Military AircrewA forum for the professionals who fly the non-civilian hardware, and the backroom boys and girls without whom nothing would leave the ground. Army, Navy and Airforces of the World, all equally welcome here.
As you know I usually resurrect the same thread each year at about this time so that we can, if we wish, remember in our own way those that have fallen in the service of their country.
As this is a poignant year with the passing of the last two survivors of WW1, Harry Patch and Henry Allingham. I thought it would be right to start a new thread as our thoughts now turn to WW2 and to the many that have joined their ranks from Iraq and Afghanistan. It seems endless nowadays that so many have given their lives in the sandpit, or other far flung places, so it is all the more important that we should remember them - and those that have been seriously wounded, though many would spurn your sympathy. Their wish is that they can if at all possible stay soldiers until their turn comes.
We really do have HEROES.
Ladies and gentlemen - we SALUTE you.
__________________ Cool Mod - Here, and was there.
The average British soldier is 19 years old ... he is a short haired, well built lad who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears and just old enough to buy a round of drinks but old enough to die for his country – and for you. He’s not particularly keen on hard work but he’d rather be grafting in Afghanistan than unemployed in the UK. He recently left comprehensive school where he was probably an average student, played some form of sport, drove a ten year old rust bucket, and knew a girl that either broke up with him when he left, or swore to be waiting when he returns home. He moves easily to rock and roll or hip-hop or to the rattle of a 7.62mm machine gun.
He is about a stone lighter than when he left home because he is working or fighting from dawn to dusk and well beyond. He has trouble spelling, so letter writing is a pain for him, but he can strip a rifle in 25 seconds and reassemble it in the dark. He can recite every detail of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either effectively if he has to. He digs trenches and latrines without the aid of machines and can apply first aid like a professional paramedic. He can march until he is told to stop, or stay dead still until he is told to move.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation but he is not without a rebellious spirit or a sense of personal dignity. He is confidently self-sufficient. He has two sets of uniform with him: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his water bottle full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never forgets to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes and fix his own hurts. If you are thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food is your food. He'll even share his life-saving ammunition with you in the heat of a firefight if you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and regards his weapon as an extension of his own hands. He can save your life or he can take it, because that is his job - it's what a soldier does. He often works twice as long and hard as a civilian, draws half the pay and has nowhere to spend it, and can still find black ironic humour in it all. There's an old saying in the British Army: 'If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't have joined!'
He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and he is unashamed to show it or admit it. He feels every bugle note of the 'Last Post' or 'Sunset' vibrate through his body while standing rigidly to attention. He's not afraid to 'Bollock' anyone who shows disrespect when the Regimental Colours are on display or the National Anthem is played; yet in an odd twist, he would defend anyone's right to be an individual. Just as with generations of young people before him, he is paying the price for our freedom. Clean shaven and baby faced he may be, but be prepared to defend yourself if you treat him like a kid.
He is the latest in a long thin line of British Fighting Men who have kept this country free for hundreds of years. He asks for nothing from us except our respect, friendship and understanding. We may not like what he does, but sometimes he doesn't like it either - he just has it to do. Remember him always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
Now we even have brave young women putting themselves in harm's way, doing their part in this tradition of going to war when our nation's politicians call on us to do so.
When you read this, please stop for a moment and if you are so inclined, feel free to say a prayer for our troops in the trouble spots of the world.
Fine speech BATS
I had a bit of a lump in the back of my throat as I read that.
We see a little too much of that in a little village just outside a secret airbase in Wilts. As requested I will have a little word with my God for them.
TShirt
That there's some corner of a foreign field that is forever England.
When I took this shot a good few years ago it was with WWI veterans in mind, today it seems just as poigniant for the guys and girls who are serving in Afghanistan.
Re BATS' post: you call them squaddies. Out in the colonies, we call them grunts - by no means a perjorative term to anyone who's dealt with them in the field. 90% of them, if your daughter bought them home on her arm, you'd be horrified, for not many of them are 100% in the social graces/political correctness department. But if in Anywherestan, with bullets airborne and heading in your general direction, you wouldn't - couldn't - ask for anyone better than any one of those squaddies/grunts to be beside you, (probably repeatedly saving your arse).
Just as it is was in what I'll call 'my' war, now 40 years ago, I'm just so saddened to see how unappreciated their incredible efforts are by the people who send them there and how poorly treated are the ones who come back not whole, either physically or mentally.
Bats
That has to be one of the most eloquent and moving pieces I have ever read. I am a civvy and have nothing but admiration and respect for all our Military personnel, lads and lassies who do a job I could never do.
I think that our attitude to our troops, past and currently serving, leaves a hell of a lot to be desired in this country. Our successive governments have a great deal to do to convince me and others that they really support our Mil personnel.
Yours in admiration
Iain
Bats. Thank you for posting that not only moving, very also very accurate post.
Just reading that, and then stopping to think for a while, has brought back many memories for me. Maybe oddly, but probably not, all of them were good ones.
I remembered back to my youth, and that I was a very lazy 'so and so' before being introduced to the army. I think it made me grow up very rapidly, and took me into a family with such great honour, pride and tradition that anything seemed possible at the time!
