My Grandad..
(well, Ivor wasn't really my Grandad, but Grandad was dead and Ivor was boffing my Grandma for most of my childhood, so he was functionally my Grandad even though I just called him Uncle Ivor...)

...used to tell two stories about being in the infantry in WW2.

The first was about his mate who was terribly superstitious. One day, shortly after the D Day landings, they were in the back of a truck in France, and his mate decides he doesn't like where he's sitting in the truck, because being at the back is 'unlucky'. Ivor, who's sitting at the front, tells him he's a silly bugger, but agrees to switch with him anyway. Five minutes later, the truck goes straight off the road and a tree branch comes through the canvas at the front and crushes his mate's head, killing him instantly.

The second story was about when they'd got hold of some brandy in a town, and his squad had got totally hammered. Ivor goes out into a field at the back of the house for a piss. He's standing there, happily peeing away, and starts wondering "What's that popping sound? there it is again... and again... weird". Then a bullet whizzes past his ear and he realises he's been standing stock still in the middle of a field letting a sniper shoot at him for the last minute. "If you've never tried running for cover whilst shitting yourself at the same time, son, I can tell you it's not very dignified".

Nothing from my own experience can really compete with either of those.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 5 Jul 2013, 9:59, 1 reply)

Wasn't much of a sniper then!
(Catrim, Fri 5 Jul 2013, 17:01, closed)