Dad never said much about the war when he came back.
There was a well known RAF helicopter pilot in the 1970, Alex Tarwid. His father was a Count and was in charge of the Polish railway system when Germany invaded Poland. Alex was high borne and was an officer in the Polish cavalry. They didn't do very well against the Panzers and eventually after being routed he trekked through Russia and Persia and joined the Royal Air Force.
He married a charming British girl and stayed with the RAF after the war; which was probably just as well. He never talked about the invasion of Poland; possibly through shame or other reasons. He was good at explaining the sign language for operating undercarriages, flaps etc. but never described what happened during that period.
I don't know whether he is still alive, I hope he is, but what a story he could tell.
He married a charming British girl and stayed with the RAF after the war; which was probably just as well. He never talked about the invasion of Poland; possibly through shame or other reasons. He was good at explaining the sign language for operating undercarriages, flaps etc. but never described what happened during that period.
I don't know whether he is still alive, I hope he is, but what a story he could tell.
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Boy From Brazil (your #33),
Thank you for a most generous offer ! But I'll wait until the release date, if you don't mind, before PM - ing you my address. Reason ? - I might not be here then, but nattering with Cliff Leach and Reg Levy et al (I hope), and my relicts may not welcome posthumous gifts !
Danny.
Thank you for a most generous offer ! But I'll wait until the release date, if you don't mind, before PM - ing you my address. Reason ? - I might not be here then, but nattering with Cliff Leach and Reg Levy et al (I hope), and my relicts may not welcome posthumous gifts !
Danny.
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My Grandfather was a Methodist minister before he went off to WWI to do his spiritual job for the troops. When he came back he left the church saying 'There is no God.' When anyone ever asked him about WWI his answer was always the same. 'There is no God.' That was all he ever had to say about WWI.
My Uncle Al was a Sherman flail tank driver; he landed on D Day and fought in every major battle up until Bastogne when his tank was hit, he was the only survivor although badly burned. He never talked about his time in the war except to his wife, my Aunt Maj who was a WAAF driver at Elvington during the war, used to drive the crews out to the bombers, she is still with us and bright as a button.
On the other hand my Uncle Roy who fought with the RA in Italy on Auster spotters would talk the hind legs off a donkey. He was a quiet man generally but all you had to do was mention something like 'When were the Anzio landings, I can't remember' and he would look into the distance and talk for hours.
Different folks, different strokes I suppose.
My Uncle Al was a Sherman flail tank driver; he landed on D Day and fought in every major battle up until Bastogne when his tank was hit, he was the only survivor although badly burned. He never talked about his time in the war except to his wife, my Aunt Maj who was a WAAF driver at Elvington during the war, used to drive the crews out to the bombers, she is still with us and bright as a button.
On the other hand my Uncle Roy who fought with the RA in Italy on Auster spotters would talk the hind legs off a donkey. He was a quiet man generally but all you had to do was mention something like 'When were the Anzio landings, I can't remember' and he would look into the distance and talk for hours.
Different folks, different strokes I suppose.
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Molemot,
When you first mentioned
These would have been the "Comptometers" which were in use in those days. But I immediately thought "Ultra", only to find that you have the story, later on, of the Post Office engineer who put into practice Turing's momentous ideas.
"Colossus" played a major part in winning the war, and one of the most wonderful things in the whole "Ultra" story was that German Intelligence, right to the end, could never accept that "Enigma" could be broken (and indeed the full story was not made public here for fifty (?) years).
Danny.
When you first mentioned
...My father was involved with radar and so forth in WW2; he was, to start with, a Calculator Maintenance Engineer..
"Colossus" played a major part in winning the war, and one of the most wonderful things in the whole "Ultra" story was that German Intelligence, right to the end, could never accept that "Enigma" could be broken (and indeed the full story was not made public here for fifty (?) years).
Danny.
My father also would not talk about WW11. After he passed away I did ask mum some questions, all she would tell me that he was in the first column to drive into Belsen after the Germans had departed. She said he was horrified by what he saw.
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My dad was in the RA in Burma during WWII. He didn't say much but one thing he did say was, 'Why were Germans captured by the allies called German prisoners of war, while allied troops captured by the Japenese called Japenese prisoners of war. We never took any Japenese prisoners.'
Very touched by everything I have read here, started so eloquently - as ever - by Danny.
As punctuation to Don T's interesting post, from Service records seen in the Naval Secretary's Office, the formal expression was "Prisoner of War in German/Japanese hands".
