Chelsea Royal Army Hospital
I was buzzing around London looking for some prints of a Victorian artist who did loads of British military paintings. So I am walking around and I see this old codget shuffling along and I ask him if he can point me in the direction of the nearest ATM. (ATM = Cash Machine)

He was not only kind enough to tell me, he shuffled me all the way there. Delightful fellow, he shared with me that he was a WWII veteran and that he was retired and lived in the Chelsea Royal Army Hospital. So, he was a Chelsea Pensioner.

He regaled me with tales of Dunkirk and Operation Market Garden and I thoroughly enjoyed the walk. I think he enjoyed sharing those stories and he invited me to go back to the hospital with him to meet some other pensioners...

So back we go. I spent an hour and a half, just meeting all these old fellas and hearing their stories. Absolutely brilliant!

As he was walking me to the door, he shook my hand and thanked me for stopping by as it always cheers the lads up to talk with someone interested in their experiences. I said it was MY pleasure.

He invited me back and said "Those old bastards are dying off! So you better come back quick!"

It's true you know. Our WWII vets are dying off too fast. And I lost both my Grandfathers who served, so if you've got one in your family, ask them about the war and remember their stories so your subsequent generations will know of their heroic days.

Cheers!
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 19 Jun 2008, 20:36, 19 replies)

oooooooohhhhhh.
Click click click. I like this. I think too many people forget what fucking heroes these people are, and the sacrifices that were made in a war that HAD to be fought.

One of my main problems with the smoking ban is the fact there must be widowers out there, who's only joy that's left is a pint and a fag. They should have waited 'till all the WWII vets had died, before bringing it in.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Thu 19 Jun 2008, 20:44, closed)

All too true
neither of my grandfathers served (reserved occupations) but their brothers did. Of the four who survived, only one would talk about it. He was on the Archangel convoys. His stories would keep you awake at night!

Oh, and click for being such a nice guy.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 19 Jun 2008, 20:51, closed)

Indeed . . .
I recently went to the Gordon Highlander's Museum in Aberdeen and it's fantastic they've got veterans who show you round. These guys were in their 90's, maybe a bit doddery, but was brilliant to listen to their stories.
(garrison, Thu 19 Jun 2008, 20:57, closed)

My paternal grandfather.
All I ever remember of him was lying in the bed downstairs in the living room of my grandparents house. He had health problems ever since returning from the 2nd world war. He was a lovely man and I miss him loads.
( girlinthehole, Thu 19 Jun 2008, 21:13, closed)

Both of my Grandfathers served
One in the Air Force and one in the Navy.

Air Force Grandfather died when I was very young but Navy Grandfather lives only a few miles away from me....and he does have some fantastic stories.
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Thu 19 Jun 2008, 21:36, closed)

Hear Hear
Both of my grandfathers served in WWII, both sadly deceased. My grandfather on my father's side served in the RAF as a tail gunner in a Halifax, and by some miracle survived a full course of missions and went on to train new pilots. His wife also worked as a land girl, it's worth remembering it wasn't just the men who contributed.

My grandfather on my mother's side was in the Ox and Bucks Light Infantry, and landed at Salerno. He was later captured and spent the remainder of the war in a POW camp. Obviously this was never something he liked to talk about, when he got back to England he was severely malnourished. We still have his miniatures, but his medals were lost. It's a crying shame.
(icassu, Thu 19 Jun 2008, 22:05, closed)

Missus' grandad
Was a submariner and then a murder detective - the stories he tells! I love listening to them.
After a particular long session of stories, I told him he should write a book on his experiences.
He thought about it for a minute, then said "I can't spell."
Gold.
(w4I4q1O1 was hard at work on, Thu 19 Jun 2008, 23:03, closed)

WW2 Family stories
My old chap is exactly that - quite old (74)... But he was the youngest of five by some margin. I caught up with him a couple of weeks ago and he told me more about what his elder brothers did in the war.

Uncle John - Captured by the Japanese at Singapore in 1941. Survived four years of Japanese hospitality being used as slave labour building a railway in Burma - later used as inspiration for "Bridge over the River Qwai".

Uncle Bert - Ran away at 16 after hearing that John was "missing" at Singapore. Spent four years in Burma as a gunner serving with the Gurkhas.

Uncle Frank - A test pilot in the RAF. Later assigned to liaise with De Havilland Aircraft.

John is alive, well and extremely cantankerous today despite his ordeal. Bert passed away in 1992, apparently I will be the custodian of his medals and war memorabilia one day. He was a very nice man indeed, with a gentle sense of humour and remains much missed.

Frank was the surprise. I knew he was in the RAF, but had no idea what his capacity was. That came as a pleasant surprise. Apparently Frank had a habit of going AWOL and being caught weeks later en route to Burma, determined to free his brother from captivity. Upon leaving the RAF, Frank emigrated to Australia, found god and became a lay priest. He soon married a Finnish spiritualist and lived happily ever after before renouncing his faith and embracing atheism a couple of years before he died in 1994.

My Dad himself had two narrow escapes during the blitz, first time round his school was bombed by the Luftwaffe during his lunch hour - he was one of the few who went home during lunchtime. Second time round he was walking along a busy street when it was strafed by a couple of Messerschmitt 109s.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 20 Jun 2008, 0:03, closed)

@ Icassu
You can get copies of the medals - my parents did that for my grandfather's medal (he won the MM just before the outbreak of WW2 in Afghanistan...some things never seem to change....).
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 20 Jun 2008, 0:11, closed)

Wow!
I cant believe the number of replies I got for that story!

