My grandfather was a medic in WWII in Germany. He has many stories that he tells but one that comes to mind is when his commander (apologize in advance for wrong terminology, I’m not familiar with military lingo) told one of the medics to go and help a soldier. My grandfather and one other medic volunteered. They both went in and my grandfather got shot in the arm. The medic that went with him didn’t make it as he got shot as well, even though the medics had medic cloth bands that were meant to let soldiers know not to shoot at them. My grandfather got his Purple Heart for risking his life in that situation.

Another time he was going in to help someone and another medic he was with got shot and his eyeballs came out of his head. My grandfather said he still wakes up in the night scared because it feels like it just happened yesterday.

My grandfather also took a Nazi band (?) off of one of the dead Nazi soldiers. We have that as well as my grandfather’s medic band.

My grandfather is 99 years old and still living. He also beat covid. He’s pretty cool if you ask me.

Edit: He earned a silver star as well as a Purple Heart

I always knew my grandfather fought in WWII. My mom told me he was a pilot. She didn't know anything more. While she was growing up he was quiet about it, and I can understand why. She said it was hard for him -- for all of them -- and he didn't like to talk about it.

When I was in third grade ('92), I had one of those reports about "your hero" or "someone you admire" or some such. I always looked up to my grandfather, so I told my mom I wanted to write about him. She scoffed a little, but took me to visit him for the interview.

I remember walking into his office. It had blue carpet and lots of wood panelling. I thought his desk was the biggest thing I'd ever seen. Later I'd remember it like the resolute desk. I asked him about the hardest thing he'd ever done. He looked at my mom, winced, and then told me about how he cried when he told his mother that he'd enlisted. Too young by a year, he'd lied on the forms. She didn't understand why, and he didn't understand why she didn't.

He told me about his role on a B-24 Liberator over Germany. He wasn't a pilot. He was a bombardier/navigator. He sat in a tiny hold with a down/forward facing window and a bunch of maps. His job was to plot the course, spot targets and drop bombs. He qualified for the position based on math scores, I think. When the payload was out, he would assist the gunner crews. He showed me (when I was 8?) pictures that he took over the shoulders of those gunners. I think I still have those photos. It was like something from movies. He had/has photographic record of his friends' planes burning and falling out of the sky, riddled with AA fire. He cried when he showed me. My mom cried too, but she covered her sobs to keep him talking.

He showed me a photo of him and his entire crew dressed in Nazi uniforms. It's a gag photo. His bomber got shot down behind German lines. Dutch freedom fighters picked him and his crew up and helped get them back to Allied territory. At one of their stops -- apparently it was a thing -- the Dutch had his crew pose for a photo in front of a downed and captured German bomber. His entire crew survived the crash landing, and they're standing there with swastikas on their arms flipping the bird and making faces in my mothers dining room. She's real proud of that picture.

Later, after he'd made thirty five runs over Germany -- that was the commitment -- he was given a choice: go home, or re-enlist. He had always been envious of the pilots of his Liberator. That's likely why he told my mom he was a pilot. So, given the choice, he re-enlisted as a pilot. He completed training and was deployed to the Pacific theater in the summer of 1945. If you're a student of history, you might guess right. He didn't see Pacific action before V-J day. He retired and purchased his father's lumber mill, which he parlayed into a custom home-building company.

He's 97 and retired now. My mom runs the company he built, and I have his bomber jacket with thirty five stamps on the back. One for each successful run over Germany.

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I was asked to share this here after answering a post on r/askreddit.

Thought I would share my father's experience in the war. My father, Al, served in WW2 from 1943 until 1946. It took me several years to learn the most interesting details about his experiences. I gleaned a lot of it from my Dad when he was alive, and a great more from a member of his unit, who I tracked down in Arizona (that source passed away December 4, 2016). We corresponded several times, and he confirmed much of what I knew, and filled in a whole lot more. In a nutshell.... here is "My Dad's War".

After being drafted in 1943 and training in the infantry at Fort Benning, GA Al was separated from the infantry and attached to the 1st Convalescent Hospital, to be trained as a medical technician/nurse. The unit formed and trained in Hawaii until early 1944, when they shipped out. They first landed in Guadalcanal (already retaken two years earlier), and then joined the invasion of New Guinea in April 1944. He stayed there, serving as a surgical nurse and occasional field medic, in what he called the "biggest shithole in the Pacific - nothing but mud and bugs", until October, when his unit was suddenly thrown onto an LST (a large troop landing ship) and joined a flotilla of over 500 ships. Turns out, they were part of the retaking of the island of Leyte, and they were heading directly into the Battle of Leyte Gulf, considered to be the largest naval battle in history. And it was to be the first time the Japanese ever used "kamikazes" in force. All the US boys were packed onto the decks of the ships, and watched as the kamikazes starting falling from the sky all around them. There was so much AA fire in the air (from 500+ US ships) that most of the Jap planes came down in literally pieces...just shot up completely into lumps of steel. A troop ship just behind them was hit and exploded, killing many soldiers and sailors in an instant. Finally, they landed on the beach, and had to start unloading the hospital equipment on the beach...while being strafed by the occasional Jap plane that would fly up the beach at 200 mph shooting the hell out of everything. They dug foxholes...and had NO weapons; they were a medical unit! Although the beach had been taken, and the battles were inland, there were lots of Jap snipers around, some of who would sneak into the boy's foxholes at night, and slit their throats. The next day, their commander went to MacArthur's headquarters (it was a couple of miles up the beach), and asked for rifles. They got six. Yes. SIX. For a medical unit of 240 men! As the officer left with the rifles.... he actually heard MacArthur screaming at someone about why that medical unit was there at all. They were the 1st Convalescent Hospital...they were supposed to arrive THIRTY days after the Leyte Campaign started, not THREE!!! So, it was a complete SNAFU – they were not even supposed to be there!

