Remembrance Day 2024

We are at that time of year again, the day we take time from our busy lives to remember. To remember those who served and especially those who gave their lives. It is usually, unsurprisingly, a sombre time, but there is one story I would like to share that always comes to mind for me around this time of year. It is a story of remembrance in more ways than one, and I love its lesson of having pride, humour and defiance in the face of petty ignorance.
Several years after the war, an ex-Bomber Command Flight Engineer was making his living travelling the countryside selling insurance. He made his way from village to town, knocking on doors and talking to people, so he must have been a gregarious sort of fellow. During the war, he had completed two tours of combat operations, but he was on civvy street now and his service counted for nothing. He relied on his wit and “gift of the gab” to sell a product that many had never thought of buying. It must have been a tough job in austere, post-war Britain. On the occasion of our story of ex-bomber boy was in a village near where he had been stationed during the war. He knew the village fairly well, as he and his crewmates would often visit the local pub if they were not flying that day. Now, the young men of Bomber Command had developed a reputation for sometimes “having a good time” when they were not flying, but the British people turned a blind eye to the silliness for the most part. These boys were taking the war to Hitler every night, and had a 1 in 5 chance of going home to their families, as most would either be killed, be seriously wounded or end up in a German P.O.W. camp for years – people forgave them their occasional beer-fueled antics and escapades. Most people that is.
On this day our young salesman knocked on the door and began his patter with the older gentleman who answered the door. As part of the spiel, he mentioned that he had spent time in the village during the war, having been based at the local RAF station.
The man’s demeanour changed and he looked down his nose at our salesman.
“Oh your one of those, are you? By god, I saw what you lads got up to in the High Street after the pubs closed!”
Our ex-bomber boy snapped. Perhaps remembering the horrors of burning Lancasters and burning cities, and recalling countless dead friends and comrades, his brow darkened and he spat back “oh is that right?! Too bloody bad you weren't there to see what we got up to at 18,000 feet over Berlin, you poxy bastard!”
Likely he didn’t make a sale that day...
To close I would like to offer this picture, from the Imperial War Museum. It is a photo of an unknown Bomber Command pilot - the date and place are not known, but that is a Stirling bomber behind him.
I find this photo absolutely haunting. This boy can’t be any more that 21, but his eyes are those of a very old man, a man who has seen too much death and destruction, too much war, too much loss in his life. Did this courageous young man survive? Did he make it home to his family? And if he did was he able to put what he had been through behind him and bring some life back into those eyes?
Lest we forget.