last war story...

why did grampa tell me his stories of the war? well, i think it was by default. men of his generation would not have spoke about the war to wives or daughters; with his friends that had been in the war a shared look was all that was needed; his friends that were not in the war could not have understood. if i had not been born i suspect that grampas' story of the war would have found its way to jim, his oldest grandson. he wanted it known to his people, but not for glory; that was not his way. grampa did not express emotion often; i only saw him do it twice; one time was when our nieghbors son jimmy drowned at bible camp; i found grampa crying on the back steps...he said "i will never again get that close to a child that is not my own". i think the war was an extemely emotional experiance for him; it may have defined his life. when i entered the workforce in the early 70s i worked with many ww2 veterans; they were the "old guys". almost to a man they were confident, patient and kind...they had nothing to prove and were likely just glad to be alive....; grampa kept his medals from the war in the "junk drawer" in our pantry...i took and played with them once and lost the claspe awarded for extended line service...he didn't seem bothered by it. he told me a few stories of his combat experiences and i have hesitated to enter them. grampa would never glorify war and niether would i...i'm just glad i'v never seen it! in italy with an infantry regiment getting choped to pieces accross a river the sappers had to get tanks accross for support...under an old bridge grampa made all the measurments for the support beams needed for the tanks to cross...he did this under morter and machinegun fire...he was "mentioned in dispaches" for this job...after a ferosious night attack grampa and his mates came out of thier slit trenches...his good friend, a seargent, lay dead; he and another sapper lifted the seargent by the arms and legs to carry him off the field, but he broke in half...grampa got a big piece of shrapnel from a morter up his nose....he said "a wee jewish doctor with little
hands stiched me up so good i had no scar"...his nose never looked the same tho...his ankle was broke...again from a morter...grampa was not fond of morters!

turnip

thought i had run out of stories...but not so. christmas brought to mind one more. at christmas of about 1917 when grampa was about 12 yrs old, he was told to harness the horse and hitch the cart , go down to the harbour, meet the boat , and fetch home his uncles that were on leave from the great war and coming home for christmas. this was great responsability and a proud errand for him...bringing the family warriors home for the christmas dinner!....on his way to the docks he past by the "poor homes" (irish catholics, i guess)...he saw a boy not much younger than him standing in a doorway eating a piece of raw turnip. grampa new that that piece of raw turnip was that boys christmas...no special dinner no preasants....just raw turnip!...the sight deflated the pride of his errand and his joy of that christmas...the rest of the story...when i was about 10 (1966) grampa was making christmas dinner...(gramma was sored up with ms and couldn't cook)...he was in the pantry and called me in; he gave me a slice of raw turnip...i ate it...it was sweet...he asked if i liked it...i said "ya it's good"....he then told me of his christmas errand and the boy with the piece of turnip...this world would be a kinder place if we all lived by grampas' example