Raising a glass right now, Spoons. They’re indeed not forgotten.
Funny to realise the parade I describe in the OP is now 20 years ago. You’re right - the gentleman I spoke to that day is very likely no longer among us. But his story’s here for all to read, at least part of it.
My cousin’s ex-wife is a dear friend of ours, is Dutch by birth, and is old enough to remember the war, even though she was a child at the time. She remembers the Germans coming through at the beginning, and their scorched earth policy when they were being pushed back, and how hungry everyone was, and how they wept when the allies came through in hot pursuit. Her family emigrated to the US in the 50s, but even though she became very Americanized over the years, she is Dutch to her bones and returns every year to see relatives.
Just wanted to link to this: 25,000 Visit Photo Tribute American War Cemetery in the Netherlands
As I mentioned in this thread a number of years ago, my wife’s grandfather is among those buried there. It brought tears to my wife’s eyes to see the photo of his picture next to his grave.
Thanks for remembering, people of the Netherlands.
That war cemetary is a few miles from my town. I’ve visited it a few times. It is a very beautiful and solemn place.
I just saw this link about the Dutch caring for American graves.
Thanks once again to the people of the Netherlands who have taken it upon themselves to look after the graves in Margraten and elsewhere. Happy liberation day, and bless you all.
And a happy 16th birthday to this thread!
A day late - life is busy these days!
Thanks for the bump once again. Always a thrill to see this thread still being read, and posted to - indeed after 16 years. Unbelievable.
Not unbelievable, Coldfire; it’s something that deserves to be remembered.
71 years now; they are almost all gone, those that fought and lived through those days. My dad who drove convoys in the Middle East, my uncle who served at the Bulge (and never once would talk of it), my dad’s best friend who was a B-24 bombadier…all gone now.
And Europe has had 71 years without a “Major Power” war, probably unprecedented in that continent’s history (yes, there is always some damn-fool thing in the Balkans). May that particular tradition continue for many, many years to come.
For that will truly honor all those who gave their lives.
During the Battle of the Bulge a cousin of mine became an orphan. He was an infant, and his mother, my father’s older sister, had died of Hodgkin’s disease. She was sick while carrying him. His father no longer had a sick wife so he was shipped to Europe and got killed.
Freedom has a very high price, but my cousin, who is now also gone, grew up in his father’s family and was a fine man.
Never forget.
Glad to see the bump.
This is one of the best threads on the dope.
Thanks for all who post and thanks to Coldfire for starting it.
Wonderful OP and sentiments, Coldfire, and others!
My parents experienced WWII head on. Allow me to pay a little tribute to them:
I think Tom Brokaw was spot on when he called American WWII soldiers (and civilians at home who helped in the war effort) the “Greatest Generation.” They survived the great depression and now had a great war to contend with. But, I would expand the expression to include soldiers (and civilians) of all the allied countries. They all had great resolve and extraordinary spunk, in the face of terror.
My father was an American WWII Army Air Corps vet (385th Fighter Squadron of the 364th Fighter Group at Honington Air Base, England). They protected the Eighth Air Force’s heavy bombers. They also engaged in tactical dive bombing and strafing attacks on German targets. He was also my best friend. He died a couple years ago, followed by my mother (my other best friend). We were next door neighbors till the end. I remain in awe of their productive, well-lived lives. I never met anyone who didn’t like my parents (except for a Walmart shopper who cut in front of my mother a few years ago who she had to straighten out).
Dad never talked much to me about the horrors of war, though he saw plenty: seeing his friends crash and die returning to base after sorties in damaged planes was, according to him, even worse than seeing them killed in action. And, it’s hard to kill when you’re a pacifist at heart. But sometimes, killing is the right thing to do when the enemy doesn’t think twice about killing *you *or *yours *and their agenda is perverted.
