I am going away with Pauline tomorrow for a few days and she has already suggested I limit myself to an hour of reading each day. If that can't be done, leave the book at home!
Seventy years after the event I have floods of memories coming back to me of life in my home town of York during and after the war.
If only I could spend time with my neighbours and family members who survived the great conflict and returned home to tell the tale.
Back then I was only six years old and had weightier matters on my mind than war-talk!
In my own small circle there was Gill Merrick who was in the army, Ron Coleman, Royal Airforce, Jack Pitchfork, a submariner, and my dad in the Home Guard. All these on one street. My uncle Jimmy served in the 8th army with Montgomery and my Uncle Chris was a gunner in a Lancaster bomber shot down over the North Sea.
With the exception of Uncle Chris, they all had their stories and, doubtless would have told them well. My Uncle Oliver was in an earlier war and fought on the Somme. He was so affected by two years of hell that he refused to speak of the experience even to his closest friends.
Tom Brokaw has called these men and women (my mother who looked after home and hearth was probably the most intrepid warrior of all) the "greatest generation" I'm inclined to believe him.
What would I give to spend on hour with each and record their narrative? I can't, they have passed on in life's ever rolling stream, but, belatedly today, I thank them each and everyone.
Jubilate.
Ian