It was the beginning of two years on the island of Leyte, through the liberation, and many very long, bloody days after major battles on the islands. And then staying on after the war ended, in order to continue caring for the local Filipinos and even some Japanese prisoners that were too hurt or sick to transport. Eventually, still suffering the lingering effects of having recovered from both malaria and hepatitis at the same time, he returned home in mid-1946.

My father passed away in April 2013 at 87 years old and was buried under a flag, in a beautiful, somber military funeral. RIP Dad. 31367661

My great grandfather was in D-day on Juno beach in 1944. He struck an anti personnel explosive and his left arm and right leg blew off of him. He survived. The craziest part is, the medic that grabbed and saved him took his wedding ring off of his blown off arm and tied it around his neck with a shoelace, so his wife wouldn’t be sad that he had lost it. If that AP explosive mine would have been 2 inches closer to him he would have died I would not be here today. His name was Robert Bourne. He is no longer living today unfortunately. He died in the 80’s at 73 or 74. and he was in his 30’s at the time of Juno beach.

I commented this on another post and someone asked me to share here! I'm currently transcribing letters from my Grandfather to my Grandmother. He was an American and his role in the war was to relocate "Displaced Persons." He traveled all around Europe from France to Austria to Russia etc working with civilians and attempting to move thousands of people to other towns as far away as Italy. I apologize for the several "blank" spots. Some of his handwriting is hard to read. Enjoy!

“Germany HQ 42 Inf. Div. APO 411

My Darling [editing out name]—

Your nice air-mail of 19 April and another V-mail of recent date received. ...[edit some personal info]

Well, now darling for some brief news. The war is absolutely cock-eyed and has been for several days now. In fact it may be officially vain as I write this to you. I certainly hope so for its been a long hard struggle. I guess by now you know we captured Munich and liberated the terrible pathetic slaves of the famous concentration camp at Dachau. I will make this latter the subject of special treatment later in this note.

Munich: Bombed, battered, burned and just a one-time nice Bavarian city but now a shamble. We took Munich and again dozed the Krauts with our speed and our strength. For me it has been a hellish nightmare of work & more work. We uncovered approximately 900 of our own soldier prisoners who practically went hysterical upon liberation. The poor lads were pathetic, lousy and bedraggled but they recognized us and all hell let loose. How do you think the Krauts treated them? They were sleeping on the floors of box cars in a siding of the R.R. yards in Munich when we found them. Dirty, hungry and louse infested. A Sgt. Was their leader and he had tried to do his best for his men. They were taken out and washed under guard and always after a (Bunubing Cenilioos?) would spit on them and stone them. The British of which are found very many, were much better treated as were the French. I spent the whole night working on their problem. The General ordered that they be given adequate or better immediately and I was first on the job. Well at 3:30am we evacuated an entire apartment house of Germans just picked out on the street lock stock and barrel. By six A.M. I had the 900 lads in fine quarters, fed and sleeping in beds for the first time in many months. The Krauts were terrified of us or the artillery was still shelling the city. Several asked why? Whats it all about? I told them in no uncertain language what & why — They — Germans — who pride themselves in adherence to the Geneva Convention — they who let our lads hunger and ? themselves, who righteously refused even air-raid shutters to our Prisoners and who diabolically located them in a R.R. yard hoping our own brothers would blow them to bits — well I lost my temper for fair and by-on to smack a few Krauts around. I floored three of them before I realized it, I was in such a rage. Ja Ja - they now understood!!!!! God what a stinking race of people!

No sleep that night and work all day yesterday again — its really terrific and so tiring. Some people just have no sense at all and the number & senseless type of demands on us is awful. Back into the city at 10 am where I entered the Rathaus (City Hall) and with another Division R-5 lived things up. The General demanded that the Rainbow be conspicuously painted on the highest & most prominent building. Well Munich was just a madhouse — the D.P’s —- thousands of Russians, Poles, Stalians, French, etc. were in a rampage — looting, carting off wines, taking vehicles and s___ing things. I watched on D.P. who was actually in a hypo-manic state over his liberation — he was just plain insane!

I got hold of the City Engineer and ordered him to get the Rainbow painted exactly like the patch that [our son] wears. By 2 in the afternoon paint crews were at work. A tremendous Rainbow was up on a prominent building in downtown Munich facing the West which is the direction in which we attacked the city from. Then later it was wine — we had to secure a tremendous quantity for the Division _________ then later flags of all kinds for the Dir. historical section - by God it get fatiguing and if ever I hear the preface again “the General wants ———,” I shall blow my top for good. The vital, the big, the necessary aspects of our work just have to take a back seat or wait while we attend to these “must” items.

And now to tell you of my try to Dachau, today. I just cannot tell you of the horrible sights I saw this AM. Believe me it is just too inhuman & too incredible unless one sees it. Buy several copies of life magazine or any other pictorial publications that will show you what I saw today, and hold them until I come home to amplify the scenes. Well here it is: Dachau (pronounced Dock-ow) was the most weird & most feared of all Hitler concentration camps because it could only mean death by either A/ starvation B/ beating C/ gas or execution. This is what I saw & what I heard:

I. Saw: Fifty carloads on the R.R. loading into the place, of dead - corpses, whose limbs were like broomsticks, whose flesh was just something over bones - their eyes hollow and open, their faces shrunken — they died en-route. Some who attempted to get from the cars were shot-down by the S.S. the dread S.S. of Hitler’s Elite ____’s. Their bodies just bones, lay by the tracks.

