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

Wade Royal Victoria Coffee Set

Tags

family, tea cups, teapots

This burgundy and gold fluted coffee set was a wedding gift given to my parents-in-law over 50 years ago. It traveled with them to Canada when they immigrated from Ireland in 1970. Hubby remembers being amazed by it as a kid, assuming it was very valuable because there was so much shiny gold.

The Wade Group of Potteries started in 1810 near Burslem, England. Early in the 20th century, a number of potteries merged to become George Wade & Son, Ltd.

In 1945, post-war industrial ceramics were in great demand so the Wade company purchased an old mill in Bann, Portadown, Northern Ireland.

In 1954, Wade Whimsies were introduced and almost immediately became a huge success. This included the Red Tea Whimsies, which are still prized collectibles.

Never lose the childlike wonder. Show gratitude…
Don’t complain; just work harder…Never give up. – Randy Pausch

Happy Monday!

 

Tea with Maud

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#whatsinmycup, family, maud lewis, photography, tea, what's in my cup

Have you ever planned to try a new recipe? Spent the day savouring the aromas and the texture of that dish? And then you open the fridge and realize you’re missing ingredients?. What’s a girl to do?

That’s kind of how I felt about my vacation last week.

I had planned and savoured, and then found out I made a big boo-boo with my dates. I had to head home the day after I arrived. So I did what any cook would do…I did the best with what I had. I kidnapped my Mom for 4 days, and we made plans. And of course, those plans included tea.

On day 1, we spent the evening reading on the back porch, with a pot of tea.

On day 2, we went shopping at a mall we’ve never explored. The trip ended at David’s tea, with Blueberry muffin iced tea. It was a beautiful balance of black tea and sweet  blueberries. I asked Mom to pick something for her birthday, so that evening we sampled her Pink Lemonade tea. It’s a retiring rooibos tea of tangy lemon and a delicate whisper of hibiscus, perfect for sipping with a great movie, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.

Day 3 – Mom missed the Maud Lewis exhibit when she was on the East coast last Summer, but she was in luck. A nearby art gallery had a display of her work and it was worth the trip! Maud Lewis was a tiny, spunky woman, who felt compelled to paint. She  painted on anything she could get her hands on because they were so poor, including wood, glass, and metal bakeware. She lived in rural Nova Scotia in a tiny house with her husband, and achieved national recognition in the mid-60s. Her tiny home is on display in the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia in Halifax.

Maud Lewis’ Kitties

Day 4 – We spent the morning watching a movie based on Maud’s life, but not without a box of tissue and a pot of pear blossom tea. You wouldn’t expect me to visit David’s tea during a sale and not purchasing something too? This caffeine-free and retiring tea has a delicate flavour of pear combined with the tartness of papaya and pineapple.

As long as I’ve got a brush in front of me, I’m alright. -Maud Lewis

That afternoon, Dad “stole” Mom and took her home again.  I wasn’t ready for the holiday to end, so I spent the remaining afternoon on the back porch, savouring another pot of pear tea, with Maud.

What’s in you cup today?

Thunder Nugget

Tags

family, humour

…Not altogether pleased. No more than anyone would be, jolted out of a sound sleep by unexpected elephants. ― Lloyd Alexander, The Iron Ring

I personally have never heard the thunder of a herd of elephants,  but I imagine it sounds just like the little girl next door? Nugget is cute, with fluffy brown hair and big blue eyes, but for the past 9 months or so, I have been waking to the sounds of a 300 lb baby elephant next door.

I’ve slept with a fan on, even in the glacial depths of winter, to try to drown out the morning rampage. It worked, at first. But she just keeps getting louder.

Hubby mentioned to her Mom that we could hear Nugget…a lot… Nugget’s Mom just laughed through an apology, and then explained that Nugget’s favourite game was “Halloween”; she liked to pretend she was running away from monsters.

My first thought? “Well if she keeps waking me up, she’s gonna find out that monsters are real”.

