No need to be glum pal - he died doing what he wanted to do. Something that pretty much all veterans did. The best you or anyone could do is to remember them - something you are clearly doing.
Thank you very much for posting that link. My grandfather was aparently also in 427. My mother has a page from the Times of London in a frame on her wall, with a picture of her dad when he returned to England from France, after having to bail out of his plane when it was hit by flak. I found through a search on the site the daily operations log list for the date he bailed.
My grandmother also thanks you. What a wonderful website (now bookmarked), that I will continue to explore.
Two weeks from now, we’ll be back in Margraten, placing flowers at a certain grave at the Netherlands American Cemetery (the WWII cemetery) there.
Coldfire eloquently describes the cemetery here, near the beginning of this thread.
Photos of it that we took in 2002 are here.
I have visited The Netherlands three times in my life, and have found the people to be warm, wonderful tolerant people. When they found out I was Canadian, they always told me how much Canada means to the Dutch…
Since I was born after the war - my father had been in the Canadian Navy in WWII - and these were people who were probably in their 30’s and 40’s, none of us had actually experienced the war, and yet there was an instant bond.
My partner and I have often discussed that if we were to move to Europe, we would want to live in The Netherlands… Whether we ever do or not, I can’t imagine not visiting every few years…
I too have a memory of the Netherlands, and the dark days of the German Occupation. It is not my own memory, but the memory of a man named Tom Dika. He was a soon to retire member of the Royal Netherlands Air Force, when I knew him, in 1966. He was soon to retire, having joined in 1945, shortly after it became possible to do so.
Before that, he was a member of the Dutch Resistance. He told me of the dark times, and the many friends he lost to the Nazis. He had no rancor toward the Germany people who lived around us, in our NATO air base. He had, it seemed nothing but good cheer, and a willing hand to everyone he met. But I cry still to remember what his teen aged life was like. He was hunted, and shot at, and driven from his home at the same age I spent drinking too much and failing to study in school. And he studied mechanics, and explosives, from contraband books, and built radios, and repaired cars, and nearly starved to death. And few of his male classmates from school survived the war.
Yes, the allies rallied to support, and free the Netherlands. But the Netherlands stood fast, and stood tall, and were there to greet the liberators, with maps, and guides, and any thing they had and were asked to give. And then they fell in, and marched along, to make it happen for the rest of Europe.
God bless you, each and all, for being human in an inhuman time.
Tris
Amen. Nothing turns on my waterworks like a discussion of WWII.
My Grandfather was a member of the “D-Day Class” at West Point - June 6, 1944. Someone wrote a book about it called “Whom Shall We Send?” Shortly before their graduation ceremony, the announcement was made about the Normandy invasion. One of his close friends was John Eisenhower, Ike’s son. I can only imagine what they were thinking throughout that day, and I still kick myself for never thinking to ask him.
He married my grandmother, and was very soon after sent to a base, where he was to await his assignment. Every morning he kissed my grandmother goodbye, and told her he wasn’t sure if he be back for dinner. Eventually, he wasn’t. First he went to London, where he waited some more, then they shipped him to Normandy - at which point he was put on a troop-carrying truck that was largely covered in canvas, if I remember correctly. It was late December, and the floor of the truck was covered in ice. Most were numb by the time they arrived in Belgium (many hours later), where many local residents turned up to provide curtains, linens, or anything at all that would help keep these under-clothed guys warm through the winter. My Grandfather got a white tablecloth, out of which he cut the center, so he could wear it as a sort of poncho. He held on to it like a security blanket, and the patched-up tablecloth is still one of the most beautiful ones that my Grandmother puts on the dining room table (though I think a local dry cleaner recently lost it).
He fought through the Battle of the Bulge, and was taken to a hospital in Paris to be treated for amoebic dysentery sometime around the early summer.
He passed away in late May of 2000, and his funeral took place at Arlington National Cemetery on June 6 - the anniversary of D-Day and of his graduation from West Point. Most of his surviving class showed up, and it remains the most moving event I’ve ever attended. Still get teary eyed thinking about it.