Jack
As punctuation to Don T's interesting post, from Service records seen in the Naval Secretary's Office, the formal expression was "Prisoner of War in German/Japanese hands".
Jack
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My experience is that it depends on what type of memory it was. My father was Army and was in India before WWII broke out. He would often talk about pre-war India and any enjoyable experiences during the war. This included being transferred to the Middle East and finding a book shop in Cairo which sold English language books and had an excellent section on classical music. However, he would most definitely not talk about the actions he had been in.
When I was eleven years old we moved and our new next door neighbour turned out to have been a sergeant in my father's regiment. Naturally they reminisced about old times and I could, by keeping out of sight and eavesdropping, hear some of the tales. It was noticeable that when I, my sister or the sergeants’ daughters were present they both stopped reminiscing and changed the subject.
I also noticed this trait in other relatives. When I was younger it used to frustrate me that my grandfathers, uncles, aunts and parents would not talk about their experiences. There was a wealth memory that has been lost from WWI in Europe, the Middle East, Asia and Africa to post WWII in the same areas (including an Uncle on the Russian Convoys). Now I am older I think that I understand. It really is the shared experience that makes you want to talk. Sometimes the reality can only be expressed if you already know what happened.
When I was eleven years old we moved and our new next door neighbour turned out to have been a sergeant in my father's regiment. Naturally they reminisced about old times and I could, by keeping out of sight and eavesdropping, hear some of the tales. It was noticeable that when I, my sister or the sergeants’ daughters were present they both stopped reminiscing and changed the subject.
I also noticed this trait in other relatives. When I was younger it used to frustrate me that my grandfathers, uncles, aunts and parents would not talk about their experiences. There was a wealth memory that has been lost from WWI in Europe, the Middle East, Asia and Africa to post WWII in the same areas (including an Uncle on the Russian Convoys). Now I am older I think that I understand. It really is the shared experience that makes you want to talk. Sometimes the reality can only be expressed if you already know what happened.
Gentleman Aviator
Wander00
Likewise but for NW London read SE.
Rarely if ever spoke about the hard stuff, but frequently about the banter and fun - which there also was much of. A number of his wartime mates subsequently worked for him full- or part-time in his (radio and television) shop, including one who remained in the Fire Brigade post-war and rose to become a Divisional Officer, (London by then had 10 or 11 divisions, so he was fairly high up) but still worked on some Saturdays in the shop.
One thing he did mention - chillingly - was at the time of some post-earthquake rescue news report. He said that often when digging out bodies from the rubble, fingers were literally worn away in futile attempts to dig their way out after being buried alive........
Fareeastdriver Flew with Tarwid on a number of occasions but never knew that bit of background. Haven't heard of his demise - would kind of expect to - but (after quick check of old Retired List), he would now be 94.
Not impossible to still be around at that age - ask Danny!
My Dad was in the Fire Service in NW London, but spent much of 1940 and 1941 in Central London and the City.
Rarely if ever spoke about the hard stuff, but frequently about the banter and fun - which there also was much of. A number of his wartime mates subsequently worked for him full- or part-time in his (radio and television) shop, including one who remained in the Fire Brigade post-war and rose to become a Divisional Officer, (London by then had 10 or 11 divisions, so he was fairly high up) but still worked on some Saturdays in the shop.
One thing he did mention - chillingly - was at the time of some post-earthquake rescue news report. He said that often when digging out bodies from the rubble, fingers were literally worn away in futile attempts to dig their way out after being buried alive........
Fareeastdriver Flew with Tarwid on a number of occasions but never knew that bit of background. Haven't heard of his demise - would kind of expect to - but (after quick check of old Retired List), he would now be 94.
Not impossible to still be around at that age - ask Danny!
TTH - I have a couple of books that might interest you, I will dig them out and let you have the titles. I also have one or two wartime publications, to replace those at home when I was a child and subsequently disappeared - one has the picture on the cover of firemen going up house stairs with a hose, that was also used on the collecting stockings for the Fire Service Benevolent Fund. The original painting was by a fellow member of Dad's crew.
The night the City Temple was bombed Dad and Ernest Lough were on the same crew. The City Temple was where as a boy Ernest Lough recorded "Oh for the Wings of a Dove". Down in the FI in 86 opening Mt Pleasant there were 3 of us RAF officers at MPA; the boss was a wg cdr nav from Lyneham.One day amongst the dross on the radio (FIBS) came Ernest Lough. I made some comment about Dad and EL having been on the same crew that night in 1941. "In that case" said the boss, "that night your Dad and mine were on the same crew!" BIG silence.
