Brooksie
New member
I hope this more impactful as this is a recount of my own personal life experiences that led to my D-Day remembrance. Here goes.
I am now 62 years old. As a lad of 10 in the winter of 1967-68, I came to the supper table one night to hear my dad tell me and my 5 brothers "Boys, your mother and I have something to tell you. Later this spring, we are moving to Europe". After we all dropped our spoons in our soup bowls, we collectively said "Whaaat?"
Dad went on to explain the plan was Firestone was moving the family to London for a 2 year assignment, then move to Rome for a year's assignment . So in April of 1968, we jetted of to London. It was an experience that I loved. This British people were so welcoming to us. We settled in Richmond (a SW suburb of London).
We made very good friends with an elderly widow across the street. One of the vivid memories I still have is the pain on Mrs. Seeley's face when anyone mentioned the Second World War. For the first time in our lives, we were talking with someone who actually lived through those horrible experiences on her home soil. And they were still relatively fresh in her mind, as that war had just ended less than 25 years ago.
FF to 1970 - Dad's assignment in England was ending soon, but we were going to take one more vacation to the continent before moving to Italy. So, we drove to Dover (on the shores of the Channel). There we entered onto a new fangled type of transport. We were ready to depart, and we feel the passenger chamber being lifted as a big balloon inflated below us. Yes, it was the Hovercraft. It really was a cool way to cross the Channel. Anyway, we disembarked in France in the mid afternoon.
A coworker of Dad's from the Local Firestone facility met us and joined us for lunch at a local cafe. He leaned over during lunch to my dad and said, "Tom - you have six sons. Take advantage of of the opportunity while you are here and visit the Allied cemeteries."
So, we did. Even as a not-yet-wet-behind-the-eaars-12-year-old, I sensed something was very different as we walked onto the soil there. I knew we wre walking on sacred ground. It was surreal. The only other time I have felt that was when I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington 30 years later.
But this was the scene I remember on that afternoon in France. No matter which way you looked, plain white crosses buried into the horizon.
It hit me then that these weren't just crosses, these were young kids who maybe didn't understand at the time, but gave their lives so we could have a world free from Nazi terrorism.
The Greatest Sacrifice from The Greatest Generation.
I am now 62 years old. As a lad of 10 in the winter of 1967-68, I came to the supper table one night to hear my dad tell me and my 5 brothers "Boys, your mother and I have something to tell you. Later this spring, we are moving to Europe". After we all dropped our spoons in our soup bowls, we collectively said "Whaaat?"
Dad went on to explain the plan was Firestone was moving the family to London for a 2 year assignment, then move to Rome for a year's assignment . So in April of 1968, we jetted of to London. It was an experience that I loved. This British people were so welcoming to us. We settled in Richmond (a SW suburb of London).
We made very good friends with an elderly widow across the street. One of the vivid memories I still have is the pain on Mrs. Seeley's face when anyone mentioned the Second World War. For the first time in our lives, we were talking with someone who actually lived through those horrible experiences on her home soil. And they were still relatively fresh in her mind, as that war had just ended less than 25 years ago.
FF to 1970 - Dad's assignment in England was ending soon, but we were going to take one more vacation to the continent before moving to Italy. So, we drove to Dover (on the shores of the Channel). There we entered onto a new fangled type of transport. We were ready to depart, and we feel the passenger chamber being lifted as a big balloon inflated below us. Yes, it was the Hovercraft. It really was a cool way to cross the Channel. Anyway, we disembarked in France in the mid afternoon.
A coworker of Dad's from the Local Firestone facility met us and joined us for lunch at a local cafe. He leaned over during lunch to my dad and said, "Tom - you have six sons. Take advantage of of the opportunity while you are here and visit the Allied cemeteries."
So, we did. Even as a not-yet-wet-behind-the-eaars-12-year-old, I sensed something was very different as we walked onto the soil there. I knew we wre walking on sacred ground. It was surreal. The only other time I have felt that was when I visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington 30 years later.
But this was the scene I remember on that afternoon in France. No matter which way you looked, plain white crosses buried into the horizon.
It hit me then that these weren't just crosses, these were young kids who maybe didn't understand at the time, but gave their lives so we could have a world free from Nazi terrorism.
The Greatest Sacrifice from The Greatest Generation.
