11th hour of the 11th month
I wanted to post to acknowledge Remembrance Sunday, for people who have died in conflict. Before I go on, like most people I cannot condone physical conflict in any form, and the abuse of power that precedes this. However, how do you ignore mass genocide? Quite why this exists in the first place (too much centralised power leaving a possible door open for abuse, enter libertarians perhaps talking sense here), is beyond my comprehension.
A couple of nights ago I was talking to two aunties about WW2. Anyone who has been reading this blog will know that my grandfather served in the Desert Rats during WW2, something I had previously blogged about. However, I was lacking much by way of more detail.
What I did not know, Dadcu was shot during wartime and presumed dead. Forget presumed, he was certified as dead. To this end his body was put in the 'mortuary' (what exactly this consisted of, I've no idea), and was in line for burial. Mamgu (my grandmother), found out this news when she went to the post office with my dad to pick up her war pension, and was told he was killed in action.
Dadcu had two friends in his regiment, who for whatever reason went to see his body at the 'mortuary'. Except they found him injured but alive! This I cannot get my head around, and can only ask myself what the hell these people went through. I'm told I don't know half of it, and I can only acknowledge they are right. Here is a photo of Mamgu around wartime (she's on the right), with an aunt (middle) and a lodger:
The aunt in the centre married Mamgu's brother. She was originally from the NE, then lived in London during the Blitz etc. She went to Wales with a family she was staying with, as they had local connections. She ended up making bombs at a nearby army camp, where she met her future husband. Mindblowing. The house they went to live in they made out of materials from the army camp.
At the end of the war Dadcu - as all local men who survived - came home to fireworks attached to the train wheels, fires on the beach, a band at the station (which an uncle played in). Afterwards there were concerts. Here's a photo of my two auntie's, one wearing victory medal:
(There's more I could say here, but more than I am willing to impart in a public space).
I'm acutely aware, this is only one story in bigger tragedies and many people weren't so lucky. Conflict continues today and the way powers that be act, is likely to continue into the future. I only have one word: why?