The night the City Temple was bombed Dad and Ernest Lough were on the same crew. The City Temple was where as a boy Ernest Lough recorded "Oh for the Wings of a Dove". Down in the FI in 86 opening Mt Pleasant there were 3 of us RAF officers at MPA; the boss was a wg cdr nav from Lyneham.One day amongst the dross on the radio (FIBS) came Ernest Lough. I made some comment about Dad and EL having been on the same crew that night in 1941. "In that case" said the boss, "that night your Dad and mine were on the same crew!" BIG silence.
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Calculator Maintenance Engineer...C.M.E
Danny...
These beasts weren't general purpose calculators... they were made from the same sort of electromechanical switching gear that the GPO used in automatic telephony...uniselectors and so forth. Dad being a Post Office technician.... People with these skills were needed to maintain these calculating devices. It was a special deal...he joined on a Monday and was a Corporal by Friday!! Radar gave the range and elevation of the target, and the calculator converted this to the relevant map square on the plotting table, in real time. It's only in the past decade or so I found out what it was he was dealing with!
These beasts weren't general purpose calculators... they were made from the same sort of electromechanical switching gear that the GPO used in automatic telephony...uniselectors and so forth. Dad being a Post Office technician.... People with these skills were needed to maintain these calculating devices. It was a special deal...he joined on a Monday and was a Corporal by Friday!! Radar gave the range and elevation of the target, and the calculator converted this to the relevant map square on the plotting table, in real time. It's only in the past decade or so I found out what it was he was dealing with!
What an excellent thread, on a subject close to my heart.
My father had two cousins, both of whom served as aircrew in RAF Bomber Command during WW2. One, Albert, was a rear gunner, and an only child. He was killed on his 4th operational sortie at the age of 23 in 1944. The other, Eric, was a wireless operator, who completed several operational tours and survived the war. He then returned to his peacetime occupation of banking.
Thus was the overall aircrew casualty rate in Bomber Command (roughly 50%) reflected in our family.
I knew Eric in his later years. He lived alone and was a somewhat reserved but very pleasant man. I well remember my father and I visiting the RAF Museum at Hendon with him; I was a young boy fascinated (obsessed?) by aviation and such a trip was very exciting for me. I could not understand why Eric should not be equally pleased to come with us and tell me all about the aircraft in which he had spent what I assumed must have been the high points of his life. In fact, as I remember it he almost had to be persuaded to join us, and seemed rather withdrawn during the visit. It became clear, even to a youngster, that Eric had very mixed feelings about anything associated with his time in the RAF and I grew up assuming that he was trying to expunge his memories. I respected his position and avoided raising the subject with him, even after going on to become an RAF pilot myself.
Eric died some years ago and, such is the way of things, I realised too late how little I knew of his life. Talking to my father and aunt, I learned that Eric had talked little of his wartime experiences. However, he had confided in them how hard the loss of his cousin had been and that every single morning thereafter he had given thanks for another day of life.
After his funeral my father and I helped to sort out Eric's possessions, of which there were few. However, to our great surprise, hidden well away on top of a wardrobe we found his leather flying helmet, oxygen mask, flying gloves and 'chip bag' uniform hat. He must have 'retained' them on being demobbed. I have them still, along with his logbooks. He had made numerous notes in the latter, with additional details of notable sorties and some very human and personal memories. Some of them were eye-watering, in both possible senses of that expression...
I think many have great difficulty reconciling a desire to talk about experiences with an equal desire to respect those who died. Eric's solution seems to have been to preserve his own memories with pride but great discretion, in a very personal way.
My father had two cousins, both of whom served as aircrew in RAF Bomber Command during WW2. One, Albert, was a rear gunner, and an only child. He was killed on his 4th operational sortie at the age of 23 in 1944. The other, Eric, was a wireless operator, who completed several operational tours and survived the war. He then returned to his peacetime occupation of banking.
Thus was the overall aircrew casualty rate in Bomber Command (roughly 50%) reflected in our family.
