Lest We Forget

I had a very brief interchange of comments with another blipper on Sunday about the resurgence of Remembrance Day commemorations in recent years.  My impression was that in the 70s and 80s it seemed less visible.  I'm sure part of it is the impact of modern wars on our armed services and their families and friends.  It is good that we do remember, though we will soon reach time when survivors of the world wars are no longer with us.

It reminds me of the stories my father would tell me about his time in World War 2.  Dad was a spotter in the R.A.F. in Africa.  He wanted to be a pilot, but his colour blindness prevented that ambition.  However, because of his colour blindness, he was ideal for his role as he was not fooled by camouflage.  

He never talked about the sorties,  or being shot at, or what they did in terms of attacks on opposition forces.  Instead his stories were about the ship he travelled on down the African coast, around the Cape of Good Hope and up the Indian Ocean to Aden.  Crossing the equator, twice and the celebrations.  About spending an evening in one of the tents trying to get a sound out of a clarinet belonging to one of the other airmen.  And failing miserably!  Of being transported in aircraft around the Middle East to play cricket for the R.A.F. against the army and navy teams.  

But never about the conflict.

It is too late to ask him now as he died more than 15 years ago.  I find it so hard to believe it is that long.  I found with most people I knew that fought in the war that they rarely talked about their experiences.  But I do remember that they would always wore their poppy at this time of year in remembrance of the sacrifice so many people made so that we may live free.