enlisted in the Canadian Army Dental Corps in December, 1942. He needed his parents’ permission to join because he was only 17. He re-mustered to the Royal Canadian Air Force in 1942 and headed overseas to the United Kingdom in August 1943. He was attached to the Royal Air Force and went missing in action in 1944, at the age of 20.

  It was several months of agonizing waiting before his family found out what had happened. My Great-Uncle had been the rear gunner in an Avro Lancaster went missing during a night operation in France. The rear gunner was in a “bubble” on the underside of the airplane. I was with my Grandfather when he toured the inside of an Avro Lancaster a few years ago, and he kept remarking over and over how tight the space was for the rear gunner. My Great-Uncle had been over 6′ tall.

Most of the crew members, all R.A.F., were also killed. The other crew members were Canadian – one was taken as a Prisoner of War, and one escaped with the assistance of the French underground and returned to England.  The POW’s report stated that the plane was heading to its target and came under heavy fire. They barely missed colliding with another Lancaster that was on fire. Shortly thereafter, a fire broke out inside the plane. The pilot sent others to assist with the fire. When the controls burned out and the plane started into a vertical dive, he forced himself out of the window with a parachute. He woke up on the ground with a broken leg and cracked skull, and was captured by the Germans.

Shortly after the war, the first letter arrived from Germany, from the medic who had attended my Great-Uncle following the plane crash.

Dear family R.,
perhaps you will ask yourself why I wrote to you. I had so many addresses that I had unfortunately to destroy. But I guarded your address like a sanctuary, for a great sympathy united me with your son. In your son I saw a Canadian sportsman, he reminded me of the ice-hockey games Canada Germany in the Berlin sport-palace. And so I am very glad that I can give you any information. It was permitted me to return home after a military-time of long years and an imprisonment of one year, where my young wife awaited me. On the 30th of January my little boy has his first birthday. He is giving us very much pleasure, and so we forget many a trouble and sorrow that oppress us deeply today. I now hope that these lines will give you a small consolation in your grief, and we should be very glad to hear from you again. We should like to send you the pocket-lighter, if you want. We send you the kindest regards, Yours very sincerely, E. P. and family.

My Great-Grandparents wrote back, and received this second letter:

Dear Family R.
By your dear lines I now have the confirmation that you are the parents of Mr. R. I thank you very much for the nice letter, and I am very happy that you call me your friend, and in this friendship I want to report you truly everything what I know of the death of your son. In June 1944 we had our airfield near the village … in northern France. On the 24lb June 1944 at about 23 hours, a heavy air attack ensued on our anti-aircraft position and the neighbouring V-position. At this raid German night-fighters were put in, and in a few minutes a heavy airbattle developed in the nightly sky. In the course of this battle the bombing aircraft of your son must have been heavily damaged. After the air-battle I got the order to search the near environs for the dead and injured persons, and there I found your son. He was lying alone about 300 m from our position, and as I still remarked weak signs of life I called for medical assistance, but it was all in vain, with low words I could not understand, unfortunately, your son died in my arms. My thoughts were in his native country with his relatives. We had became comrades; for tomorrow already I could have had the same fate. So I closed the eyes to your son and said: May God give you the eternal rest. I suppose that your son died by the consequences of the inner injuries he got by the fall. The parachute had taken fire and was not opened, the occiput[sic] had a small injure. The next morning I had to take off all the things of the dead persons and must give them to a German burial-commission that had to send them on to the Red Cross. Therefore I am very much astonished that you did not received the last things of your son. On the 26th June 1944, we brought your son to his last place of rest. He is lying with other comrades on the churchyards “…”. I am going to mark the place for you by an enclosed sketch. I assure you that we buried your son as well as every German comrade. A plain cross of wood with name, day of death and number of recognition adorns his soldier-grave. Herewith I also want to pronounce my sincerest condolence to you.

Some time following this letter, Mr. P. visited my Great-Grandparents and returned a few of my Great-Uncle’s possessions. I find it remarkable, that in a time when tensions still ran high between different nations, that this medic reached out to a small farmer’s family in an attempt to bring them peace.

My Great-Uncle’s fiancée never married. Nearly every year my Grandfather would attend the Remembrance Day Ceremony on November 11th, and the cenotaph in town…to remember. Grandpa would touch his brother’s name on the cenotaph and leave his poppy at its base.

We took him to see a Lancaster bomber in the early 1990s. Grandpa walked around that plane several times before we went inside. Over and over, he’d shake his head and mumble “isn’t that something”. It wasn’t until we moved to the rear gunner’s position that he started to share. “My brother was really skinny and over 6′ tall. How could he possibly fit in there?”, he chuckled. “He would have had his knees in his face”.  Then his smile faded and his eyes welled with tears. He looked at me and tried to say something but he was too emotional, so we just held a quiet memorial there, before he commented “isn’t that something” and turned to go.

