WWII: My father and his parents were evacuated to London, along with the entire civilian population of Gibraltar. Their house was billeted for use by the troops while they were away. As it happened, Gibraltar was only bombed a handful of times, while the Gibraltarians who went to London were thrust into the Blitz.
London was not the only destination for evacuees, though. One group was sent to Jamaica, housed in a camp and not allowed to mix with the local population, and others went to Madeira.
While in London, my father’s house was bombed; they happened to be out that evening. My dad was a child but he remembers tracking the progress of the war on a map. My grandfather was in the Home Guard, a St John Ambulance paramedic and also worked in the wartime censorship. He told of meeting Queen Elizabeth (later known as QE the Queen Mother) who told him “you’re doing a good job”. He decided to send my grandmother and father to a safer environment in the countryside: they spent some time in Bedford and Wolverhampton.
At the end of the war they were relocated to camps in Northern Ireland, and in about 1947 the Gibraltarian population was finally allowed back to Gibraltar.
My mother and her family were in Spanish Morocco, which was nominally neutral.
My grandpa fought in World War II. He died in the late 90s, before I was old enough to him intelligent questions about it. Though, I might not have gotten anywhere had I tried. It was known to all in my family that he did NOT talk about the war. One of the major reasons was the loss of his identical twin brother in Europe. Prior to the war, they were extremely close. When he came back to the US, he was a changed man and remained so the rest of his life. Prior to combat he was already known as a tough-as-nails asshole. After the war he took to drinking, which didn’t solve anything.
I don’t know much about his service, but I do know he saw action in Europe and was awarded the Bronze Star and Purple Heart.
My grandpa Jack wanted to fight in WW2, but he was not accepted into the military.
My great grandpa George McCreery was a civilian police officer for the military in WW2 in Saskatchewan Canada, as for WW1, I’ve been told the ribbons on his police uniform look like WW1 trio ribbons, but I have no idea if he was in WW1, but if he was, it was either with England or Northern Ireland.
My maternal Grandfather, John Atherton(in the middle) enlisted along with his two brothers. They all came home although my GF was gassed. He died well before I was born.
My Dad landed on Juno Beach in 1944, as part of Operation Overlord. He didn’t talk about it much. He had a bad case of what we now call PTSD.
