Folks,

Dux:

Your posts are always interesting. Thanks. Any such information will also be of great use to our over-paid, over-sexed but woefully under-educated cousins, in their thousands, who will shortly be on their way to your Sceptered Isle. Without such timely help it will be mighty painful to your ears to hear the 'Temmns' pronounced the 'Thaimes' etc.

Odd this should come up as I just watched a new episode of "Foyle's War" last night on TV and that very subject popped up. In the midst of a murder investigation, Foyle is asked to make a orientational talk about Britain to some newly arrived Yanks. As always, he does his best. Anglo-American relations are smoothed and two illicit moonshine related murders are solved within the hour. Good man that. ;\)

I do not remember anything first hand of the war. I was born in late 1944 as WW2 was drawing to an end. All I remember are stories of the home front told to me by the older folk. My dad missed WW2 altogether due to a nasty car accident that left him lame for most of his life. He had been so badly mauled that the surgeon thought he had no chance to live and just sewed up his torn leg. Dad was a stubborn lad. No one told him he must die so he bit his lip, suffered greatly but beat the odds.

Unfortunately, by the time he was well enough to have one, an operation to restore the use of his limb was thought too dangerous. The surgeon had saved his life but botched the quality of that life. Today that kind of negligence might have made Dad a wealthy cripple. Back then, doctors were Gods.

In the mid fifties, an operation was finally available at a large medical facility in Philadelphia. That procedure repaired the damage done by the accident and the surgeon and after a lengthy convalescence Dad could once again walk normally. He finally served his country, in his own way, and ended his days as a captain in the Merchant Marine.

My granddad missed WW1 in an odd fashion as well. According to Grandma, it was late in the war when he was finally old enough to serve. He and several other lads in his group of friends were told to report to the local train station on a certain day and at a very early hour. It is said that Granddad and two of his pals were there not on time but actually early while all the others were quite late. According to Grandma, when the others arrived, the man in charge of the new recruits told Grandpa he already had 3 too many of his quota so he was sending Grandpa and his two mates back home as a reward for their punctuality. I understand that by the time Grandpa's number came up again the Armistice was signed and he never had to go. So many went, so many never returned. Had either my granddad or dad gone, perhaps I would not be typing this?


Originally Registered January,2001 Member Number 3044

"Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed" - Edmond Gwenn, "The Trouble With Harry"

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