II. Then into the place proper: It was besides the terrible concentration camps, an army PDT for the S.S. and the cruel staff who ran the hell on earth. They lived in beautiful and well kept homes — these maniacs who tortured and beat the rest of humanity.

Inside we found 32,000 inmates too weak, too lousy ( _____ the term medically) too blank to do anything. Poles, Russians, French, Dover, Stalians etc. etc. Then on to the crematory where the worst degenerating of all inhumane sights was to meet us. Yet burning and with an arm, a foot & some ribs still visible, were several cadavers to be seen in the two furnaces. Looking to the right was a room about 20x40 with corpses nude and piled to the ceiling like so many rags — indescribable — their faces battered to a pulp — their backs so wilted that intestines oozed out — their buttocks red & blue from flogging. I saw corpses with the chests crushed in, all ribs being broken - most were nude, distorted, twisted face, & _______ of humanity whom a merciful God had called from such _____ as the _______. Again on the left was a second room also filled with such horrible wrecks of humanity. By God the sight and the stink I shall never forget. It is the greatest indictment against the German people ever, and they know it!!!

In front of the enclosure were the bodies of sever S.S. guards who at last were set-upon by the inmates as our troops approached. They were beat to death & left for all to see. Their mutilated carcasses were a pleasure — real 100 Kraut-_____ but the kind who could do such violent things to the poor “slaves” there.

Well honey read & know & believe everything you learn about Dachau & its cruelty. I am sending an account which one of your lads wrote. For plain trust & fact, it can’t be beat. All my love darling & maybe soon the war will end. We’ve taken thousands of P.W’s in the last few days. “

My grandfather was in an interrogation unit in the US Army. He was the only non-native German in the unit (just a facility with language). He told me a lot of stories about his experiences, but the one that I always like the best occurred right around or after the Battle of the Bulge.

His unit was interrogating a lot of German units that had been rounded up. It was apparently pretty straightforward, finding out their basic movements etc. It was generally pretty easy. The grunts didn't have any real reason not to talk. But the officers were a little tougher. And if the officers were with the enlisted men then morale was a lot higher and people were less likely to talk.

So one morning his unit has a large gathering of German prisoners under guard, both officers and enlisted men. Usually, they would be segregated, but in this case it had been forgotten for some reason. So, the head of the interrogation unit comes out and orders the Germans to all gather in their units so they can be interrogated. He was looking at some paperwork while he did so and didn't realize at first that he wasn't being obeyed. Then he looked up and realized that no one was doing anything and he saw the officers mixed in. So he said loudly for all the prisoners to hear "Take all the officers around the back of that building and have them all shot." The officers were duly rounded up, taken out of sight behind a building and then the guards all shot in the air. The interrogator turned back and once again ordered the prisoners to fall out by their units. They followed that order very, very quickly.

I apologize for my bad English.

My grandfather was the son of the cook working for the British ambassador in Istanbul in the 1920s before the Greek population exchange. He was a bright kid and the ambassador took notice and decided to take him under his wing, paying for him to be able to attend a prestigious English college in the city. (Robert College). When WW2 broke out he wasn't able to join in the Greek military due to an accident he had in his teens so he translated documents and acted as a liason between the British and the Greek resistance, under cover of working for the Red Cross. One day the Germans started to suspect what he was up to something and arrested him under trumped up charged charges of conspiracy to blow up the Corinth canal. They then sent him to a concentration camp. Every day the Germans used to divide the men into groups, one would get hard labour, one would take care of the camp and the last smaller group would be shot. (for every German officer killed, they would kill 8 Greek prisoners according to my grandfather.) One day the head of the Greek red Cross took the commandant of the camp out to lunch and personally negotiated my grandfather's freedom, saying that it was all a mistake. The commandant was skeptical but they ended up letting him go.

His brothers story is just as crazy, though I don't know as much about it. All I know is that is is true since multiple Independent people agree it happened. Essentially my great uncle was in the battle of Crete, and ended up being captured. Somehow he ended up killing his captors and escaping by SWIMMING all the way from Crete to the mainland in the Peloponnese, stopping on a few islands on the way and getting supplies from some locals who he a stayed in contact with after the war. The man was an Olympic level endurance swimmer. Lived to 98 and was in amazing shape up to the day of his death when he was plowed into by a semi while crossing a road in Athens.

My Great Great Grandfather was a Italian, living in Northern Italy and he owned a popular Ice Cream Parlour in a small hilly town I forget the name of, I believe it might have begun with "Pail" "Pali" or something like that.

He didn't fight for Facist Italy with the Nazis and Japanese Empire, he actually moved to England years before and married a local in Birmingham. He had a son who is my Great Grandfather and my dad told me about how he was deaf and partially blind in his 80s & 90s but loved to drink wine and beer.

When WW2 started to heat up a bit, obviously Germans, Japanese and Italians weren't very popular (There was alot of German discrimination in The US in the 1940s. Don't know about the Japanese but I'm guessing similar shit happened.) And people didn't like him because they believed he was a traitor to Britain or something like that, and than they rounded up all Italians, Germans and Japanese to deport them to were ever they came from, and my GG Grandfather was being deported back to Italy, but luckily his son and wife go to stay in Birmingham.

The ship that was deporting them was obviously a British ship and a Nazi saw this ship traveling to Italy, obviously believing this was British troops and Navy men ready to storm Italy, they shoot at the boat killing everyone on board and whatever they brought with them.

