As far as I know, our family was not that affected by World War 2. We lived in Toronto, Ontario. Our Mother and Father were born in the 1930s and were children during World War 2. Neither of our grandparents were in the military at that point. I became curious at one point, and I asked our parents about their memories.
My mother told us a few: One of her father’s best friends was killed in the war. Our Uncle Pip (Philip), who was 8 when I was born, was named after him. The same name was given to our brother as his second name many years later.
One day when my mother was in grade school, her teacher came in smiling. This was a teacher she hadn’t liked very much, but that day the teacher was beaming. “The war is over!” , she announced, and she was crying. My mom wondered then if that teacher had a boyfriend overseas, and that was why she had been so grumpy.
The other memory was a happy one too. Her Uncle Lorne was a Doctor in the army and went overseas. When the armed forces were disbanded in Toronto, families went to the CNE (Canadian National Exhibition). My Mom went with her family. They were all sitting in the bleachers along with hundred’s of other families, waiting a long time for the soldiers. The soldiers suddenly marched in in formation, saluted and were dismissed. They all rushed off in different directions, looking for their families. One man ran in their direction. He jumped over the fence and ran up the stairs. He grabbed her and swung her up. It was Uncle Lorne.
Our Mom told this story to a Memory Group she was in as a Senior, and the story was published in a booklet with a poem Uncle Lorne had written at the time. I put it below as it gives us a look into how some people from that time were thinking.
My father could only remember one thing (that he told me). Coconuts and pineapples were no longer available, as they were shipped to Canada from the East. His mother put both those foods in her baking, and he missed them dreadfully.
These seem like such small memories, given everything going on in the world at that time. There was enormous turmoil going on around the world, and dreadful tragedies, but they were children and this is what I remember them telling me.
The Torch, by Lorne C. Dickson
The torch you passed to us from dying hands
Now sheds its light of freedom in the lands
Where tyrant was triumphant for a time,
And military might the only sign
To which man kneeled —the crooked cross.
Faith broken, sleep disturbed, aye well it might
To see the world so twisted in its plight
Of darkness and of bondage, yet the light
Not totally extinguished, flared up in men’s hearts
Through blood and sweat and tears, unending pain of effort for the right.
Now hear this oath of ours ye newly dead
Before Golgotha’s hill where once was shed
The blood of him who died that all might live
In dignity and justice —Ye have not died in vain
The upward fight goes on; men see the light
That shines for all who raise their eyes to see
Salvations sign — The Cross of Calvary.
I was very touched by the poem. Thank you for sharing it.
I love the part where the soldiers are dismissed and your Mom sees the man running towards them and recognizes her uncle. One of the joys for me of teaching writing was the times, not common with second language writers, when an image or description broke through the language confusion and would be so good, It would sing. One of the things I’m noting in some of these pieces is how movement in a story gives it dynamics. In yours – the emotion of that moment of the soldiers leaving the formation and running towards their families’ in Radiance’s writing – the humour of the boy and sheep chasing each other back and forth; in mine, the feeling of surprise and a little fear as the crowd surges down the hill towards the station. I enjoyed teaching the basics of short story analysis too, but these examples have made me more aware of the power of physical movement in a story.