Dad preferred to tell me of the funny hijinks he and his buddies got into on a regular basis: knocking over a fire hydrant with a jeep, then passing out on the grass with water spaying and being woken up by M.P.s the next morning (maybe a little too much alcohol was involved); being threatened with AWOL because he stayed the night at my future mother’s house (…with my future grandmother’s approval…so he says :rolleyes:), then learning his squadron had deployed elsewhere when he sneaked back onto base the following morning, etc.
They worked hard and played harder—can you blame them?
Dad met mom shortly after arriving in England in 1942 and married her (a young lass from Orpington, Kent) at the end of the war. Mom saw more than her fair share of horror, too. She used to tell me that during blackouts, with the Luftwaffe buzzing above, they would sing patriotic songs and crack [often rude] jokes about Hitler, Himmler, Goebbels, et al. Churchill was a great inspiration and kept their spirits high (as high as could be expected under the circumstances). Vera Lynn lifted their spirits, too. Mom loved her. I was burned out on Vera Lynn as a child. Mom played her records over and over again.
Mom and her mother were bombed out of three houses (one bombing crushed and killed her dog, another leveled half their house and cracked the other half in half horizontally, putting my mother in hospital for weeks with a fractured skull. The worst part for her was having her hair shaved off—she didn’t want my future dad to see her like that). Vanity trumps all else, I suppose, even in times of war.
She saw the remains of her next door neighbor (their mailman) who was blown into the next block by a V-2 rocket (we never heard those coming). She was more afraid of the doodlebugs [V-1] because we would hear the awful chugging as they approached. We prayed we didn’t stop hearing them chug, because that meant they were falling—V-1s were true weapons of terror.
An incendiary bomb landed on mom’s roof that didn’t ignite. The army disarmed (emptied) the device and gave it to dad as a memento. I used to play with it with my friends when we played war (good thing it was disarmed…it would have been rather embarrassing telling my pal’s mom that I tossed her son a bomb and immolated him. Whoops, sorry about that).
After the wedding, dad discharged back to the States, secured a job with The Philadelphia Bulletin, got his parents house readied for his wife, then went back to England the following year on the Queen Mary (with my paternal grandmother) to retrieve her…and my sister. (Dad sailed to England on the QM years before when it was a troop ship, and it nearly capsized from a rogue wave). Mom wanted to stay in England until her mother had a chance to see her baby (I swear, dad said he had my grandmother’s approval to stay over that night!).
The Philadelphia Bulletin ran a photo-article in their Sunday magazine about mom coming to America (note the authentic Philly cheese-steak…I’m getting hungry!). There are more and better photos somewhere, I just can’t find them right now.
Mom started an “All Nations” war-brides club when she moved to the States (war-brides from a variety of European countries. I believe there were a couple Dutch wives in the club, too, **Coldfire **and Maastricht) that lasted many decades (they had some wild parties at our house, let me tell you!). I used to sneak down from my bedroom and pinch the hors d’oeuvres the French wives made. They were the best—the English wives hors d’oeuvres…meh. They always ended up singing vintage war songs into the wee hours. Sometimes the husbands would join in when they came to pick up their inebriated wives. Those guys were nuts…in a good way. One was a dead ringer for John Cleese. He was a real crack-up).
Mom always cowered on the floor with her arms covering her head whenever it stormed because she was phobic of thunder and lightening from ~1940, till the day she died. I hated seeing her like that.
A strange aside: I certainly don’t believe in clairvoyance or any other kind of woo, but not long after my parents settled in Philly, mom woke dad up in the middle of the night, very agitated, saying she felt her mother had just died. Dad assured her there was no reason to believe that; her mother wasn’t even sick that they knew of. But, sure enough, she was notified the next day by her brother Jack from England that their mother died the night before. My parents never lied to me (well, maybe they stretched the truth a little about Santa Claus…). Coincidence, I’m sure. I have no other explanation.