One thing I did learn (and hadn't realised I did not know) was that real life is not like war films or history books, in that no one knows who will win in any situation (think of the film about the battle of Britain here...The viewer would know the outcome before the film commenced).
I have realised my typing has deteriorated into rambling, as l like many others I suspect, are thrown back into our own memories by Bats post.
God bless all fallen soldier/sailors/airmen from past conflicts, and a prayer for ALL forces serving in the name of freedom right now, wherever they they be.
When, on Remembrance Day, each year you pay your respects to those who gave their all, be it on parade or in the privacy of your home, you naturally give special thought to crews you knew and who didn't make it. It is the one time in the year when maybe you pull out the old log book and album.....and remember. So many faces.....so many names.....men, just like you, full of hopes and ideals; men who died never to feel a furrowed brow, a thinning head of hair, never to know the joy of their children's laughter; men, once a fine balance of sinew and bone, muscle and blood; men who talked and laughed, thought and wondered and were afraid. All the memorials in the world cannot recapture their spirit, their gaiety, their courage and their unselfishness.
From the J. Batchelor Collection and published in Lancaster at War Bk 3
I am one of the comparatively few still alive who witnessed the above.
I recall some years ago visiting a USAAF Memorial near Madingley, Cambridge (just off the M11) and reading the Visitors Book.
Page after page of comments you would expect and then I turned a page and read the following:
'Just came back to say hello to the rest of my crew'.
That statement stopped me in my tracks and brought a flood of tears to my eyes, so much so I had to stop reading.
We must remember and continue to do so. I even had my three year old daughter once playing sleeping lions to ensure the house was silent for those two minutes watching The Cenotaph. It worked!
Was privileged to meet yesterday morning an 88 year old gentleman who joined the RAF at the outbreak of WW2, was sent to the USA to learn to fly, then spent the rest of the war in Bomber Command. Whitleys initially, then Halifaxes. Said the Halifax was much better than the Lanc: if you crash-landed, you had a 50% chance of walking away from the wreckage, whereas it was only 25% for the Lanc! He and his tail-gunner are the last survivors of his crew.
When asked if he regretted there not being a Bomber Command medal, he said not at all - in fact, he still felt uncomfortable at the thought of how many people he had killed or maimed by his actions. Later, he said that when they had bombed the R & D establishment at Peenemunde, they had done so much damage that it delayed the V1 and V2 attacks on London by 6 months and saved thousands of lives. I asked if that didn't compensate for the lives he had had to destroy, in a good cause? His reply: not really.
He also commented that he had bombed Berlin 6 times. "Two hours flying across Germany to get there, then two hours back across Germany on the way home, with everything they had being thrown at you: flak, searchlights, night fighters."
He remarked that when Bomber Command was asked to release aircraft to drop paratroops into Normandy on D-Day, "Bomber" Harris was very reluctant. "Paratroops don't explode when they land!"
I felt very humble. Please remember those who were less lucky than him and all who have given their lives in the cause of freedom on November 11th.
My thoughts will be with those, past and present, who have paid the ultimate sacrifice for their country at the 11th hour of the 11th day; and, of course, on the Sunday prior to that.
Incidentally, isn't Claude Scholes, a veteran of the Great War, not still alive and well in Australia?
Duncs
Last edited by Duncan D'Sorderlee : 28th October 2009 at 03:15.
Reason: spooling
The most moving words I pasted earlier were of course not mine; I'm not literate enough to produce such a thought provoking piece in such an eloquent style. The words however, whoever the author, are particularly fitting at present.
My dad never spoke much about his war. More people are "involved" these days, but with the advent of embedded correspondents, war films and computer games, many people are a bit de-sensitized. Sadly, many just don't THINK.
That's why Wootton Bassett, poppies, and films like the opening of 'Saving Private Ryan' actually matter.
Take care all those in harm's way, and indeed, all those that aren't but have someone who is - I always thought that was harder.
As a very minor elected politician in the North East of Scotland one of the more pleasurable duties I have to perform is to represent my Council at Remembrance Day services within my ward.
I represent a largely rural area and there are three churches which are attended to by the same minister. It's been our habit to run the first service from 10-11, a quick dash by car to the next service at 11 followed by the same for the last service at 12 noon. After that it's become customary for us to repair to his house for a small dram, where my wife will collect me and pour me into the car at some time dark o'clock.
Two of these congregations are now very small and getting smaller each year. There are few young families in them and they'll eventually have to close and merge with their neighbours. Most of the people there will have lived through the war and undoubtedly have their memories.
At these two churches my wreath is the only one that is laid at their memorial (at the third we at least have wreaths from the British Legion, Boys Brigade and Scouts). The services are frequently bleak and cold and lonely, the winter sun doesn't get up very high or very early in this part of the world. However, I've always thought it important to put on a good show for them. My suit is clean and pressed, my shoes immaculate, I'll even get a fresh haircut. I figure it's the least I can do, for them and the ones they remember.
Although I didn't serve myself my Father did. On Remembrance Sunday I carry his medals in my pocket to also remember him as he's no longer here.
So, rambling over, echo all the comments thus far in this thread, happy to add my tuppence worth and, as has been said so many times before, Lest we Forget.
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