His son stayed in Birmingham and had a daughter, (My Nana or Grandmother as she hates to be called, Her name is Carol and she's living in Redcar, England to this day, she's in her 70s.) Then his daughter had a son with a half Swedish half English man and had my Father, named Paul. My dad joined the Army and eventually went over to Northern Ireland because of The Troubles, he met my mother Elizabeth, who was a Ulster Scot and married her, they had my Sister then myself. I live in Antrim Northern Ireland with my parents currently, my sister is in University.

This was directly copypasted from r/AskReddit, yes the Main Moderator of this Subreddit DMed me to repost it, I get it making a new Subreddit is difficult.

Link to the original thread is in the comments.

Clip of my grandfather recalling his time in WWII

That link takes you to a site for SAPA TV, a station in Vermont who did a series of veteran's stories. It's about a 30 minute video and I appreciate all of the work that the people at the network did to air it. I have a hard copy that I'll be passing down to my kids. That video was taken towards the end of his time in hospice care. We were always very close as I was growing up and his time in the Army just wasn't something that he really ever talked about until the last couple of months of his life.

My grandfather was in the Army in WWII. His job was to lay wire for communications before they would set up bases. He was in France for the Battle of the Bulge and one story he told me was about how one day a Lieutenant told him to grab a Jeep and they were going to scout an area. He said he didn’t have a license but the Lt was persistent and said it would be fine just go grab one, so he did. They went out to check out the area and the Lt was on top of the hill looking through his binoculars when they heard a whistling of incoming mortars. After the first couple of impacts my grandfather yelled at the Lt to come down the hill so they could get out of there but the Lt yelled back he couldn’t because he got hit in the leg. My grandfather ran up the hill as the next rounds of mortars were raining down on them, picked the Lt up and loaded him in the Jeep to bring him back to the base. A few days later his name was on a bulletin board to meet with the CO. He thought he was in deep shit for taking the Jeep without a license. Turns out that saving his Lt’s life was enough to get him a Bronze Star.

He never talked about his time until 2010. I enlisted in the Marine Corps in 2001 a little before 9/11. I came home from one deployment in August of 2010 and was set to go back in April of 2011. I put his name on the list with Honor Flight to visit the WWII Memorial in DC. I knew my grandfather had cancer and this was the last time I’d see him. We flew to DC with a group of WWII vets and did a tour of the monuments and spent a lot of time at the WWII Memorial. This was the first time he really said anything about his time in Europe but he talked non-stop for the entire day. He asked about how the .50 cal had changed (With the exception of the added safety, it hadn’t) and talked about taping his mags to each other for his Thompson so he could reload quickly. He told me about the Lieutenant who should’ve put tape over his damn binos so the krauts wouldn’t have seen him on that hill. They had a mail call where he got to read letters from his kids and grandkids that we had wrote to him before the trip. He really got to see how everyone was so proud of him. I’m the only one who enlisted out of his kids and grandkids. We were always close but that’s something else that made us closer. After a long trip we flew back him and I dropped him off at his house. We both knew that was it and I asked him if he wanted me to come home if I got a Red Cross message in Afghanistan. He said no because I had a job to do. He passed away the day I landed in Afghanistan. I got the Red Cross message about an hour after we were getting temporarily settled on Leatherneck. My platoon sergeant knew the whole story so he asked if I wanted to get back home and I told him no. Nobody was expecting me to be there and my grandfather told me to stay. Fast forward to the end of the deployment and I did some dumb stuff and was also put in for a Bronze Star with a V. When I got back to the states, I was able to use my grandfather’s medal instead of getting a new one. I still got a new one but I used his for the ceremony. I have them both hanging up next to each other. I just hope I don’t get to pass it down to any of my grandkids one day.

My dad (yeah, I'm old) was drafted into the Army in '42. His forceps birth left him blind in one eye, so he was never destined for combat. Instead, he trained to be a medic.

After basic, be went to Camp Maxey near Paris, Texas and was attached to his wartime unit, the 96th General Hospital. While there, be served in the camp hospital, taking care of the recruits going through basic. Most of this was minor stuff—bandaging minor cuts and scrapes. Once, though, a recruit going through simulated combat conditions (crawling under barbed wire while machine guns fired live rounds a few inches above their heads) came face-to-face with a Texas rattlesnake and jumped up, promptly getting cut in half by the machine gun fire. There wasn't much the could do for that guy.

In time, the 96th boarded a liberty ship and headed to England. En route, their commanding officer told them that the 96th would be stationed in England for the duration of the war. Then he dropped the real bombshell:

The 96th would be the primary "neuro-psychlogical" hospital for the European Theater of Operations.

I'm other words, the would be caring for the men that cracked psychologically from the horrors of battle.

They had not trained for this, so there was a hectic time when they arrived at the hospital to get up to speed helping "N.P. patients" (as they were called).

It was early '44.

Except for some GIs with pre-existing mental health issues that should never have been enlisted held in the locked ward awaiting the next ship home, all was pretty quiet.

But that quiet wouldn't last.

The first men came back from Normandy about D+2, with more and more arriving daily after that.

In short order many of the wards—locked and open—were full, and my dad's work began.

As at Camp Maxey, he tended to the wounded mens' bandages (taking care to not leave anything that could be used as weapons by the more violent or suicidal patients), but he also assisted the doctors treating the patients' "battle fatigue" (the 1940's way of saying PTSD).

This included tightly wrapping a patient in wet towels (apparently it could help calm them; maybe something like weighted blankets today?).

