Nice thought, joerand. Remembrance day always serves to remind me that most of the challenges and trials which frustrate us day-to-day are put into their proper perspective compared to the ones faced by those honoured on this day.  

The story today of the 100's who responded to the funeral directors newspaper ad for mourners for a familyless and friendless veteran was truly touching. G

John James Clapham

RN (P/JX 194052).

Aboard HMS Manistee.

Going though my recently deceased Grandma's photos, documents etc.

Found original telegram informing John was missing. Then letter from Admiralty confirming he was missing. Letter confirming his assumed death. Another confirming death and on. And on...

The event...

At 22.42 hours on 23 Feb, 1941, U-107 fired a spread of two torpedoes at HMS Manistee (F 104) (LtCdr Eric Haydn Smith, RNR) south of Iceland and scored a hit in the engine room. The ship had escorted the convoy OB-288 until it was dispersed at 21.00 hours the same day. She was also attacked by the Italian submarine Bianchi (Giovannini), which fired a torpedo at 22.56 hours, claimed a hit in the stern from a distance of 600 metres and then continued to chase other ships of the convoy.

At 22.58 hours, U-107 fired two coups de grâce that missed because the ship suddenly continued. Also a stern torpedo fired at 23.42 hours missed because it was a surface-runner. The U-boat began a long chase of the zigzagging ship and fired two torpedoes at 07.58 hours on 24 February. One of them hit in the stern and caused the ship to sink in 58°55N/20°50W. HMS Churchill (I 45) (Cdr G.R. Cousins, RN) was ordered to search for survivors, but found none. The commander, 18 officers and 122 ratings were lost.

John was my Grandfather Fred's brother. He mourned him for many years. Perhaps he mourned what may have been. He wanted to join the navy himself but instead served in the DLI. He was in Northern France and evacuated with the BEF. Went on to serve throughout the war, I believe in North Africa and Sicily and never knew how he managed it. Badly wounded, recovered (mostly) in Iceland. Went back and fought through France. Survived.

Thank you for the replies here. Well appreciated and respected.

My father-in-law is a gentle man and never spoke to my wife or her sister about his experiences during the war, only about his training in the US before going to Europe. I remember going with him to see "Saving Private Ryan" in the theater. He was not willing to see it with his wife or daughters. He cried during various parts of the movie and afterwards we talked. His basic message was "we were all just kids and everyone was very scared." He trusted in his superiors and followed their orders. Bad things happened and he was relieved when it all was over.

After the war he attended university in France and the US.  He became a dentist and worked for more than 50 years. When he retired at age 79, he was the oldest practicing dentist in New Jersey and possibly in the US. I'm proud to tell this snippet of his story.

Both my Grandfathers saw service in WWI. One was seriously injured and died 2years after the Armistice, the other was gassed and suferred chronic health problems before he died a few years later. I never met either of them which saddens me.

I do try to remember them, and also to remember that in war zones around the world those who suffer the greatest are often the civilian populations; the old and young, the weak and sick. I support charities such as MSF who work in these places.

Bruce

This is a wonderful thread giving us the opportunity to respect our heroes.

My maternal grandfather, my Granda Hill, was badly wounded at the Somme and spent the rest of the war in a German hospital where, my mother assures me, he and his mates suffered abuse at the hands of German soldiers.

He lost a fair amount of his innards and had bullet wounds in each hand so his employment opportunities were limited to occasional temporary night watchman jobs. My Nana had three school cleaner jobs and barely managed to keep them afloat so they lived in appalling conditions in a flat in one of the oldest tenements in Glasgow, just off the Gallowgate, next to the Barrowlands, and built around 1820. It was foul, smelly, no hot water, with a shared outside toilet always blocked with newspaper so what they used for a toilet I can only imagine. I hated going there as a child. They were living in abject poverty and applied to the Earl Haig fund which refused them support so sadly nobody in my family wears a poppy.