I knew Eric in his later years. He lived alone and was a somewhat reserved but very pleasant man. I well remember my father and I visiting the RAF Museum at Hendon with him; I was a young boy fascinated (obsessed?) by aviation and such a trip was very exciting for me. I could not understand why Eric should not be equally pleased to come with us and tell me all about the aircraft in which he had spent what I assumed must have been the high points of his life. In fact, as I remember it he almost had to be persuaded to join us, and seemed rather withdrawn during the visit. It became clear, even to a youngster, that Eric had very mixed feelings about anything associated with his time in the RAF and I grew up assuming that he was trying to expunge his memories. I respected his position and avoided raising the subject with him, even after going on to become an RAF pilot myself.
Eric died some years ago and, such is the way of things, I realised too late how little I knew of his life. Talking to my father and aunt, I learned that Eric had talked little of his wartime experiences. However, he had confided in them how hard the loss of his cousin had been and that every single morning thereafter he had given thanks for another day of life.
After his funeral my father and I helped to sort out Eric's possessions, of which there were few. However, to our great surprise, hidden well away on top of a wardrobe we found his leather flying helmet, oxygen mask, flying gloves and 'chip bag' uniform hat. He must have 'retained' them on being demobbed. I have them still, along with his logbooks. He had made numerous notes in the latter, with additional details of notable sorties and some very human and personal memories. Some of them were eye-watering, in both possible senses of that expression...
I think many have great difficulty reconciling a desire to talk about experiences with an equal desire to respect those who died. Eric's solution seems to have been to preserve his own memories with pride but great discretion, in a very personal way.
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My brother and I were Air Force, but my father was an Army officer who, despite being Artillery, spent most of his time in a jeep with a big machine gun behind enemy "lines" (actually non-existent). I got virtually nothing out of him other than overhearing one story of his duelling with a disabled enemy submarine which had a much bigger deck gun than his. I also overheard that his brother was killed not by the Germans but by the Americans attacking our lines in the night. Apart from that - nothing. My elder brother who was in Korea and Malaysia - he installed a very un-official gun camera behind the pilot's seat for unofficial footage - got some beautiful shots of dumb rockets heading for a target which was almost above the level of the attacking aircraft.
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Blue on Blue.
Royalistflyer (your #54),
Combined Operations ? What a story is here !
Blue on blue. There has never been a war in which this has not happened - and never will be. Sad but unavoidable.
Danny.
...My father was an Army officer who, despite being Artillery, spent most of his time in a jeep with a big machine gun behind enemy "lines" (actually non-existent). I got virtually nothing out of him other than overhearing one story of his duelling with a disabled enemy submarine which had a much bigger deck gun than his...
... I also overheard that his brother was killed not by the Germans but by the Americans attacking our lines in the night...
Danny.
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Come on in, the water's fine !
ExV238 (your #52)
Thank you !
May I point you to the best Thread of all (IMHO) on ths Forum - the "Pilot's Brevet in WWII", of course - and respectfully suggest that, if you have the time, you might edit Eric's memoirs and Post them there.
They will be eagerly mulled over and commented on by a knowledgeable and friendly group of old and not-so-old veterans, who "speak his language" and remember how it was and why. I'm sure Eric would approve, and in this way you would do him lasting honour.
Just a thought,
Danny42C.
...What an excellent thread, on a subject close to my heart...
...I have them still, along with his logbooks. He had made numerous notes in the latter, with additional details of notable sorties and some very human and personal memories. Some of them were eye-watering, in both possible senses of that expression...
They will be eagerly mulled over and commented on by a knowledgeable and friendly group of old and not-so-old veterans, who "speak his language" and remember how it was and why. I'm sure Eric would approve, and in this way you would do him lasting honour.
Just a thought,
Danny42C.
My dad was one of the early combatants in WWII on the American side. He had belonged to a National Guard unit prior to the Pearl Harbor attack and so was almost immediately mobilized. He was shipped to the South Pacific mid-1942, and landed on Guadalcanal in early November 1942. He remained in theater until 1946, saw action on Guadalcanal, New Guiney, and the Philippines before becoming part of the occupation force in Japan after the surrender. During his time in occupied Japan he got a 'dear John' letter (I guess in his case it was a 'dear Joe' 
). He was introduced to my mom shortly after his return to the US while still 'on the rebound' - something I didn't find out about until I was an adult but helped explain much of the friction in their marriage while I was a kid .