My Grandpa is gone now, but his family, we will always remember…

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” -Matthew 5:43-44a

Something…Deadly…?

Tags

birthday, birthday party, family

Something old. Something new. Something deadly? Something blue.

Monday was my birthday, and I discovered something exciting! Math has never been my strong suit, so ahem…imagine my delight when I discovered I was actually turning a year younger than I thought!

My parents drove 4 hours ( or so, round trip) to spend it with me. Big Guy also had the day off. And a friend joined the rest of us ( Hubby and Little Guy too) for dinner. How blessed am I?

We feasted on pizza, because nothing says celebrate getting older like bacon and cheese, and the homemade cake I baked (& will talk about next Monday)!

So what’s old, new, deadly and blue? Some of my birthday presents, of course!

OLD

My aunt gave me this watch and photos, as well as its story.

My Grandmother’s sweetheart (or friend) gave her this watch. He worked in the local bank, but it couldn’t hold on during the depression. The bank closed,  and he moved home to his family’s farm. They kept in touch, but on the night before my Grandmother’s wedding, she sent him a letter telling him that as a married woman, she could no longer correspond. She sometimes wondered what her life might have been like as a banker’s wife?

The time changes, it’s just not the correct time. I still think it’s a really cool piece of history, and I will wear it often.

NEW

Who doesn’t love a new pair of shoes?

Little Guy gave me a new chair for my back porch, and I already have a stack of books for my summer reading.

DEADLY

Big Guy was the most creative this year, and has his Mama’s security and health at heart. When the zombie apocalypse hits, I’m ready!

BLUE

I have to give Hubby credit. He patiently trailed me through the mall for 2 hours on a Friday night, so I could look for “something special” for my birthday. It wasn’t easy, but in the end I chose a blue striped nightshirt from Victoria Secret.

This summer, I’m going to relax on my back porch in my comfortable chair, wearing my oversized nightshirt and my sexy shoes. My watch won’t tell me the time so I legitimately lose track of it…and if anyone messes with me, I can flash them a smile…and my zombie killer blade.

Welcome year 46!

Tea for Two

Tags

family, friends, grief, memories, tea

We use the expression all the time (or some of us do!) – “Good Grief”. But it seems in the midst of it, there’s nothing good. There’s shock and numbness before the searing pain of loss sets in. Then grief hovers at the edges of the soul, and pounces when it’s least expected. Many lovely people have asked me how I’m doing. How can I explain that I have internal bleeding from a gaping hole in my heart? That I’m bone weary, and yet lie awake at night? Instead I say “I’m fine”. Sometimes I am. And I know that one day, I will be.

I’m trying to focus on what’s “good” in the grief, to see beauty in the Opera of the everyday and in the ways we fall apart.

I was there. So often, all I could do when my friend struggled, was to be present. This week, I tried to be present for her family, in whatever small ways I could. They let me see her in the ICU, so I could tell her I love her. They let me share some of my memories in the service. They let me do a few small things, for her.

I got to hug my family. My kids, my husband, my parents. My friend and partner in crime. Even Big Guy’s friend (who I call my adopted kid). Time together is always precious.

I tried to delight in little things, like sassy red shoes, and an indulgent pair of silk stockings. I wore my little black dress, the one that only comes out of the closet for funerals. I ate a sweet butter tart square, even though I gave up all forms of dessert for Lent. I stopped and smelled the roses, especially the pink ones.

I listened to stories about Ruth. I listened as others shared how much they will miss her, how much she meant to them. I connected with strangers, with whom I might have nothing else in common and will never see again, but we could be honest and vulnerable together.

I honoured my friend, my “Mom”, who would have been proud of me. She would haveloved the gathering of family and friends, and relished all the attention.

After the reception, my posse (minus my parents who needed to get home to finish packing for their big trip), met at Tim Horton’s . It seemed an appropriate place to gather, where we had gathered with her a thousand times, to share our laughs and frustrations over a cup of tea. It was so full, we moved the party to the house. We kicked off our shoes and tucked up in the living room. And started to breathe again…

Family is more than blood. Families are made of those who you welcome in, share “silent unspeakable memories” with, express vulnerability with, work to climb the highs and lows of life with, and who you love with all your heart.
– Maya Angelou

It’s quiet today, something I yearned for these past two weeks. The hydro is off, so there are no distractions (kind of chilly though). Even Chloe, our crazy cavy, is quiet. I have flipped through photo images of my friend; there are more journal entries and stories than photos. I have cried, and laughed a little in the sanctuary of my bed, reliving adventures and comments. I have wondered if I could have said something more or different when I spoke at the funeral.

But it’s time to get up, to get dressed, to make a cup of tea…for two.

Ruth was a colourful thread running through the tapestry of our lives. While God has now written her from our stories, her love and spirit have left an indelible mark.

