Saturday was the 65th anniversary of D-Day. Many men and women on both sides of the Pond, from all walks of life experienced things that changed their lives in ways they could not have imagined. They were from all walks of life; from cities and from villages. They wore olive drab and navy blue, uniforms, work clothes and house dresses. They lived in the dark at night, and spent hours in shelters. They experienced shortages of food, clothing and fuel.
Their courage and their stories have no boundaries. They teach us that we do live in the same town, on this beautiful blue planet we call Earth.
Please click here and here to read about my family’s experiences at that time.
I have written that my mother-in-law was an English war bride who came to this country after WWII. During the war, she worked in a factory, making gun sights. Fear, she says, wasn’t an option. Survival was the only choice.
Memories are shared: hiding under the dining room table during air raids, riding her bicycle home from the factory at night in the dark—no lights allowed during the blackout, the scream of bombs—listening for the the drones since no one ever knew where they’d land. When the air raid sirens sounded when she was at work, my mother-in-law had to run across an open field to the shelter, hearing bullets hit the metal roofs of the buildings and the train tracks that were like beacons in the moonlight. My mother-in-law remembers her father being a member of the Home Guard, his rake and hoe his weapons. She recalls that the English never would have been able to defend their land if the Americans hadn’t been involved in the War.
A young girl named Rose was placed with my mother-in-law’s family, a safe haven from the industrial city where she lived. The child wouldn’t sleep in a bed at first; she’d sleep on the floor. She hadn’t been bathed in a very long time and was fearful of the tub. It took quite a long time for Rose to feel safe with my mother-in-law’s family. One day,during a lull in the bombing, a woman came to the door. It was Rose’s mother. She had come to claim her daughter and take her back to the city. Shortly thereafter, the bombing resumed. The road on which Rose and her mother lived was destroyed. There were no survivors.
They are fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, old men now. They are forgotten heroes, many of whom as boys really, witnessed the horrors of genocide, the stench of death.
They signed up to help the war effort. To fight for their country, for what, in their heart of hearts, they felt was right. Hastily trained, they went overseas, on ships that were floating cities. My father was an optometry student, my father-in-law, an architecture student. Both were sent to Europe. My Dad had been tested to be a fighter pilot. He rated highly, but his air sicknesses changed that direction, and he was sent to work in a hospital in England. He never talked much about his experiences there, choosing only to relate humorous ones.
My father-in-law was in the engineer corps. They were sent ahead of the rest of the troops to clear mines and to build roads and bridges. He had no idea that when he was sent to the town of Buchenwald, Germany, that he would witness the some of the evils of human nature, horrors he has relived in the years since.
Neither man talked much about what they witnessed and how they felt about it, sharing only snippets of these experiences that shaped their lives. It seems to me that sometimes the quietest people have the most to say; we need to take a moment to listen, with our ears, our eyes and our hearts.
It seems to me that blogging is another incarnation of the backyard fence: we chat, share thoughts, ideas and stories, even have a cup of coffee or tea.
The high tech has become the high touch—interesting stuff. This international community supports and challenges ideas, encouraging the writer to expand his or her thinking. Pats on the back are freely given in a world that is generally less willing to do so. We recognize and encourage creativity, and share what we’ve discovered. We may not borrow a cup of sugar, but we certainly help those in need. Isabel Hoskins, has asked us to come together as a community to help. Bella writes:
The power in this is that, as Bella says, “We are not a non-profit. We are just a group of women coming together to support one of our own. We are rallying behind Jen because the reality is it could be one of us and we strongly believe that this is what community does.” Bella and others are planning an auction on eBay to raise money for Jeni’s needs that are not covered by insurance and to set up a trust fund for her 6 year old son. To find out more, please visit Bella’s post. We have donated a Little Blue Santa to the auction.
Jeni asks a challenging question: What would you do if you had only one year to live? Important question, one on which I am working. I’ll post my thoughts as they become more clear. I pose the question to you: What would you do if you had 12 months left to live on this planet?
Heroes come in all forms. With skilled hands, and kind and open hearts they live their lives in the best way they can.
Please look beyond the advertising to the real story. True heroes go about their lives changing the landscape, making a difference in the lives of all of us—–whether we know it or not.
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