One of my happiest days was when they dedicated the World War Two Memorial here in Washington DC. I was working downtown and I went in with my suit and tie on, checked in with the big bosses and said "Yeah, I am going to go meet up with a couple of different law firms." Left and walked around DC ALL day long, just walking up to the old folks, puttering around with their WWII Veteran baseball caps on and thanking them and shaking their hands.

I also am involved with the WWII Veterans Committee and volunteer my time to record Veterans stories in their own words for the National Archives. I am SURE there is some equivalent over there in the UK...so those of you that have relatives who served, tape them!

Once they are gone, those first person narratives are gone too.

God Bless them ALL!

Cheers,

Citadel
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 20 Jun 2008, 5:08, closed)

So true
The only difference being that my grandfather was a German soldier, he was awarded the Iron Cross for bravery before being captured and sent here as a POW.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 20 Jun 2008, 8:39, closed)

My dad's dad
flew the fucking great big gliders that carried jeeps and stuff.

he got shot down, his buddy next to him killed (I think) and then ended up having to swim a big river (can't remember which) while being shot at.

Think there's an interview with him in the Imperial War, or British Museum.

As a county librarina he had quite the motivation to write his memoirs, so they will be available for all and sundry once published
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 20 Jun 2008, 8:51, closed)

my gf is German
Her grandad cooked for Hitler. Great stories.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 20 Jun 2008, 9:54, closed)

My grandad-in-law
was captured by the Germans, and spent 4 years in a POW camp.

Naturally, he didn't have a good word for them.

When watching them play football on telly : "Never trust them. Lousy Krauts. I hope they get gubbed."
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Fri 20 Jun 2008, 12:21, closed)

All of you lot are lucky that your Grandparents talked about it.
Neither of mine would ever talk about what they saw.

I'm getting the medals from my parents though, my brother and sister aren't really interested.
( mr_wicksy is.... old., Fri 20 Jun 2008, 12:48, closed)

My grandfather was a general
and in closing days of WWII he saw some horrific stuff whilst liberating the concentration camps and flipped out, personally executing any prisoners he came across inc boy-soldiers who'd been brainwashed in the Hitler Youth.

Oops!
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 20 Jun 2008, 13:30, closed)

aww
That made me want to cry. In a nice way.

=)
(YayLady is cold, Fri 20 Jun 2008, 14:07, closed)

My paternal Grandfather
Served with the Army Air Corps from 1942 until 1968. He ended up working with the Signal Corps for a time, and was a radio presenter for a while on the Armed Forces Radio Network. He gave my parents, among other things, his transcription of General Patton's speech before he went to North Africa - the one that opens the movie "Patton".
He was one of the last wounded in WW2 Pacific campaigns. It turns out that during the initial stages of the US occupation of Japan he was assigned to one of several crews that went out among the Japanese public to show that Americans were not going to eat their babies.
He went to a small mountain village in Hokkaido with his detachment and visited the families there, who were so far behind that they had not heard anything about Hiroshima or the surrender. The one man with a weapon in the village was an old veteran of the Russo-Japanese War, who had a) maintained his service weapon and b) thought my Grandfather's detachment was Russian. He fired two shots, one into the floor and one just above my Grandfather's kneecap, where it lodged in the muscle. He said that the family they were visiting were mortified and managed to wrestle the weapon from their patriarch faster than he and his partners could respond. He said it stung like anything, and when advised that it was because the old man thought he was Russian, he told me, " I said that was fine, I don't like Reds either, and we got drunk together when I got back from the hospital." My parents have a large album of pictures from his time in Japan, and one of them indeed shows him and the old man with some other US soldiers, grinning like idiots and my Grandfather sporting crutches and a bandage over his right leg.
He said that his time in Japan was the best time of his life, and that he never wanted to leave.
I believe this - in his personal effects, after he died, we found a series of pictures of a Japanese lady and a little girl with some plainly hereditary features. When I visit my parents again I'm going to steal that picture, and have my one of my friends translate the letter the pictures accompany. Those images haunt me whenever I think about my grandfather.

Sorry for the length and all that. I have a list of amusing sayings from my elders that I will soon recount.
(aeon chicken Like the Millenium Falcon, only slower and noisier, Mon 23 Jun 2008, 3:57, closed)

My ol'gramps
Aged but 14 my dad's dad went off to France in the first world war (stretcher bearer) and then, due to a overdeveloped sense of patriotism (and interest in sticking it to the Germans again) went off in 1939 to help organise resistence in France (fluent french and german speaker and explosives specialist).

Never really spoke about it and died when I was quite young; too young to appreciate what he had done, but my dad used to talk about being woken by him screaming in the night. Quite scary to think what they all went through given that we now have a small and remote profesional army whose experiences, duly sanitized by the media and our overexposure to ad hoc violence, doesn't really teach us about the dreadfulness of war.

With the ABA we took some veterans to the Normandy beaches a couple of years ago. It was tragic watching now old men sifting sand through their fingers talking of events 60 years before and friends who had died with them as if it were yesterday.

I now live in Hong Kong where a typically small british, singaporean and canadian force kept the japanese at bay for 18 days before surrendering and feeling the full wrath of the japanese forces. Virtually no memorials or mention of it in the guidebooks, just a couple of statues and a plaque at Stanley.

I'm going to spend this weekend exploring for some resonance to this bit of history.
(Mediaslut, Tue 24 Jun 2008, 7:36, closed)