He didn't talk about his WWII experience much, with a few notable exceptions. He was wounded on Guadalcanal in 1942 on US Thanksgiving day - and he repeated this story every year on Thanksgiving when I was a kid. Short version, he was supposed to relieve a buddy at a forward observation post. Before he was going to head out, his buddy radioed in that he was already there, and my dad was already at his buddy's next assignment, so they should swap assignments and just say where they where and my dad concurred. Shortly thereafter, a mortar shell landed in my dad's foxhole - he got a piece of shrapnel in his neck, the other three guys in the foxhole were much more seriously wounded (one lost his foot). While my dad was in the field hospital, feeling sorry for himself since he wasn't supposed to be in that foxhole, he found out an artillery round had fallen short and landed on the outpost he was supposed to be manning, killing everyone. Sort of added a new dimension to 'Thanksgiving'.
On Guadalcanal, my dad had been the company intelligence officer - which meant he was allowed to have a camera, and he had a photo album from his time on Guadalcanal. He liked to sit down with us kids and go through it - talking about those dark but memorable days.
Some of it was hard for a child to listen to or appreciate - such as 'this was my buddy Bob- he was killed by a Jap sniper the day after this was taken'
. As I got older, I was better able to appreciate what he'd gone through, and became very interested in WWII history, especially with regard to the Pacific theater.
I always wonder about people who say, given the chance to live their life again, they'd not change a single thing
- really, never a decision they regretted? One of my biggest was right before my dad died, we'd traveled to a family reunion. My dad had sat down with one of my cousins to go through that Guadalcanal photo album (that cousin had lost an uncle on the other family tree in one of the sea battles around Guadalcanal). My mom asked me if I'd like to listen in and I responded to the effect of 'I'd heard it before' and went back to the magazine I was reading - it never occurred to me that might be the last chance I'd ever have to hear it (he was in apparently good health and 'only' 70). That night he had a severe asthma attack, stopped breathing, and went into a coma - 48 hours later he was dead
Post war, my had dad kept in touch with several of his military buddies, and regularly went to the reunions. I have a memory of one visiting us at our house - the guy had lost a leg to a land mine - and they spent many hours talking alone on the back porch (another regret - I wish I'd listened in)
One of my more interesting memories is, back in the mid-1980s, I'd read a book about the history of war. One thing claimed in the book was that researchers had discovered that well over half of the soldiers in WWII (all sides) were sufficiently adverse to killing that they either didn't fire their weapons, or intentionally fired to not hit anyone. I thought this rather hard to believe so I asked my dad about it. His response was strange - along the line of 'that's a very interesting claim'. I got the very distinct feeling it was something he really didn't want to talk about. Knowing my dad, I find it hard to believe that it applied directly to him (for most my life, he'd hated the Japanese with a passion - I don't recall him ever referring to anyone Japanese as other than a disgusted "Jap" - in fact I knew 20 years before their bankruptcy that General Motors was in trouble when he - a lifelong GM guy - bought my mom a Subaru) but maybe he knew it applied to fellow soldiers.
). He was introduced to my mom shortly after his return to the US while still 'on the rebound' - something I didn't find out about until I was an adult but helped explain much of the friction in their marriage while I was a kid .He didn't talk about his WWII experience much, with a few notable exceptions. He was wounded on Guadalcanal in 1942 on US Thanksgiving day - and he repeated this story every year on Thanksgiving when I was a kid. Short version, he was supposed to relieve a buddy at a forward observation post. Before he was going to head out, his buddy radioed in that he was already there, and my dad was already at his buddy's next assignment, so they should swap assignments and just say where they where and my dad concurred. Shortly thereafter, a mortar shell landed in my dad's foxhole - he got a piece of shrapnel in his neck, the other three guys in the foxhole were much more seriously wounded (one lost his foot). While my dad was in the field hospital, feeling sorry for himself since he wasn't supposed to be in that foxhole, he found out an artillery round had fallen short and landed on the outpost he was supposed to be manning, killing everyone. Sort of added a new dimension to 'Thanksgiving'.
On Guadalcanal, my dad had been the company intelligence officer - which meant he was allowed to have a camera, and he had a photo album from his time on Guadalcanal. He liked to sit down with us kids and go through it - talking about those dark but memorable days.