In spite of all this they both doted on me as their first grandchild. We saw them every week and Nana would always bring clothes for me. Socks, pants, jumpers, trousers, etc. She was the pragmatist, as women often are, while Granda was the dreamer. He brought me the Victor, Hotspur, Lion and Tiger every week. The Eagle too when it was available. In spite of his injuries Granda could still do coin and card tricks which astounded me. He would catch flies in his fist, let me listen to them and then they'd fly off, probably to the fly paper hanging on the wall. He introduced me to the Marx Brothers and we'd sit together and laugh while Chico played the piano. Wonderful memories.

They couldn't afford all this but they still did it and it was only as got older I realised the sacrifices they made for ME.

These are my real heroes and I cherish every memory of them. When my mother died four years ago we found where they'd been buried along with their son, my mother's older brother so they're all together again.

My Grandfather was killed in his tank on 27th June 1944 during Operation Epsom - largely to draw the fire of the far superior Panzer Division away from more strategically important targets.

.....on the morning of 27 June, when after a quiet night Dietrich reported that he had committed 70 tanks in a counterattack, the German armour was defeated by Allied anti-tank defences, and by the end of the day the Scots had captured a bridge over the Odon, and by the following morning the tanks of the 11th Armoured Division were across the river.....

My father was 8 when he lost him.

G

My family was split between those doing service necessary to support the war effort (coal miners) and those at the front. There were losses on both sides and I can still remember the coal dust that was permanently ingrained in my Uncle's skin having started down the pit at 14 and being lucky enough to quite before he was 22, to become a bus driver (albeit with missing toes from a mine accident).

My paternal grandfather was at the Somme and his brothers served in the RN. In spite of being a national class middle distance runner he was initially denied service because of flat feet, which ultimately saved his life. He had been a member of the Monmouth territorial regiment that effectively disappeared at one of the Ypres battles. He ended up in transport. Another piece of luck was when his elder brother forbade him joining the RFC as it was too risky (in spite of being a naval flight engineer himself)!!

He never really talked about the war, but did recall two anecdotes. Whilst driving a truck in Abbeville a shell passed in front of him and did not explode. He drove past the unexploded shell for several months. The other was that whilst on the walkways on the Somme, he heard a man moaning from a flooded shell hole - he hauled him out and found his friend from the village, a fellow runner, with both legs shattered. It sounds apocryphal, but I have vague memories of the legless man from my childhood. The experiences left him terribly bitter. 

Two of my most cherished possessions are the prayer book he was given when he first went to France and the cigarette case his employers gave him on his return - "for services rendered." 

My maternal grandfather (1908 - 1973) was in the merchant navy during the war, working the Atlantic convoys. I believe he was sunk at least once.

My paternal grand-dad (1905 - 1988) was a Sapper in  North Africa, and then went to Italy.

Sadly both men were part of that generation that steadfastly refused to talk about their wartime experiences, even with their families, so I don't know much more than that. My dad's dad apparently won some medals for at least two different acts of unspecified gallantry but what they were, Ii've no idea. The medals were not among my dad's stuff when he died so I presume they have been lost, which is a terrible pity.

I think when I have some time I will do some research on both of them.

".......Sadly both men were part of that generation that steadfastly refused to talk about their wartime experiences, even with their families, so I don't know much more than that....."

I learned an interesting thing about this just yesterday speaking with a Lord of the realm who spends a lot of time (as part of his army duties at this time of the year) with veterans and who's father was a Tank commander who 'just' survived  - now in his 90's and the last of his battalion.  He was telling me that the majority of veterans he meets are silent not because of the memories of personal trauma, injury or pain but because of a deep seated concern about the 'mistakes' that could never be owned up to - The friendly fire incidents and the like.

G

Chaps

My father took place in the raid on St Nazaire in France during WW11. This was recently the subject of a Jeremy Clarkson programme when he described how men in wooden boats sailed into a Harbour and blew up their own boat after ramming it into a dock gate.

He refused point blank to discuss it, I suppose it was a generation thing.

