A patient was admitted to my hospital today. Lotta history in him.
In 1938, as an orphan and as a 14-year-old untermensch he managed to leave Austria as part of the Kindertransport.
Adopted by a family in northern England, he joined the Royal Tank Corps in 1942 but soon after volunteered for the Glider Pilot Regiment.
On June 5, 1944 (D-Day minus 12 hours) he piloted his glider and the load of British commandos it was carrying, to Pegasus Bridge. They did everything expected of them.
Three months later, he piloted another glider into the Dutch countryside near Arnhem as part of Operation Market Garden. In the battle with an SS Panzer division that followed, a tank shell took him out. He says he woke up to the sound of someone screaming only to realize that the screams were his. His femur was sticking out through his pants. He survived that as he did his captivity as a POW, a Jewish POW.
In May 1945, he was liberated, along with Holland and, as a German-speaking British officer, was assigned to investigations for the Nuremberg war crimes tribunal.
So here he is now on a stretcher, in the hallway, waiting for a bed on the ward.
History in the hallway.