Some of it was hard for a child to listen to or appreciate - such as 'this was my buddy Bob- he was killed by a Jap sniper the day after this was taken'
. As I got older, I was better able to appreciate what he'd gone through, and became very interested in WWII history, especially with regard to the Pacific theater. I always wonder about people who say, given the chance to live their life again, they'd not change a single thing
- really, never a decision they regretted? One of my biggest was right before my dad died, we'd traveled to a family reunion. My dad had sat down with one of my cousins to go through that Guadalcanal photo album (that cousin had lost an uncle on the other family tree in one of the sea battles around Guadalcanal). My mom asked me if I'd like to listen in and I responded to the effect of 'I'd heard it before' and went back to the magazine I was reading - it never occurred to me that might be the last chance I'd ever have to hear it (he was in apparently good health and 'only' 70). That night he had a severe asthma attack, stopped breathing, and went into a coma - 48 hours later he was dead Post war, my had dad kept in touch with several of his military buddies, and regularly went to the reunions. I have a memory of one visiting us at our house - the guy had lost a leg to a land mine - and they spent many hours talking alone on the back porch (another regret - I wish I'd listened in)
One of my more interesting memories is, back in the mid-1980s, I'd read a book about the history of war. One thing claimed in the book was that researchers had discovered that well over half of the soldiers in WWII (all sides) were sufficiently adverse to killing that they either didn't fire their weapons, or intentionally fired to not hit anyone.
I thought this rather hard to believe so I asked my dad about it. His response was strange - along the line of 'that's a very interesting claim'. I got the very distinct feeling it was something he really didn't want to talk about. Knowing my dad, I find it hard to believe that it applied directly to him (for most my life, he'd hated the Japanese with a passion - I don't recall him ever referring to anyone Japanese as other than a disgusted "Jap" - in fact I knew 20 years before their bankruptcy that General Motors was in trouble when he - a lifelong GM guy - bought my mom a Subaru) but maybe he knew it applied to fellow soldiers.
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An excellent thread - thank you Danny. Reading it took me back about ten years. I travelled from Warwickshire to Boston one Sunday to pick up a part for my Riley car. Arriving at a bungalow, the old boy invited me in for a cup of tea. We sat at the kitchen table and talked, no mention of the Riley part. Eventually he started talking of his time as a POW in Japan. Tears began to roll down his cheek. At the end he quietly said 'I have never spoken about that time before'. A friend of mine was the CO of the only unit of L5's that operated in Burma. He would talk about his time in Burma, often saying 'We lived like animals'. Luckily John wanted to talk and I have three hours of him on tape.
My father joined as a regular soldier in 1938 into the Wiltshire Regiment, posted to India, they moved into Burma as soon as the war started, he fought the Japanese as a MMG gunner (Vickers) until his mother was killed in a German bombing raid (Penryn) in 1941 in 1942 he applied to do anything where he could take up the fight against the Germans. He volunteered to join the Parachute Regiment, on completion of his training posted to the 13th Lancashire Bn, he parachuted into Normandy just after midnight on the 6th June, wounded on the 8th. Repatriated and repaired for the Christmas offensive in the Ardennes, Bure included. Back in time for Op Varsity, very badly wounded on the second day, most of his back and shoulder (shrapnel) was missing - it looked like somebody had made a shell scrape out of most of his upper right torso. It fascinated me as a boy watching him shave with a vest on. Recovered to be fit enough to move to SE Asia on VE Day to take up the fight against the Japanese again.
Fantastic father who hardly said a word - he died at 93 a few years ago, in a motorcycle accident and yes he's was driving! Nobody else involved.
RIP Dad xx
Fantastic father who hardly said a word - he died at 93 a few years ago, in a motorcycle accident and yes he's was driving! Nobody else involved.
RIP Dad xx
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Heads up.
There is a fantastic series on Netflix (other on demand sites available!) at the moment called 'The War', a Ken Burns film series of seven ( most about two hours long )which covers the stories of four different US towns and their populations experiences of WWII and directly relates to this thread except they ARE talking. Can't recommend it enough.
There is a fantastic series on Netflix (other on demand sites available!) at the moment called 'The War', a Ken Burns film series of seven ( most about two hours long )which covers the stories of four different US towns and their populations experiences of WWII and directly relates to this thread except they ARE talking. Can't recommend it enough.
Fond memories of Alec Tarwid - aka "the Red Baron". Some of the discussions in the crew-room between him and Tom Pavey would conclude in heated Polish, with one describing the other as a peasant, and the other as a snob. Alec lived for flying and when in his office next to me could be seen heading down the corridor as fast as possible whenever his phone rang. His flying skills were pretty awesome, his briefings brief to say the least and you had to be on your toes to keep up with him - if only to witness him chopping off the back-pack whip aerial of the gunner radioman just ahead of him at Grimes Graves. But he got along just fine with the CO at GAF Fassberg when over a bottle of Highland Cream they reminisced about their WW2 experiences on opposite sides - but to us on the squadron I cannot recollect any memories retold.