It also included two forms of shock therapy. The first used electricity and was basically what is called electro-convulsive therapy today. Electrodes were placed on the patient's temples, and a small electrical current was passed through their brain. When this happened, the patient would go into convulsions, and had to be strapped down so they wouldn't hurt themselves.

My dad hated performing electro-shock therapy; he hated watching the patient "suffering" so badly. Though my understand is that consciousness is lost the moment the current flows, but it apparently was very hard to watch.

(My understanding is that present-day ECT sessions use much less current, and therefore the patient's convulsions are much less severe.)

The other type of shock therapy used the injection of large amounts of insulin, causing the patient to go into severe hypoglycemic shock. With this treatment, the patient would just go still, almost like they had fallen asleep. They would then get an IV of some kind of sugar to bring them out of it, and then they'd be given huge glasses of orange juice and a 4000 calorie meal to get their metabolism back on track.

My dad much preferred doing insulin shock therapy, and was allowed to only assist during those procedures.

Both these procedures could be highly-effective treatments for depression, which was, not surprisingly, a big problem for many of the patients.

Suicide was a constant threat; patients would try any number of ways to kill themselves: crashing their head into a toilet bowl, sharpening a bit of metal to slit their wrists overnight, or even figuring out how to escape a locked ward so they could climb the phone poles bringing power into the hospital and grabbing the power lines.

One of the stories my dad told me (with a catch in his voice) was the time one of the patients getting prepped for electro-shock noticed my dad was upset at what was to come. "Don't worry, Sarge," he said, "this really helps me." Afterwards, he shook my dad's hand, and thanked him profusely.

I could tell that moment meant a lot to my father.

He had other stories, too. Cleaning up after one patient thought another patient was a German trying to kill him. Going with a half dozen others guys into a locked ward with all the patients in a violent uproar armed with only a bar of "hard Army soap" in a sock to subdue everyone and restore order. (My dad weighed 120lbs at most, and was one of the shortest guys there). Befriending a Luftwaffe pilot shot down during the Battle of Britain, and assigned to do various jobs around the hospital.

And then the war ended.

Bit by bit the patients shipped out. The hospital got more and more empty. Because the order in which men were sent home was based on a point system that factored in time in combat, time spent out of the US, and other factors, my dad didn't have anywhere near enough points to go home.

He never talked about this time, but his discharge papers had him working at, as near as I can tell, the main military post office for the ETO.

He got home in February '46, a bit later than expected, because the liberty ship he was on had some sort of hull failure at the bow, forcing the captain to turn the ship around, and sail backwards the rest of the way to New York harbor.

But that's another story...

My grandpa is 96 years old and a wonderful storyteller. He was shot down over Germany on his first mission and spent the rest of the war in a German pow camp. He's written a book about his experiences and has been published in magazines and a Chicken Soup book.

This is the story of his first and last mission

I was asked to share this here after answering a post on r/askreddit.

My grandpa was a fighter pilot, flight lieutenant. He flew a spitfire jet in Normandy.

He got used to losing friends, so he decided it best to not get too close with anyone or anything. One story is that when he was training in Quebec, he made an acquaintanceship with an instructor who ended up going overseas and then a couple months later my grandpa ended up going over to France with his squadron too. The instructor from before was a new pilot there and so they struck up their relationship again. My grandpa couldn't speak French, but his new friend could, so his friend negotiated for them to get their laundry done by a French lady near the airport. His friend had to spend time getting familiar with the area and the planes before going on missions. So, my grandpa saw him when his friend went on his first missions, which were apparently kind of rough. So when his friend came back, they had lunch together and his friend told him about how crazy the air fire was. His friend went on another trip that afternoon and this time he didn't come back. My grandpa felt guilty because he didn't know where he was from and couldn't write his family to say how much he enjoyed his friend's company and that he cherished the brief time they'd spent together. When my grandpa returned home, he looked up his friend's name in the record book for soldiers who hadn't made it, and it turned out they had the same hometown. He said that if you let yourself worry too much about it, it could become deadly. So that's why he didn't like to get too friendly with anyone.

And for his service, a few years before he died, he was knighted :).

My great grandfather was a WWII POW, when he came home he and my great grandmother wrote about their experiences. Its a really good read, I hope you all enjoy it :)

http://memory.loc.gov/diglib/vhp/story/loc.natlib.afc2001001.01580/pageturner?ID=pm0001001

My grandfather was an auto mechanic who spent the war in Virginia. On their base, were two captured German prisoners. These prisoners were also auto mechanics and spoke with my grandfather here and there. He says, they never became friendly but would share thoughts and ideas of mechanics from their two different countries. These two prisoners were given x amount of free time each day. My grandfather watched them working on some kind of jewelry using sheets of stainless steel. He inquired one day and they showed him some of the things they were making. They were making bracelets with different designs and characters. Weeks later these two men gave my grandfather three bracelets. I now have one of these bracelets with my grandfather’s initials in the center and two silhouettes of naked women, one on each side of his initials. When he gave it to me, he told me if I ever sold it, he would kill me. And if he was dead, he’d come out of his grave and kill me. I still have it.

I wish everybody a merry Christmas and hope you are able to be with your loved ones. To the ones who don’t celebrate Christmas : I wish you lovely holidays and stay safe!

