I wrote and posted this essay last November, but wanted to publish it again today lest we forget the price paid, the lives lost, and the continued sacrifice of so many.
My grandfather, Ellis, served in the Canadian Navy during World War II. At some point in the 1940s, his ship was torpedoed; it sank and he floundered in the chilly Atlantic. He survived that attack and the war itself. Sadly, he was unable to defeat the cancer diagnosis that came 18 years later.
I know very little about my grandfather. When my brother was little he saw a picture of Grampie and pointed, saying: Daddy!
My father – in looks at least – was a carbon copy of his father, most notably inheriting his distinctive ears. When my mother looks at pictures of her grandson (my 8-year-old) she often says: You sure can see traces of his grandfather. Especially those ears!
This means, of course, he bears traces of his great-grandfather as well.
After the war, my grandfather settled in Saint John, Canada. He married Evelyn. By the time he died in the 1960s, he left behind four children (and had buried another – her name was Elizabeth). My father, the eldest, was only 15.
From what I gather, he rarely talked about the war. Surely it haunted him. How couldn’t it?
It seems incomprehensible how deeply an entire generation was touched by war. Those on the front lines, of course, but those at home, too. Mothers and sisters and daughters, huddled around their radios listening to crackled voices sharing daily updates. The war impacted everyone…with reverberations felt by the generations that followed.
Those “lucky” ones – the ones that survived – got to come home. My grandfather was a lucky one. War was over.
What would he make of the newsfeed on my phone this morning?
I can’t – and hopefully never will – fully understand what my grandfather experienced. I don’t know if he had nightmares and flashbacks. I don’t know how many friends he lost. Was it dozens? Did his heart default to gratitude for survival, or did that very survival haunt him?
I don’t know how long he was adrift in the ocean or what horrors he experienced (or had to inflict) but this I know – if arms hadn’t reached out to grab him from the Atlantic, I wouldn’t be here today.
Without that rescue, there is no me. No us.
And so, in memory of Grampie Ellis:
We Remember Them by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer
In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.
In the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.
In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.
In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.
Jenny
This is beautiful, Elisabeth! As you said, we can’t even imagine what our war veterans went through. Very unlikely I’ll ever be on a ship that’s torpedoed and have to be pulled out of the ocean. We have easy lives! It’s good to stop and think about what we’re really honoring on Veteran’s Day. Have a wonderful weekend!
Elisabeth
It’s all relative, though it’s horrific to think of what is happening in so many places around the world and even tragedies (on a smaller scale, but that doesn’t lessen the pain for individual families/communities) all around us.
But it’s easy to forget the general level of freedom we enjoy was “won with a price.”
sarah
Love this! My grandpa was also a WWII vet, and my uncle has been digitzing his letters home and emailing them to the family every week– it is a delight. This is a really lovely essay.
Elisabeth
What a delight. We have so little record about my grandfather, though one of my uncles is going through the Canadian military records to piece things together. He was VERY private about what happened and he died in the 60s. I wish I knew more, but I’m sure they would be very painful stories to tell indeed.
Beckett @ Birchwood Pie
It’s mind boggling to think about what people lived through in the early 20th century – WWI, the Depression, WWII – how many people died and how many of us are here because of our particular Veteran survived.
I get the sense that Remembrance Day has much more significance than the US equivalent of Veteran’s Day, which means that we need to step it up on our side of the border.
Elisabeth
Remembrance Day is a beautiful time in Canada. We all wear poppies over our hearts for the first few weeks in November to represent the occasion and the kids always participate in school assemblies and are visited by veterans etc. There are many celebrations today at cenotaphs across the country. I always feel most patriotic on November 11th.
Linda
Hello, Elisabeth and friends,
This is a beautiful post; thank you so much for sharing about your beloved grandfather. Like many Americans, I am one who glosses over our Veteran Day remembrances, too caught up in the present to consider the price paid by our soldiers and their families for our precious freedom. The poem is lovely.
Linda
Tobia | craftaliciousme
I loved it last year and I still love it.
It is amazing what our grandparents survived and never talked about more like shrugged of.
I remember when we were swimming as kids that we would poke grandpas hole in his tummy. A shrapnel hit him. He was in Stalingrad and a doctor declared him to meow wounded than he was. He was transported back and hence surviving Stalingrad. I would not be here.
No matter what war people are fighting the individual in it will never come out a winner with all that trauma they experience. It would be so wonderful if we humans could live in peace together…
Elisabeth
You’re so right – no one every comes out “victorious” because the price is just so high.
J
What a lovely post, thank you for sharing it. War is so horrific, and you are right, affects people so strongly. How I wish we could get past it, and stop killing each other.
I like this segment of a longer poem, especially, an ode to those that do not make it. By Robert Laurence Binyon, written at the start of England’s participation WWI in 1914.
“They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.”
Elisabeth
Poetry on this topic is so rich and multi-faceted; beautiful and yet unbelievably tragic.
Meike
Beautiful Elisabeth! It’s hard to wrap your head around how the war affected so many and how wars still do it to this day. I wish that humanity could stop fighting and would learn how to resolve conflicts peacefully.
Nicole MacPherson
xoxoxo
San
A beautiful tribute to your grandfather
My grandfather was on the front lines of WWII and also survived, never spoke much of the war time (except for when my sister and I, little and unafraid to ask, inquired about his missing leg, which was blown off by a land mine, that he survived. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here either.)
I told you about an old family friend (now 92) whom I skype with regularly. Over time, she shared some stories about being a child during the war. Memories, recounted as if they were someone else’s, but she’s also making references to what she sees on the news today. Sigh. Hard times.
Elisabeth
It’s hard to even imagine the pain so many bottled up inside. The cost of war is so high. I think no speaking about it was a coping mechanism; there was a stigma associated with mental health in that generation. Also, I think there was likely guilt over surviving – to “complain” or “lament” in the midst of being one of those “lucky” ones would have been frowned upon, but it just makes me heart ache to think of them living with so much unprocessed trauma.
Amanda
It is always sobering to pause and reflect on the sacrifice of soldiers, no matter the side they fought on. I doubt I could follow orders as they do, or did.
This is a very worthy tribute.
Elisabeth
Yes – and such an important note about the incredible sacrifices on both sides of any war.
Ernie
What an amazing story. It sure makes you think. War is so senseless. How sweet that your grandpa’s looks have been handed down through the generations. I’m sorry that he died so very young. This is a great essay. Thanks for sharing.
Katherine B
I’ve just been to the 100th anniversary service at our village war memorial clock in rural Lincolnshire England. Maybe 140 people there on a bright chilly morning as the names of the 25 or so villagers killed in the two World Wars who are commemorated on the memorial were read out before the Last Post was played by a bugler. What would the people who gathered there 100 years ago make of the violence and war still afflicting the world today? A very moving morning.
Elisabeth
The Last Post is so poignant; it makes me heart ache every single time I hear it. The atrocities of war ensure there are no winners, even when combat ends.
Lisa’s Yarns
My grandpa also served and my dad was in the navy during Vietnam but didn’t see active warfare thank God. Phil and I have been watching band of brothers this fall and it’s a reminder of the terrors our soldiers have faced.
Kyria @ Travel Spot
Luckily, both of my grandfathers were too young to serve in WWII (born in 33 and 35, I think), but my uncle served as a pilot in the Air Force in Vietnam and he definitely has some stories to tell. I can’t imagine coming back from abroad and trying to go back to your real life afterward, but so many have done it!