Not Just a Common Soldier...

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Just a diary post again, tonight; but a kind of special one, as I've spoken to my cousin Rich - if you read this, cuz, hello again! - for the first time since his mom's funeral, a good while back. We were close as little kids, playing together in our Birmingham and Smethwick homes respectively, but he moved with his parents down to Somerset sixty-some years ago; and although we've been in touch sporadically over the years, it has been occasionally to say the least.

I've written a couple of times about his dad, Arthur, who, to be frank, was a hell of a bloke. A quieter and more gentle, private individual it's difficult to imagine, but what he went through in WWII - and to emerge unscathed and mentally intact - really does boggle the mind: Sicily, Brindisi and Arnhem in quick succession, North Africa to boot; at all stages placed in compromised positions by the ineptitude of those commanding the forces, either British or American. He nevertheless came out of that maelstrom to return home in one piece. A bloody hero, although he would never have considered himself as such...

As I've mentioned before, Arthur bumped into his cousin Douglas, who was in the navy, at Brindisi, 1943 [pictured, my uncle Arthur on the left]

Comments

  1. Anonymous19 March 2024 at 22:20

    Lovely words Cuz,yep Dad was a quiet unassuming hero,we all loved

    ReplyDelete

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