Regards

Mick

My dad was in the 8th army in Egypt and then in Italy. He was blinded in his right eye by shrapnel during the battle for Monte Casino but, like others have mentioned with regard to their own relatives, he never spoke about his experiences.

Many years ago before I got married I was living with my parents in a victorian semi in Kingston, Surrey. My dad decided to board over the loft & whilst removing the existing few old floorboards discovered an old battered suitcase. Inside was the record of a young RFC pilot, with all his little mementos, letters he'd sent home to his parents at that address and the documents relating to his various postings. He was killed in France and the letter informing his parents of his sacrifice was the last thing added.

It was incredibly sad and moving to read through the last few months of his life. He died at nineteen, which happened to be my age at the time, making the discovery even more poignant.

My dad made various attempts to trace any surviving family but without luck, so the case and its contents were donated to the Imperial War Museum.

My father was in the Queens , a radio operator with a 25 pounder gun crew. North Africa and Italy he was wounded at Garigliano.

Again not many stories, he did say there was some urgency to capture Venice as it had the largest intact hall in the  area so they could hold a table tennis competition. 

We had a mixed family as my mum's youngest brother was a conchie, Grandma suffer a massive amount of abuse apparently.

My Uncle worked for the "Wood Board" no pun. He ended up in Germany as part of the units re-industrialising German industry, and was involved in getting VW back producing Beetles.

My Grandfather was a LT bus driver and in WW1 drove olive type B buses instead of red ones. I think he was either wounded or did his time, because he was back driving buses out of Fulwell and Hounslow Bus stations. At one time he was handed a white feather, but just turned his coat collar to show his service badge.

My father was in 10th Parachute Batt.  He joined up in 1939 with Oxford & Bucks L.I. where he became a training instructor mainly working on converting OBLI & other regiments to airlanding & battlefield tactics.

Mum & his sister both said he was seriously fed up with training men for real action & then adding insult to injury his unit was posted to Dover pretending to be “the” invasion force. He volunteered for the Parachute Regiment & once qualified was posted to 10th Batt.

2 months after joining 10th Batt he was K.I.A. at Arnhem.

The most poignant memento I have of him is an official change of address card written by him. It was post marked 20th September,  the battalion left UK on 18th,  he died on the 19th.

--------------

Another story concerns both my grandfathers,  they more or less followed each other around the near east throughout WW-1

One was in the Bucks Hussars.  He was involved in the actions at Gallipoli – where on leaving for Egypt his ship was sunk & he spent many hours clinging to some wooden debris – then in Egypt he was in the various skirmishes along the Lbyan border, then the Sinai Peninsular, Gaza & finally the Battle for Jerusalem in Palestine where he took part in the last charge of the British army with horse & swords draw at El Mughar.

The other granddad in 1/10 London Regiment & he too saw action in Gallipoli, then after being shipped to Egypt he was in a series of battles in both Gaza & Palestine, finally in the ceremonial march into Jerusalem.  His usual response when asked “what did you do in the war granddad?”  “We did a lot of walking” …….. they marched from Egpyt to Gaza to Palestine.

I know its not WW2, but Servicemen are being killed in action today. I include a link to an article about Rifleman Cyrus Thatcher, KIA in Afghanistan.

Last year my TA / Army Reserve Company went to the National Arboretum. I was asked to do some research on the fallen, and I "asked" our youngest Rifleman to read out his Death Letter. Word got to his mother, and at a business lunch I attended in a Military capacity, I was approached by a middle aged woman who announced herself as Cyrus's mum. 

I can't read his letters any more.

RIP, young Man.

http://www.independent.co.uk/n...to-read-1753008.html

What a great thread. Particularly touched my TomK's post.

My grandfather on my father's side served in the Dardanelles in WW1 but shared little of his experiences, even with my father. While he came through the war physically unharmed he was undoubtedly bitter at the treatment he and his fellow servicemen received on being de-mobbed in the sense that many were faced with the dole.  The government that had called on the young-men of the day to serve their country seemingly felt no duty towards the survivors when peace returned. That injustice burned within my grandfather until the day he died.