I’m not a morning person. There is not enough caffeine in the world to make me like mornings. I am not the type of person to rip your head off and spit down your throat, but giving me a wide berth for the first half hour or so, would be in your best interest. Also, don’t talk to me. Don’t ask me any questions. And for the love of all that makes the world keep ticking, don’t make any loud noises or any sudden movements. You’ve been warned.

Not only has the hullabaloo continued, it’s gotten earlier. As in 6 a.m.

Friday morning, I couldn’t take it anymore. It was 6:20 and I had been listening to the continuous stampede for 20 minutes straight. Bleary-eyed, I threw my robe on and stumbled from my room. I hurled my body over the porch railing between our front doors like a gazelle. I could hear Nugget from outside the house. So I pulled up my big girl panties, and knocked with assertiveness.

Daddy came to the door looking confused. I would be too if my neighbour was knocking on my door at 6:20 a.m. in her bathrobe. He was in his boxer shorts, and  bleary-eyed too, but I felt no pity.

First, I resisted my urge to throat-punch him.

Second, I resisted the urge to rip off his head and trumpet down his throat. Instead I chose to speak calmly, quietly, and directly. I listened to his apology, all chuckles and eye-rolling, and “oh nugget…blah blah blah.”.

Third, I resisted the urge to throat punch him. I looked him straight in his bonny brown eyes and said “no, you’re the parent. You need to teach her to be a mouse in the morning”.

I think I scared him. His smile faded, he averted his eyes, and he nodded his head once. I wished him “good morning”, and gracelessly clamoured over the railing, back to my own house.

Then I woke Hubby up to toot my own horn. It isn’t every day that I politely dress down the neighbours in my dressing gown. It’s more like once every 2-3 years…

I only heard her once the rest of Friday morning. I heard her Saturday morning, but since it was after 9, I was forgiving. And this morning, sweet silence.

 “Silence is golden. Unless you have kids. Then silence is suspicious.”

But Nugget isn’t my kid! 🙂

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.

 

What’s In My Cup: Chocolate Rocket

Tags

#whatsinmycup, chocolate, family, tea, what's in my cup

It’s been a lovely weekend! My parents and Big Guy tucked into our tiny home to celebrate Big Guy’s birthday! The party included Axe Throwing, Chinese food and my homemade chocolate peanut butter pie!

The last of the party goers just hopped in their car to head home earlier than planned since our local radio announcer’s are throwing around words like “15-20cm” and “snow-maggedon”. The last time they did that, it was more like “snow-ma-nuthin'” but why take the chance?

But at least Mom and I squeezed in a shop Saturday afternoon, and one of my purchases included Chocolate Rocket tea from David’s Tea. My boss made himself a cup earlier in the week and the aroma of rich chocolate and tart raspberry was too tempting.

Chocolate Rocket tea is a Yerba mate, and includes cocoa nibs, almonds, roasted chicory root and raspberries. It is kosher and low in caffeine. The colour of the tea itself is quite dark and the roasted chicory is the dominant aroma, until it is steeped. This velvety tea is reminiscent of hot chocolate and I was extremely pleased that it didn’t taste watered down. In fact, it offered a rich and complex flavour of slightly bitter dark chocolate, tart raspberry, and tones of roasted nuts. Chocolate and raspberry are one of my favourite flavour combinations, and this decadent tea blend is like Mom and I, perfect pairing!

The party may be over but not the memories. Once I get groceries and pick Little Guy up from school, I plan to tuck in for the evening, and savour another cup. Hot chocolate and snowstorms pair well. I can also savour my sweet victory!

(Now I’m a 2-time champion)!

Cheers!

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!

Cee’s B&W Challenge: Rocks

Tags

black&white Photography, family, Photo Challenge, photography

Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day.― Henri J.M. Nouwen

This is my photo for Cee’s Black & White Challenge, Rocks.

Happy Wednesday!

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!