We will remember them

A couple of years ago my grandfather passed away. He was the most peaceable, sweetest man I have ever known. I remember, at some young age, finally making a connection between the old WW2 films I grew up watching and the old man sitting in his armchair, pipe in hand.
"Grandad were you in the war?", I asked with enthusiasm. "Oh yes," he said, tugged gently on his pipe and smiled sadly. There were few seconds of silence as he seemed to go to another place, a place filled with loss and adventure. I went to another place too, a place of square jawed movie heroes and comic idols dispatching evil Nazis with lines like "take that, fritz!". The sense of righteous justice and and judgement. And vengeance.

Our conversation resumed around what he did in the war. Grandad was happy to chat about flying (he was a navigator) and we talked for a moment or two and then I realised that this was real. That he was really there, in the land of comics and films. Rather too excitedly I blurted out,

"Oh grandad did you ever kill anybody?!"

My grandfathers sweet face clouded over instantly. The sunshine gone, the look was thunder. He said nothing. If my young eyes had been attuned I am sure now that I would have noticed the eyes that I never saw crying, not even when his wife passed away, fill a little. The conversation was over.

I didnt ask him about the war again until he was lying in the bed that he would die in, a few weeks after our last conversation on this subject. That was the impact of his reaction to my childish bloodlust. 30 yrs of silence. I daren't ever produce that reaction in him again.

My grandfather did not directly kill anyone, to my knowledge. The "walrus" sea plane he flew in was primarily there in an anti submarine capacity. I suspect that his sightings of periscopes led directly to the deaths of every man in some of those U boats. There were German children and grandchildren who would never be having conversations with their fathers and Grandfathers directly because of what he did. My grandad, a life long Methodist, and a deeply caring man, a man who in his 70's was out delivering meals on wheels to the "elderly", could never, ever make light of that. His own brother was killed in an incident which would these days be termed "blue on blue" as the American forces bombed, what turned out to be, a Japanese POW ship.

War it seems is sometimes necessary but it is an odious task that peaceable men like my grandad would never take relish in.

I am reminded today that my freedom comes with a price. That men, ordinary men like my grandad fought, bled and died for us. That every day we enjoy in freedom is a tribute to them, whether we acknowledge it or not. This is their reward, like a parent who has done their job by doing themselves out of a job. My grandad was ever grateful to stay in the background, with out any credit. A humble, decent man who did his duty without flinching, without asking for accolade. I often forget his sizable contribution to my life, both in a national and personal sense. I am happy and carefree and he would see that as a reward in itself.

I am loathe to turn this into anything spiritual, I have no agenda other than honouring the fallen today but I cant help but draw the Christ comparisons of a man of peace, who laid down his life for me so I may live in the benefit of his sacrifice with comparatively little acknowledgement. I honor him too . And my grandad, a brother in my faith, I feel would believe it is fitting to do so. To all those who sacrificed innocence and freedom and, for some their very lives, today "we will remember them".