17. War and Peace

As I am now very old, it follows naturally that I have many memories which occupy my mind from time to time. It also seems natural that I sometimes feel the need to share some of these memories with someone else in my age group, someone who is able to understand the impact on me of some of the confronting events which took place a long time ago, but which feel as real as if they happened a month or even a day ago.

I find that walking alone, in the very early morning, can sometimes generate these thoughts and I am very grateful that I have, on occasion, been able to talk about them with my good friend Molly. Molly is close to me in age and has shared similar experiences, in that we both lived our childhoods through the trauma of the Second World War.

Molly told me that he was born in northern England in 1940 and that his father had been a fireman in London throughout WWII. This disclosure immediately started a long discussion between us about our shared past, with both of us being interested in listening to stories about the war from others who had lived through it.

The war years must have been a terrible time for Molly’s father. In London, he would have seen death and destruction all around him. German planes and rockets dropped thousands of bombs on London and killed many people. Most of the buildings in the city were severely damaged and many were completely flattened.

For the residents of London, the bombing began with the so-called “Blitz”, in September 1940, when the German air force attacked the city, leaving many dead and injured. Following that, London experienced frequent bombing raids and, later on, even attacks by the world’s first rocket-propelled guided missiles, the V1s and V2s. I remember hearing about them when I was still a child. I was 9 years old when the war ended.

One thing I remember as if it was yesterday, was the end of the war and the liberation of our village in Holland. A week before that joyous moment in time, allied bombers had flown over our village and dropped food parcels at an airport very close to our home.  This event changed everything in our lives for the better. Our family began to receive supplies of food, including loafs of white bread. I remember the beautiful large slices and the complete change from what we had been used to. In my child’s mind this meant no more hunger, no more suffering and no more panic and anxiety for my parents.

I was sleeping over at my grandparents’ house next door to us when, a week or so after the food drop, the street erupted in singing and dancing. I was in the bedroom upstairs and I could look out onto the main street of our village. People had materialised from everywhere. This was the day when the occupiers, the Nazis, capitulated. I remember dancing up and down in the bedroom, realising that the nightmare was finally over. When I think about it, I can still feel the relief I felt then. It made such a massive impact.

On the day of the actual liberation of our village there was a sea of flags in the main street. It was a sunny day, filled with great happiness. I walked across the bridge to the other side of the river where many people lined up to welcome our liberators, who we anticipated to be  Canadian soldiers. They were expected to arrive from the direction of the city of Utrecht, to the east of us.

The very first soldier I saw arriving was riding on what I thought was a very big motorcycle, possibly a Harley Davidson? He was all alone. He stopped in front of us, looked around, turned, and then rode back to where he had come from. That was a moment I will never forget. It made such an incredible impression on me.  Next an armed personnel carrier arrived, followed by tanks and trucks. People were going completely wild, jumping on the sideboards for a ride. I was sorely tempted to do the same, but I was too overwhelmed by it all to be able to move. All of this happened close to 80 years ago but it’s still very real to me because of the emotions which took hold of me so long ago.

As Molly and I drew closer to where our cars were parked, we came across a lady who had rescued a little bird. I’m not sure what had happened to it. Perhaps it was injured? I was glad that someone cared for this small, helpless creature. We smiled at her, and I felt grateful and happy to be able to live here, in peaceful Sandgate, so far away from the turmoil still happening elsewhere in the world.

O.P.

P.S. Next Sunday morning there will be a story about Old Ben and other sharks in Moreton Bay.