My grandfather was born and raised in a very small rural town in the middle of some of the best farmland in Canada.
He was the oldest of 5 children and there was 10 years between him and the next sibling.My great grandfather was in the feed and fuel business, he sold grain and coal - later oil as well. It was a good business for the area and my grandfather naturally joined his father working in the business when he became old enough. Old enough was 14 I think.
It was 1912, if I remember correctly, that they decided to take a big step and buy a truck.You have to realize that there were not a lot of trucks in 1912, especially in a remote rural area.Purchasing a truck was a BIG deal. I remember my grandfather telling me how folks would run out to see it as it passed by.
It took my grandfather a while to learn to drive, and to get used to the thing, but he eventually did. Having that truck was the best advertising they could have done. They were practically celebrities.It was the first truck in the entire region, and I can prove it.
When war broke out in 1914 my grandfather signed up.It was the only thing to do.England was at war and Canada was part of the Commonwealth. Loyalty was fierce back then and there was no question that Canadians would follow England's lead. All the young men who weren't needed on their farms signed up.
He was shipped to England after training and he and his buddies were all prepared to be sent over to Europe to take on the Kaiser. It was at this time that my family was blessed.
Someone of higher rank discovered that my grandfather knew how to drive a truck.
Much to his disgust , he was plucked from his buddies and told he would serve in England. He would drive a supply truck from base to base. Food and equipment had to be delivered to the soldiers preparing to go fight. He was terribly disappointed and unhappy about it.
It kept him out of the trenches. It kept him from being gassed.
It kept him alive.
His father died when he was overseas and he had to return to run the business and the family, becoming a father figure for his 4 younger siblings. He did a good job.
One day at a train station he saw a lady wearing "a rather fetching hat". (when was the last time you heard something described as "fetching?").The feathers of that hat got tangled with another woman's feathers and he came to the rescue.
They got married and had 3 children, boy-girl-boy.The girl was my mother.
Her older brother also went to war. My uncle joined the air force and flew Lancaster bombers. I believe you had to fly 25 missions before you were rotated home.
He and his crew were shot down over Bavaria on their 23rd mission.It was September 23rd 1943. There were no survivors.
My uncle was 19 years old.
My Mum who adored her older brother never got over it. I don't think anyone ever gets over something like that,ever. To this day she can't watch a war movie, and she would cry all day every September 23rd until my Cuddlebug was born on that day. Now she dotes on Cuddlebug, because Cuddlebug gave her a reason to end the pain of that day.
But she never forgot her brother and all the others from her small community who served bravely and didn't come home. She and my Dad made sure we four kids didn't forget either.
Now I make sure that my two kids don't forget.
None of us must ever forget.
True
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