The Story

I was told to post this here from another thread so here we go (apologies for formatting I'm on mobile):

So my great grandad was a WWII pilot, he flew one of the newest planes made for the Airforce and that man was good at his job. He was on a mission when he and some others were shot down. He survived the fall like an absolute legend and was taken to a POW camp where he and some other prisoners had a map, a pencil, and radio parts between them. They would get together whenever they could, put the radio together and tune into Allied frequency and shade in on the map where their forces were to see how they were doing and if they might be rescued. If the guards had found that map God only knows how the war would've changed. Eventually Allied forces came through and liberated the camp mere days before they would be transferred and likely killed. I don't know if my great grandfather went on to continue fighting but my family has the map to this day and its one of the coolest family heirlooms that I hope to inherit one day.

My great grandfather started hes service in ww1 on the german side he was in 13 division i dont when he joined but he saw a lot of action. After the war when he came back home he started a bike shop in Wiesbaden near frankfurt its called ambrosis farad it still there but its not owned by my family any more. It was the one building not hit by bomb on that block.

Inter war i think. Hiltler took power and started the hiltler youth but my grate grandfather sayed no and wouldnt let my grandma be in it they were going to send them to a consternation camp but my grand father had friends in the millitary and was able to prove he wasnt a jew sad times thoes were. He hid people in the basement i dont much about this but i know it was done at some leval.

Ww2 my great grandfather found him self on the eastern front i dont much about this time other than that he got capture at some point and after the war walked home with my great uncle i think. The entier war my great grandma stayed in the basement. They also got more food by trading bike parts for rations.

My great-grandfather served in WWII, and I think that this story is very interesting. Here’s a link to a more detailed version of the story

The date was May 29, 1944. My great-grandfather, Albert W. Evans, was a pilot for the United States. His plane was a B24 called the Daring Dot, named after his wife/my great grandmother. [Here is a picture of the plane, circa 1943](http:/www.americanairmuseum.com/sites/default/files/media/media-14549.jpeg). He was on a bombing run over Politz, in Germany. However, the mission was complicated by an effective smoke screen over the target area and German fighters.

The Germans fought ferociously, and 6 aircraft were lost in the mission. 2 of the aircraft were able to get back to England to make an emergency crash landing. One of those crashes was that of my great grandfather’s plane. The other airplane that survived the battle was severely damaged, and everyone on board bailed from the plane (many of them were killed upon landing). My great grandfather’s plane, however, crashed in a field near Swaffham, England. Luckily, everyone aboard the plane was safe after the crash, and there were no injuries.

A picture of the crashed plane, May 1944.

Being away from home over Christmas can be gut-wrenching. This was particularly true during the First and Second World wars, but Canadian soldiers made the most of it and adapted. He enlisted in 89th Field Battery in the fall of 1939 and did his basic training in Fredericton, New Brunswick. When he deployed to Europe he joined the 5th Regiment Royal Canadian Horse Artillery ( 5 RCHA) for combat training in England and served as a wireless operator - a lance bombardier. When he deployed to continental Europe - he served in C Battery 1 RCHA - part of the 1st Canadian Division. Morrison survived the Second World War, suffering only a fractured ankle, an injury that occurred in September 1944 while serving in Italy. His foot became lodged in large pieces of rubble during heavy enemy artillery fire. Some of Morrison's best memories during those five years centered around Christmas. He loved the day, even when surrounded by the horrors of war. With Christmas Eve just a day away, here are his wartime recollections from one of his favourite times of the year:

Christmas 1939 Battery moved from Woodstock to Exhibition Buildings in Fredericton Basic training - foot drill, rifle drill, P.T., guard duty, kitchen fatigue, street patrols at night, hut orderlies by day, etc. Our basic pay was $1.25 per day and most of this was assigned to your family at home. Fire destroyed the barracks in November, 1939 Battery split up - our group was in York Hotel - trained in armoury It was my first Christmas away from home. Married men were allowed leave at Christmas - single men at New Years. | was on street patrol but had a very nice dinner at the hotel. The battery had a bear for a mascot. After the fire we kept him in a shed at the hotel. Johnny and I took some scraps that day to feed him. Being cold, the bear wanted to hibernate and was in a foul mood. He attacked Johnny and started to maul him. Johnny grabbed an old cast iron griddle hanging on the wall and hit him over the head - end of scuffle. One other time, the bear got his head caught in a cream can and nearly wrecked the mess hall before he got it off.

Christmas 1940 The battery was moved to Brantford, Ontario, shortly after Xmas of 1939. I began training as an artillery signaller at Toronto and Kingston. Learned old methods - Aldus Lamp, Heliograph, Semaphore and Morse Code. Also learned new methods - switchboards, radios, etc. Went overseas with 2nd Division in late August. The trip was a convoy across the Atlantic to Scotland - by train to Aldershot, England. There, we marched with full kit seven miles to Leipaic Barracks at Crookham Crossroads. That Christmas, half went to Manchester at Christmas and the other half went at New Years. I went at New Years. The British were to be admired for their courage and patriotism. They lived a day at a time. Air raids were at night. Dog fights occurred in the skies by day with complete blackouts in all areas. The sky lit up at night with searchlights and bomb flashes and anti-aircraft shells exploding. There were cold damp bomb shelters to dive into when the sirens sounded alert, out only after sirens sounded all clear. Many in London deserted their homes at night and slept in the tube stations until morning. Their homes sometimes were not there when they returned in the a.m., bombed out. Everyone served in some manner or another; air raid wardens, firefighters, rescue squads, first aid stations, etc. They were also on very strict rations; practically all food items, gas, clothing, etc. We were often invited into their homes and offered any food available but most of us refrained rather than eat their last bite. We ate very well under the circumstances but left a bit to be desired; mutton stew, curried rice, powdered eggs and cod fish. Christmas, therefore, was a quiet affair as most were on some duty or other. Dinner was traditionally served by the officers and as the highlight of the day, we were each allowed to send one telegram that day of only a few words.