Uncle Jack (British Army) was captured by the Nazis early on in the war. He was liberated from the POW camp at war’s end, just before my parent’s wedding. His burning desire was to get back to England in time to be best man at his little sister’s wedding. He made it, with hours to spare (his beaming smile in the wedding photos shows how proud he was of his sister). Their father died as a soldier in WWI. Mom never knew him). They made jest of Jack’s skinny body and hair turned gray while in camp (he was robust with jet black hair when he went in). Morbid humor is better than no humor at all in trying times.
Yes, I believe the allied soldiers and civilians knew they had an important job to do and they did it very well, with great moxie and, remarkably, even humor. Their suffering certainly doesn’t compare to those sent to concentration camps, but it was tough enough.
My parents stayed faithful and affectionate toward each other for ~70 years. *Till death do us part *meant something to them.
Modern generations should use that generation as a model of how to live a good life.
Excellent post Tibby, just excellent.
Tibby, that part about your dad prefering to talk about funny hijinks reminds me of a WWI veteran I spoke to many years ago. He too told the funny stories, saying he’d seen a lot of “sad and sorry” things, including the death of a good friend. This guy was amazing, he had a full head of white hair, and was pretty spry, up until he died in his mid-eighties.
Thanks** Fir na tine**. Got a little choked up writing it.
I’m nowhere near 80 but I’d sacrifice my eldest child* for a full head hair, of any color, even green.
*…Just kidding. I like to bust her chops, but she’s a keeper…for now at least. I do miss my hair, though. 
Back on topic: everyone throughout history who has risked, or given their lives for a righteous cause deserves our praise and thanks. The WWII allied troops and citizenry are especially worthy of it, IMHO.
I just read an article about the volunteer caretakers of the cemeteries and thought wow…
Its funny my dad was stationed in Germany in 1970/71 right after a tour in Vietnam and he said they were hostile … but he used ot go to Amsterdam for weekends and he loved the place (well ok part of it was the pot and working girls) but he said most of the older folk understood why they were fighting and even if they didn’t they wernt assholes about it and oddly he never had to pay in a bar if he was in uniform
Now as for the americans hanging around well there were a couple of barfights he had with some misguided teenagers as he put it
We just observed 3 minutes silence. Even in my neck of the woods, the silence was total, Looking out the window, everyone has candles lit. Even the drunks in the bars managed to keep quiet.
So thank you guys, we remember.
It is not forgotten,
bump
Good bump, JimNightshade.
Human endeavors of great courage and importance should be remembered, if not forever, then at least for as long as possible.
Mankind certainly has many failings, but, I believe when push comes to shove, most humans aspire to do the right thing most of the time.
…can’t say the same about cats. I love my cat, Tibby, but he’s pretty much all about self-gratification. I’ll give his species (Felis catus) another million years or so to evolve compassion before I condemn him for it.
This reminds me of a friend who’s brother was a Canadian pilot in WW2 who’s plane was shot down. Only years later in the 80’s had she ever visited his grave in I believe France and she was impressed about the care the locals had given her brothers grave. When she thanked them they simply replied how much they were thankful that him and others from foreign countries had risked their lives to free them.
I came this morning with the express to bump this; glad to see I was beaten to it.
Earlier this week I saw a TED talk on youTube where the speaker said that humanity’s greatest strengths were its ability to create communities and to pass down knowledge so each doesn’t have to start from scratch. The animated slide showed a mouse and a man climbing onto a block. Each new mouse climbed onto the same, short block but the man climbed onto an ever taller block with each generation. This board, this post exemplifies that; I hope we’re still bumping it in another 20 years.
Speaking of fading away, a few weeks ago, an Arizona survivor was interred with his shipmates. There are now five left.
Back in 1982 my father attended the 40th anniversary of his TB squadron’s activation. During the event somebody noticed something and went around, making quiet inquiries. At the final night’s banquet, he announced that some of the men had never married, but of those who’d had, there was not one divorce.