Remembrance Day 11-11-11

  We take a moment of silence on 11-11-11 in memory of Canadian soldiers who have served and continue to serve, and particularly those who served in Italy in World War II as my grandfather did. 

Can we ever comprehend the sacrifice and commitment these brave men and women have made? At the very least, we must honour and celebrate their memory.

The Liri Valley, 1944

The British Eighth Army broke through the German Hitler Line at Cassino and started its push up the Liri Valley to capture Rome. The advance was rapid; the first day we covered 40 miles.

At one point, there were three of us approaching a farm house which we thought may still be occupied by the enemy. There was a person lying half in and half out the front door, making a waving motion from time to time. We approached very cautiously from three directions.

I had just got to my end of the house when I heard Spr. Lightfoot call out "Alright you S.O.B, come out of there with your hands up!"

I stood to see what was about to happen. Then there was another call from Lightfoot. "You heard me, come out of there with your hands up!"

I took a quick look through a window and the house was a complete wreck. It had been hit several times by shellfire. Inside was a middle-aged man. His brain had been assaulted by concussion, and he was moaning, trying to scramble up a wall.

I called to Lightfoot, "This man is harmless, he's shell shocked."

We both went to the person lying in the doorway. It was a woman about the same age as the man. She was laying face down with her head on her left arm. What we had thought was a waving motion, was an attempt to rid the swarms of flies around her.

Bending down, I raised her up so we could see her face. What a shock! She had been hit squarely between the eyes by a piece of flying rock. It mad made an indentation about the size of a hen's egg. Both her eyes were swollen shut, and there were cuts on her cheeks, nose and chin. Gangrene had already set in from the dust, the dirt, and the flies.

I asked how long she had been laying there. Raising two fingers, she said two days. I thought it was remarkable she was still lucid. I wrapped some gauze around her head to keep the flies off.  There was nothing else we could do for her.

We carried her inside and placed her on a couch inside one of the rooms. She grasped our arms so tightly, it was a problem to make her let go. She did not want us to leave. Her husband was in severe shock from the shells. As we prepared to leave, he was trying to shave using an old razor and rusty can with water in it.

I notified the support group coming behind us about this couple. What ultimately happened to them, I don't know -- we had to go.

In one violent shattering explosion, the war had come to this couple. It smashed their home to rubble, and destroyed their quality of life; maybe their lives. They were innocent bystanders that got caught in the violence of war.

Scenes similar to this happened many times, over and over in all the countries of Europe. Mankind should learn something from all the suffering and destruction.

The  plight of this couple still haunts me to this day. I think it is because they were of the age of my parents and something horrible came along that was no fault of theirs. They had no choice. No say. It just consumed them completely.

Christmas Day 1943

Christmas Day 1943 was a cold wet day in southern Italy. We were on the south side of the Sangro River, and the Germans were on the north side. The river was very wide in our area, and we were clearing mines so other troops could move into position with us.

About 10:30 in the morning, Spr. Poole was badly injured by a German "S" mine explosion. An "S" mine is one that makes a distinct "click" sound as soon as its stepped on. It will explode 3 seconds after the click -- if you take your foot off before the three seconds, it springs up about three feet in the air and explodes at that level, doing terrible damage.

I did what I could for Spr. Poole, then we placed him on a stretcher and into a truck. I went with him to the hospital.

It was noon by the time I returned to camp. Our cook was set up in a shallow gully, and he had done his best to make our Christmas dinner a good one. We also got a bottle of Canadian beer with our dinner. Our feelings were subdued because of what had happened to Spr. Poole. We gathered in small groups, exchanged news, and talked of what it would be like if we could be home this Christmas day.

A steady drizzle started around 2:00 so everyone went for shelter. Most would end the day writing letters to dear ones back home.

We were sad to learn that Spr. Poole did not survive his injuries. He was born and raised in Saskatchewan. He had become a close friend of mine, and was well though of by his comrades.