Two Stories on the Same Day

[Gardian]

A little story of quite contrasting sides which I read about yesterday.

 

My Dad was an RAF (ground) Radio Op during WWII.  Posted to North Malaya in 1941, he was in the thick of it when the Japanese commenced hostilities on 7^th December. He kept a comprehensive and almost certainly illegal diary during that time, which remains a treasured possession. I re-started the transcription of that diary yesterday, just to ensure that if the diary was ever lost, something would remain.

 

Out of interest, I plugged his Malayan base in to Google and a mass of information came up. On 8^th December, at the very place where my Dad was based, two events occurred.

 

First, a junior British officer attached to the Indian Army was caught “red-handed” sending information by radio to the Japanese. It seems that he was a passed-over and somewhat disaffected individual, who clearly felt his loyalties lay elsewhere. He was arrested, sent to Singapore and summarily executed on the day before the British forces there surrendered in January 1942.

 

Second, the only remaining Blenheim bomber was flown off by its crew and made a ‘token’ attack on the Japanese. The pilot was mortally wounded, but got the airplane & his crew back to the base. He was taken to the local hospital and tended by his wife, who happened to be a nurse there. He died: awarded a posthumous VC.

 

No mention of either of these events in Dad’s diary – he couldn’t have been unaware of either of them though.  He made it out of Malaya and then Java by the skin of his teeth – many of his colleagues didn’t. He ended up in Ceylon and then on a tiny atoll in the middle of the Indian Ocean, radio-oping Catalinas (maritime reconnaissance aircraft which were looking out for the Japanese fleet). Never fired a shot in anger, but it all happened around him.

 

These two contrasting situations have made quite an impression on me: I thought that they might be of interest to others.

[Sunday Driver]

Your Dad's diary is a priceless record what he had to endure during those desperate times.  Good idea to transcribe it in case of loss. 

Mrs Sunday's Dad served as a gunner in the 8th Army during the Italian campaign and it must have been bad because he never, ever spoke about anything that happened there.  He did keep a simple diary and I too have considered transcribing it for posterity's sake, but most of the entries just say 'Bloody raining again today'........

Her Grandad was a captain in the Durham Light Infantry on secondment to the Kings Own African Rifles. He spent the war in Ethiopa as commander of Heili Selassi's royal guard.  When he died, we found a suitcase full of old photographs of him with ceremonial sabre guarding the Emperor (or on safari with his mates) which we offered to the DLI Museum.

 

[PeterG]

[quote user="Sunday Driver"]

Mrs Sunday's Dad served as a gunner in the 8th Army during the Italian campaign and it must have been bad because he never, ever spoke about anything that happened there.  He did keep a simple diary and I too have considered transcribing it for posterity's sake, but most of the entries just say 'Bloody raining again today'........[/quote]

Ditto, my father. He didn't say much either apart from he didn't enjoy the Monte Cassino bit.

[Hoddy]

I have a letter by my great-grandfather written from the Crimea. As other people have said the things in it are mundane. He complains at having to buy his own uniform and describes trying to build a wall around his hut to deflect the very cold wind. I dare say it was sometimes easier to write about the trivia than the awful things that were happening.

Hoddy

[cooperlola]

My father was a navigator on transports - mainly to and from the Levant.  I never went in a 'plane with him but my mother said on the one occasion she did, he could not stop shaking during the entire flight - from which I infer that he had a pretty hairy war also although like so many others he didn't share this with me.

I get quite angry with myself when I think of all the memories that are lost with people when they die.  Good for you for keeping these treasured memories in a form which will last for posterity.[:)]