# 1941 – 2012



## The Backward OX (Aug 28, 2012)

71 years

That’s more than some peoples' lifetimes. And yet, here I am today, having my mind drawn back to a specific incident in the Second World War of which, at the time, I knew nothing, and then pulled forward to the present, to an episode with which I am horribly familiar.

I knew there was a war on. Of course I did. Every kid in the street knew something about it. I remember hearing Herr Hitler ranting in a radio broadcast relayed by the BBC to our national broadcaster. I remember the time two Jap midget subs crept into _our Harbour_ – the cheek! – and attempted to sink two US battleships. I remember the city streets swarming with Yank sailors; my dad approached one for some lead from which to fashion a propeller for a toy motor yacht he was building for me. The sailor was a Negro, and he returned next day with Dad’s lead.

I heard nothing about the war in the Northern Hemisphere. I was too young to read the papers, except for Blondie. So I didn’t know about the sinking of the mighty German battleship Bismarck in May of 1941.

The years passed. I met my present partner. Turns out that back in ‘39 her dad Doug had been seconded from the RAN to the RN for the duration, along with the Australian ship on which he served.

No, he wasn’t involved in sinking the Bismarck. Sorry.

He was hit by friendly fire and came home early. There’s a story about it here, if you enjoy historical fiction: http://www.writingforums.com/fiction/125047-friendly-fire-australian-second-world-war-story-adult-theme-mild-language-3-8k.html#post1471189

Anyway, Doug grew older, and as he aged he became grumpier and grumpier until, in recent times, my partner and her sister have become just about completely fed-up with him. He is now, at 93, bedridden in a nursing home, and we expect his death at any time. He has become so unpopular with his daughters, they say there’ll be no funeral, just a burning and dumping of the remains. So as not to create waves, I went along with this. 

And then, earlier today, I was browsing the net. I was looking for old songs. I came across a Youtube featuring Johnny Horton’s 1960 version of Sink the Bismarck. Like many of these oldies, there’s no actual film/video footage, and in this case the clever compiler has gathered a collection of oil paintings and photos of WW2 sea battles and used them skilfully as backdrops for the music track.








So here I am, looking at these paintings from 70 years ago, and thinking, “Doug could have been on one of those ships.” And it caused me to think a bit differently. I don’t care what my partner and her sister believe. Doug did his bit in the War, and I take my hat off to him.

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: __Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. __At the going down of the sun and in the morning,__We will remember them. __Lest we forget._


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## Terry D (Aug 29, 2012)

I like this, OX.  It made me think of my own father, also a WWII vet who endured things in North Africa and Europe I could never relate to.  As I age myself I can understand how the grit of time's passage can erode away our softer surfaces, leaving only the crustier stuff beneath.


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## Bloggsworth (Aug 29, 2012)

When you see a photograph of someone you know 50 years ago, and who died without you meeting again, you finally understand the meaning of the words _They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old_... They will be, for you, forever 17 years old.


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## Abdullah Oblongata (Aug 30, 2012)

Thanks for preserving a time long past.


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## Gumby (Aug 30, 2012)

Wonderful writing, Ox. My dad was on the USS Iowa, and I love to watch his face as he recounts all his stories, such a mixture of emotions cross over.


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## ScrapNook (Aug 30, 2012)

This is good.  It makes a person think about those around them.  I would probably be grumpy also, if I was 93.  Being in a nursing home usually means he has lost many of his freedoms.  There are probably people telling him when to eat, when to bathe, and when to sleep.  It is almost as if we are children again, only now we have the wisdom and the taste of independence that reminds us that we aren't.  Yes, I would be grumpy at 93.

I heard someone say one day that their mother spent their last years with them. She had detoriated over the years and lost control of alot of things in her body.  Her memory was leaving and her body was tired.  At times, just as they were leaving the house, she would soil herself and they would have to go back inside, clear her and then leave.  He said he considered it a privilege to care for his mother in those days.  He is sure that there were many times as an infant or toddler he had trantrums, screamed to be fed or threw up on her just as they were going out the door.  And with grace and love she took care of him and loved him.  So he considered it a priviledge to be able to be to love her as unconditionally as she had loved him.


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## TheFuhrer02 (Sep 4, 2012)

When it comes to stories of old, especially those first-hand experiences of people, I find myself rarely in a position to say anything to them except nod and learn from them. I am but a greenhorn to this world, and I really appreciate things like this, learn from those older and wiser than me.


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