One of my earlier memories as a kid was us visiting my grandparents at the farm where my mother grew up. It was a scrappy little farm with some apple trees, a few chickens and a cow and some corn and not much more. In the farmhouse we found some medals from World War One in a drawer. I asked my mom what they were and she said they were my grandfather’s but just to leave them and don’t ask about them. In our household you did what the old duck told you to do or you ended up at the wrong end of the old man’s belt. So I didn’t ask, but I did overhear that my grandfather’s limp and poor health had something to do with shrapnel although at the time I didn’t know what that meant.
I never heard my grandfather talk about the first world war. Unfortunately, the war to end all wars didn’t. I can’t even fathom how he felt when my uncle, his oldest son, went off to World War Two. Uncle Don never talked about his war either.
They were the lucky ones, they made it home.
Sharing some memories, lest we forget.
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