I took a long trip to Europe just before then, and one of my last conversations with my Grandfather was about my visit to Normandy. I really want to go back.
WHOA!! Talk about eerie, I had no idea this was an old thread. Looking at the dates, I now realize that the original post was made only a few days prior to my Grandfather’s death.
That blows me away.
I thought I already posted my reply to this, but I see nothing. If it doubles up, I apologize.
This poem, which I only discovered after my initial reply, just gives me chills. I have never read it, so I thank you for sharing it here.
This thread deserves to be resurrected, now, with the war going on. It would seem a perfect opportunity to reflect on military service and loyalty and the very concept of service.
My father was a tanker in Patton’s army. When the war ended he was somewhere inside Germany. He talks about it once in a while though not often.
You might want to see if you can get him to talk about it, and record it on video.
Like jjimm’s granther, my father was an Atlantic sailor but flying in Avengers off of jeep flattops accompanying the convoys. He passed this last year but when this thread first appeared, I made sure he got a hard copy. I am so glad he did. Thank you, coldfire.
This thread has been one of the most moving things I’ve ever read.
I read this thread every year, and it gives me chills every time. My father served in the Pacific in WWII, but only very rarely talked about it. He passed away in March of 2006; reading this thread again brings back memories of him.
Thank you, Coldfire, for starting this thread, and reminding all of us of the tremendous sacrifice that men made for all of us those many years ago, and that men and women continue to make to this very day.
And thank you to TPTB for allowing this thread to be resurrected year after year. It becomes more and more powerful with each passing year.
I just ran through this thread again, and I can’t believe I haven’t posted the story of Lt. Hank LeFevre before.
Hank was a new airborne Lt (with either the 82nd or 101st, I can’t remember) and mis-dropped in on D-Day. Of all the guys in his group, he and 6 others were the only ones to make it to the rally point- everyone else was dead or too wounded to continue with the mission. He looked at those boys- his boys, now- and lead the way. Task Force LeFevre accomplished every objective that had been planned for his unit, with just those seven guys. And, Hank brought all seven of those guys through it, and eventualy home to their families.
Hank was also involved in the Netherlands. He helped to liberate one particular village and it was very important to him. But later, it became downright amazing.
In the mid-1980’s, around the time everyone was gearing up for the 40th anniversary of D-day, Hank and two friends went to play a round of golf at a local course. There was a singleton there looking for a foursome, so they invited him to join them. The man was Dutch and quite friendly. As they chatted on the course, the talk turned to WWII, all the men being “of a certain age.” As they narrowed down campaigns to countries, to regions to villages, something happened that I consider a miracle.
The man asked Hank where he had been stationed, and Hank told him the name of several villages that his unit had liberated. The man started to cry.
Hank had been in this man’s village, and had actually helped him and spoken to him personally. The man never forgot the American soldier’s last name from his uniform.
I still cry every damned time I think about it.
Hank is failing now, but I see him at church every week, and he always asks about my brother, a fellow airborne and special forces operator.
EJsGirl what a beautiful and moving story! I’m sitting here with tears in my eyes after reading it. If you see Hank in church tomorrow, how bout giving him an extra special doper hug. Wow. Just. Beautiful.
Here’s the 2008 bump. Like the man said, some traditions need to be continued.
Indeed they do. Here’s to those who sacrificed and those they made the sacrifices for, and here’s to ordinary men and women who’ve done extraordinary things.
Thanks for the bump, marley!
… I can’t believe it’s been eight frickin’ years since I wrote this. 
But it is a bit of an SDMB gem, and I love to see it resurrected every year. Not so much for my posts, but for the stories other people from various countries in the world have added to it. It completely captures the initial spirit of the thread.
raises wine glass
Here’s to the heroes of '45.
Thanks again, FrozenFlamed-One. I always enjoy seeing this thread.