 

TGIF

Tags

humour

It’s been a hell of a week.

I know some people will find that an offensive statement, and I’m sorry. But I am so tired.

I had quite an adventure this week. Not all adventures are planned…or pleasant.

Sometimes they start with a phone call and someone yelling at the other end. They require you to pull up your big girl panties, so you can go places you would never plan to go. Like the ICU of an hospital in the heart of a major city, where you hold vigil for a friend, in stunned silence, for an eternity. Like walking unfamiliar streets late at night, searching for a car in every lot and parking lot near the theater where your friend suffered a massive heart attack. Like sharing the story over and over again to complete strangers. Like stopping at a gas station and boldly knocking on the car window of a stranger (who was high), in a bad neighbourhood at midnight, for directions to the highway… so you could go home and lie awake.

And every morning since, waking up as tired as the night before, with a heaviness in your soul that no amount of chocolate could ever touch.

Oh, what a night! It’s a story worthy of pen and paper. One day. Even now I catch myself smiling when I think about some of the people we met, and just the utter ridiculousness of parts of it, until I remember why we were there in the first place, and my heart breaks again.

It’s been a hell of a week. I certainly hope yours was better.

Thank you to those who know and love my friend, and have been praying for her and her family. Have a blessed weekend.

Flashback Friday: Christmas 2018

Tags

awkward family photos, Christmas, family, humour

People say I’m crazy, but they haven’t met my family! – Anonymous

As hinted at last week, I am posting this year’s annual traditional “4 family on the couch”.

They are hardly perfect pics, but show me a perfect family photo, and I’ll show you a family that lies!

Having one child makes you a parent, having two, you are a referee. – David Frost

In the end, the merriment was too much for me. I woke the next day having finally succumbed to the doses Hubby & Little Guy had had in the weeks leading up to Christmas…and I threw my back out schooching over in bed. I spent the rest of Boxing Day in a chair with the remote, my sewing and a heating pad, watching Friends re-runs!

Looking forward, I have no idea what 2019 might entail, and rather than worrying about it, I’m going to boil the kettle and settle in for a long winter’s nap.

My doctor asked if any members of my family suffered from insanity. I replied ‘no, we seem to enjoy it’. – Anonymous

Happy Weekend!

Flashback Friday: Christmas 1974

Tags

Christmas, family, memories

I’m not sure if this is 1974, although that’s what is marked on the slide. I think I look older than 18 months. Regardless of how old I am, obviously whatever my brother is eating looks good. My guess is milk and cookies, possibly a snack before bed, after we fixed a plate for Santa. Or maybe…he stole this off Santa’s plate.

That spot, right where I’m planted, is pretty much where I was trapped one Christmas night several years later. Dad was working the night shift, and I was sleeping with my Mom. My grandparents were sleeping on the pullout couch on the main floor. The tree was in this room next door. Our stockings were hung in the corner on that same chair.

I had crept down the stairs to poke around, and I might have been more successful if my Grandparents hadn’t decided to turn on the lights and have a conversation, between trips to the bathroom. I crouched, frozen (and freezing) in my pink nightie, terrified I would be discovered by them, or Mom. I had been gone a long time! It was a very long (and very boring) conversation. Neither one could hear the other and they had to repeat everything, making it even longer (and more boring). Fortunately I got away with it, and I didn’t tell a soul for many years.

Did it cure me of snooping? Sadly, note for a few years! Now that I’m older (and can no longer creep down the stairs without making them creak), I’m happy to let Santa do all the sneaking!

Happy Weekend!

Friday Flashback: Santa’s Village, 1978

Tags

Christmas, family, memories

In the Summer of 1978, we visited Santa’s Village in Vermont. I was 5. I vaguely remember a few rides, a large climber, and feeding the deer. Lunch was a picnic. The highlight, of course, was talking to Santa.

Mom and Dad let my brother and I each pick out a Christmas ornament from the Souvenir shop. My brother chose a straw mouse soldier. I chose a cardboard angel with a lace dress, a sparkly halo, and gauzy wings. She’s a little battered, but I still have her!

It was a magical Christmas in July!

We took Little Guy to a Santa’s Village near us a few summers ago. Instead of camping, we stayed in a hotel. He wasn’t overly impressed and refused to visit Santa. It was a scorching day, and I can’t imagine what the temperature would be inside the Workshop.  He’s also way more mature than his mother!

Have a Magical Weekend!

Hole-Some Foods

Tags

baking, family, food, sweets

I remember making doughnuts with my mother and grandparents. My job was to cut the holes or to watch the doughnuts frying in the oil and let Mom know when they were ready to be rolled. We called the tiny doughnut holes, doughnut buttons.

It was a tradition I wanted to share with my boys. This weekend,  my mother and I got to share it with Little Guy. First, we let him measure and mix the dough.

