I was taking a tour of my brothers workplace the other day when I was struck by the image on an old photograph that was tacked up on a posterboard. It was an exhibit that he was working on of J.M. Heslops World War II photos. This picture that piqued my interest was a single soldier hovering over a small fire in the snow. It was taken on December 21, 1944 (During the first few weeks of the Battle of the Bulge). There was nothing really unusual about this shot, but calling it just another war photo would be like calling Paella just another shrimp dish.
The expression on the G.I.s face just seemed to shout and relate this poor guys story. He is young and cold and afraid and alone. He is in a snow covered forest in what appears to be a newly issued uniform and mess kit, a sharply rolled blanket by his side, and is off by himself away from the other troops. He is most likely a fresh replacement and no one is going to go near him.
I certainly have no earthly idea what happened to him, but I found myself hoping that he made it through the war in one piece and is an old man today somewhere enjoying his life right now.
It was only a fleeting glimpse of a moment in time and yet somehow this image has etched its way into my fragile psyche. I’m sorry that I can’t provide a link to the picture, I just really wanted to share the effect that it had on me.