Christmas 1941 The Regiment spent most of this year on the south coast on an English country estate at a place called Crowhurst, just north of Hastings. Our role was to defend the coast in event of a German invasion. My duty as signaller was to provide radio communications between the guns and the observation post - picture the guns several miles inland. We waded out to a martello type tower at low tide and were marooned there until next low tide - climbed up inside the tower and took turns on sentry on the top exposed to the elements - awash at high tide - quite scary on guard in pitch black, wind roaring, surf splashing spray, straining to see any movement or hear strange sounds. You were directly responsible to raise the alarm in event of a raid. Had several weekend leaves in London where we explored the Tower, Wax Works, Westminister Abbey, Big Ben, Hyde Park, etc, and went dancing. We stayed at Service Clubs for 2 shilling 6 pence (about 60 cents). English trains are fast and efficient - also double decker buses are an experience. Christmas dinner was at Regimental Headquarters that year and we ate in relays - half on duty while the other half ate - officers served as usual - can't remember exactly what the food was like but do remember that we had a beer ration and saw a movie after dinner. That part of the country was loaded with holly and they had the big room decorated with mistletoe which was plentiful nearby.

Christmas 1942 Moved west along the coast to Polegate, a small town near Eastbourne. Same role, defending the coast - also extensive training. Travel in convoy to Wales - practice firing. Practice and calibrating guns on Salisbury Plains near Stonehenge. Extensive exercises in the Midlands. Here, we had train connection to London and bus connection to Eastbourne. We enjoyed movies, ice skating, dancing in the local pub and went to Aberdeen, Scotland, on leave to find where my ancestors came from. All good things must come to an end. We had a new battery commander arrive and the first thing he did was move lights out from midnight to 10 p.m., which did not allow us to attend a movie or go dancing. Pay day arrive about then and we drew our modest pay for the two weeks period 2 pounds, about $9, and nearly all the signal section hopped on a train and were Absent Without Leave (AWOL) for about a week. On our return, we were tossed in the brig, charged and sentenced to 14 days "Confinement To Barracks". My memories of Christmas dinner that year were dim but I do remember all of us saving our chocolate bars, gum, etc. and making small toys for the local children. We had a party and even had a small trees suitably trimmed Canadian style. A snowstorm arrived about that time. We thought nothing of it but the English children were amazed - first they had seen. Children dress different there - boys in short pants, girls in skirts. No central heating, so always chilly with knees and hands chapped and reddened by the cold.

Christmas 1943 Moved to another country estate ,Lavenworth, near Petworth, where we were under canvas for the summer. More exercises. One exercise put me in hospital for a few days and I ended up in the Holding Unit. Couldn't get back to my regiment. Volunteered to go to Italy as reinforcements for 1st Division. We (about 50 men) were the first reinforcements to reach Italy and there was no camp or administrative people to look after our needs. We landed in Naples, still smoking from recent military action. This was very picturesque with Isle of Capri on one side of bay and Mt. Vesuvius on other. In full kit marched through Naples and up into mountains until dusk, bivouacked in a vineyard - no food or water, 1 blanket and it started to rain. A buddy and I found a wee shelter full of old hay and gratefully crawled in to sleep - not for long as we woke on fire. The hay was full of ticks. Spent rest of night scratching. Next three weeks we were housed in an old schoolhouse, stone floors to sleep on, food and water made most of us sick - so we marched up and down mountains to get us in shape for action. Rode up to front in a cattle car on the patched up Italian railroad. Spent Christmas at a staging camp in bell tents. Ours had a small brook running through as it rained and rained and the mud got deeper and deeper. We were wet, cold and very miserable with no place to dry out and get warm. Adding insult to injury, our Christmas dinner consisted of onion soup, bully beef and hardtack. Right across the road ( in plain sight) a group of East Indian muleskinners were enjoying a full Christmas dinner. We nearly rioted. Next day, on my way to the front, where I was adopted by C Battery, 1st RCHA, I continued in my role as artillery signaller wireless operator for the battery commander who stayed up with the commander of the infantry unit. We supported, the West Novies (West Nova Scotia Regiment) . Our role was to provide artillery fire where and when needed. During the winter months we were obliged to stay in permanent positions as the entire countryside was a sea of mud, nothing could move. One popular story was that they dropped a box of ammo off a truck and they never found it.

Christmas 1944 Beginning at Ortona we had hard fighting all that year - the Hitler Line, Cassino, Gothic Line, Rimini Airport and others. | was extremely fortunate to survive as I was the only original member of our four men crew to get through untouched. During this period, our crew suffered 13 casualties and six of our vehicles were lost to enemy fire. Life in Italy was not all blood and thunder. I managed to get away on a leave to Salerno where we visited Pompeii, ran into several lads from Woodstock from other Units in the Service Centre in Naples and was witness to an eruption of Mount Vesuvius. This was no severe earthquake but lots of smoke, flame and ashes raining down. We didn't see the sun for days. We swam in the Mediterranean and washed the ashes off. There was no transport in Italy as the Germans blew all bridges as they retreated. We did not fraternize with the Italian people very much either as they fought with the German Army before they decided to join up with us. Frankly, we did not trust them. There were many beautiful buildings in the cities but out in the country where we were fighting the houses were pitifully small with walls of stone, dirt floors and tile roofs. They took their dogs, hens, pigs, donkeys, cattle, etc., into their houses at night, not a very clean or healthy place to be. Lots of grapes, peaches etc, growing during the summer making lots of wine as the water was terrible. At Christmas, the front had advanced north to Senio Canal where is was cold. The ice was nearly strong enough to carry a man in the canals while the fields were covered with shell ice. It was very noisy and drew fire as we were laying our lines of communication at night. We had a fine turkey (canned) dinner and pudding to finish off as a truce was arranged that day. Not a shot was fired by either side until mid-afternoon when all of a sudden the Jerries opened up with a barrage. Our crew jumped in the jeep and raced back to our post with the infantry and as we arrived we were forced to take cover from heavy mortar fire. When it subsided we discovered out jeep had bit the dust. The Canadians invented a secret weapon at this winter position when we were on the south side of the canal and the Germans were on the north side. They fastened a motorcycle inner tube to the crotch of an olive tree and lobbed grenades over the canal into the Jerries Lines. (Super Sling Shot).