Next we rolled them out and he cut them with the same tools I had used as a kid – a drinking glass and a thimble.

Finally, we fried them in oil in a fryer. As a kid, we used an electric frying pan. This was a lot safer!

My Great-Grandmother’s recipe said “Salvation Doughtnuts”. Apparently, these doughnuts were first made by Salvation Army volunteers in World War I. They set up service huts in abandoned buildings near the front lines where they could serve the soldiers baked goods.

The best part is eating them warm. The next day I made Jelly Busters, a yeast-based doughnut that requires a lot of time to prove the dough. Otherwise the process is the same.

And once they’re cooled, we add apple jelly inside, and sprinkle icing sugar on top. Just like when I was a kid…

I miss my Grandparents, especially as the holidays get closer. So being able to share this family tradition with my boy was really special and I hope we created special memories for him.

Nobody can do for little children what Grandparents do. Grandparents sort of sprinkle stardust over the lives of little children. – Alex Haley

 

 

 

 

Celebrating Like a Royal

Tags

#RoyalWedding, #whatsinmycup, tea

Both of my grandmothers and great-grandmothers were royal watchers, so it only seemed appropriate to continue the tradition. My Mom had made fascinators and set the table with vintage teacups. We had dressed up in our special nighties the night before. I staggered out in time to watch the Royal Wedding Saturday morning, with my Mom. We shared a fresh, hot pot of tea brewed in a special blue teapot my grandmother had given my mom, and we curled up under handmade quilts by her too.

We watched the post-ceremony festivities with a pot of Coffee Pu’erh tea in a vintage pot. Breakfast was pancakes and “bangers” with maple syrup from our woods. Yum! Scones with strawberry jam and cream came later.

When Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Sussex agreed to marry into The Royal Family, there were a number of rules which she had to learn to abide by, including how to hold a tea cup properly. If you are right handed, the teacup and saucer are to be held in your left hand. If you are seated at a table, the saucer must remain on the table. The cup should be held up with your thumb and forefinger, the bottom supported by the middle finger, with the others fingers tucked in. You may use the forefinger and middle fingers of your other hand to steady it. Pinky in and no fingers loop through the handle.

You must always maintain erect posture and raise the cup to your lips to take a sip of tea.

Mom, I wouldn’t want to celebrate this modern day “fairty tale” with anyone else! Love you. Cheers!

On a Jet Plane

Tags

children, faith, family, parenting

When Big Guy was 2, he used to run after me with his arms outstretched, pumping as fast as he could on his little chubby little legs, and calling “Wait me! Wait me!” Today I feel like a 2-year old. Today he’s leaving on a jet plane for England  – partly for vacation and partly as his friend’s escort to a wedding (he’s that kind of sweet)! And I’m excited for him. Excited for the adventure he’s embarking upon but… if I’m completely honest, I’m also a little terrified.

It’s a big, big world and I’ve invested my heart and soul into keeping him safe. I’ve adjusted to him spreading his wings, living his own life…but I’ve been blessed to still have him close enough to visit often…usually with dirty laundry.  England is so far away and it’s been kinda crazy there of late…what if something bad happens! I can’t drive there in a couple of hours. In fact, the thought of hopping a plane in an emergency is more adventure than I can handle. But I would do it. If he needed me to do it!

I know he’s an adult! I know he’ll be fine! I also know the next well-meaning person to tell me these things is going to get socked “right in the kisser”!

www.flickr.com-Mark Anderson

I know these things. I believe these things. But he’s my baby! Not yours. Mine! He’s my surprise baby! He blew apart my adolescent plans and set my life on a different course. For a while there, it felt like us against the world. We’ve cheered each other on (he even offered to bury me in the woods if I didn’t survive our Mud Hero run). In many ways, we grew up together and words simply can’t explain how very precious he is, and how much I love him.

I hope he knows it.

That’s the problem with “good-byes” and “see you soons”. Your whole focus goes into the preparation and the planning. You focus on savouring the joy in the time you’re together. And suddenly, it’s time to go!

I’ve been emotional all week. It’s ridiculous, I know! Believe me, I know!! I’ve chided myself more times than the number of chocolate chips in a really big cookie. I think in part, there have been a lot of changes in the last few years, and I am missing a lot of people. I miss my grandparents who have passed away. I miss my friend who has moved away. And I miss my kids as little people. I miss those good days when we played hard and laughed often in a smaller and safer world. I miss their weight and warmth as they fell asleep cocooned in the safety of my arms. Time marches on.

All my bags are packed; I’m ready to go… ‘Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane.
– John Denver

His bags are packed by the door (including new socks and underwear!). There’s already too much to say and no time left. So at 8:30 this evening, I will wave at the sky from the window. I will pray without ceasing. And when he gets home, I want to hear all about his adventure.

I really do hope he has the time of his life!