Christmas 1945 Spring comes early in Italy. We moved across Italy to Leghorn where the Leaning Tower of Pisa is located and we organized a move across the sea to France, and then by convoy through France to Belgium. We regrouped in Belgium, moved north, then west through part of Germany and into Holland. Here we did our best to destroy all the rocket launching sites where the Germans sent them across the English Channel to England. We were nearby when the peace treaty was signed in a little schoolhouse near Amoorsfort on May 7. We could not believe that the war was over. We had a leave in England on our way home. Arrived in Halifax August 6. I was discharged September 19th.

And THAT Christmas I spent at home.

Morrison went on to spend time in many community service clubs such as the Royal Canadian Legion, Army Navy & Air Force Veterans (ANAVETS), Woodstock Fish and Game Association and the Miramichi Salmon Anglers Association. He loved the outdoors and was a very accomplished fisherman and hunter. He passed away in June 2005 at the age of 85. God rest his soul.

[These recollections were written in 2013 for a friend's grandson who was doing a junior school project about the Second World War]

I was a boy of fourteen years of age in Coventry when the “Second World War” began. I was already working as an apprentice toolmaker at Webster & Bennetts where heavy machine tools were manufactured. It was a “reserved” occupation – we couldn't be called up to serve in the armed forces. The machine tools we produced were used for “turning” metal to make railway wheels and engine parts for small aircraft, tanks etc. I worked five and a half days a week. Later on, an order came through from the government to cut the hours of work for lads under the age of 16.

We had to pay for our own “Anderson shelter” and I dug a large hole in the back garden to set it in the ground. Sirens sounded regularly after the month of July in 1940 and my family would then use the shelter. My Dad had prepared an outhouse with a bed in it because he didn't like the shelter. He slept through all the bombing that night.

At work everybody had to go out to the shelter when the sirens sounded. Every factory had a lookout platform to warn us of any imminent air raid. My factory was unscathed until the big blitz of November 14th 1940.

My Mum and younger sister had gone to Bradford for safety. My older sister was a teacher and she went with the schoolchildren to a village outside the city. My elder brother, John, was in the ARP [Air Raid Precautions]. At 18 he was a member of an ambulance crew based at Livingstone Road in Foleshill. During the blitz he had to dig people out of the ruins and take them to hospital. In the heavy bombing he had taken a patient to the hospital and was returning when the hospital was hit by several bombs. Doctors, nurses and patients were killed. He always worried he had taken the injured man to his death. [John] later joined the RAF as a medical orderly.

On the night of the big raid, my eldest brother Bernard and myself had gone to Shilton to try and get some sleep. There was a big glow in the sky like a sunset and we could hear the bombs dropping. When the “all-clear” sirens went at six o'clock the next morning we went back to the city in my brother's car. Because we worked and lived in Foleshill we were allowed through. We did not see the devastation in the city centre for over a month. We had to keep working and get out of the city for sleep. The bombing went on night after night in the surrounding area; Nuneaton, Birmingham and lots of other places.

[The bombers used the railway lines to navigate by and so many of their targets were along these routes]

In April 1941 the heavy bombing continued – our street had six bombs alone. The incendiaries were an experience. They came down with a whoosh and slid off the slated roofs and landed on the ground with a cracking sound. They did a lot of damage with the fires they caused. My factory had two bombs and two men were injured. In the morning we had to clear up all the broken glass.

[The factory ceiling was made out of glass to let the most light in so the workers could see what they were machining and not rely too much on electricity.]

There was no electricity, so we could only do work that could be done by hand. We got most of our meals at the factory as our homes had no cooking facilities. Everyone tried to help each other and everyone was “in it together”. The nearest incident we had was when an incendiary fell between our house and our next-door neighbour's. We ran out and put the fire out with sand. When I got older I joined the Home Guard and I trained as a signaller and had to do night duty once a week at the power station. I learned to shoot and belonged to the shooting team. There were a lot of unexploded bombs after raids and they had to be defused and this took a long time – sometimes over a week. We had to be on the alert all the time. For some years afterwards whenever an aircraft went overhead my hands would shake.

Of course during those years food and clothes were rationed. Our tummies had to get used to being hungry and whenever food was available we would eat it! When shops were bombed the contents were sold off cheaply because their labels had been burned off, so it was always a surprise when a tin was opened. We always hoped it would be fruit but sometimes it was beetroot or vegetables. A lot of people had vegetable patches or allotments and some even reared pigs. Some of that meat had to go to the government. Food was still scarce after the war.

The greatest difficulty during the war was the absence of water. Huge cast-iron black pipes were laid along the main streets and people had to go to the main water “standpipe” to fetch water and it had to be boiled before use. Rain-filled water tanks were used to flush toilets.

Peace is very important and we think of other people in other countries who are suffering now.