Little Things

 

Little Things

Deep inside my closet,

where memories do hide,

I found a box of things,

forgotten and untied.

I pulled the old box down,

and took a look inside,

filled up with little things,

that dad had put aside.

Sorting through the items,

the contents magnified,

the black and white photos,

of days they amplified.

Harder times, World War II,

the smiles that replied,

friends that he grew up with,

and family that since died.

Telegrams of mourning,

from letters days gone by,

written in their weathers,

in answers they provide.

Dog tags worn, ration tins,

postcards, bible, guide,

journal kept, of his time,

always by his side.

Mess hall times, birthing cards,

and stories clarified,

overseas while on ship,

where singing unified.

Soldiers pay book there,

rank identified,

November forty-four,

Lance corporal classified.

A proud Cameron soldier,

with N.C.O. applied,

paid a dollar sixty,

each day it was implied.

Soldiers pay sent back home,

where family did reside,

lost their mum and father,

their deaths unspecified.

Eyes captured little book,

within he did confide,

names of friends and brothers,

those living and who died.

A check mark or an X,

address where they reside,

pledged to see their parents,

the X identified.

When asked about the war,

the answer he replied,

“a chance to see the world,

and duty nationwide.”

Although he may be gone,

some things demystified,

I see his soul in a light,

look back at him with pride.

--------------------------------

SF Brennan

Background: In World War II, my father was an N.C.O. (Non-Commissioned Officer) in the Cameron Highlanders. After 90% of the Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment of Canada) were wiped out by German machine guns at ST. ANDRE-sur-ORNE July 25th, 1944, my father was re-commissioned into the Black Watch to shore up their strength.

My father never talked about the war and would evade any question we had asked him when he was alive. However, years later, after he passed away, my mother gave me a box of his things which included what was left of his possessions from the great depression and world war II era. Sifting through the things he treasured, I found out a lot more about a man who did so much for so many and never once took credit or boasted.

My father sent all his soldiers pay home to help take care of his mother, father and siblings. Of nine children, 5 boys served in the Canadian Army, Navy and Airforce. Three girls and youngest boy (2yrs old) stayed behind.

Just before my father was to depart for the European war theater, he received a telegram from his father on March 17th, 1944 (St. Patrick’s Day) telling him to come home, that his mother had died. (51 years old) His mother’s funeral would be the last time he saw his father, for on July 10th, 1944, his father passed away at the age of 58 years.

During the war, he was paid $1.60 a day, and continued to send all of that pay home to support what remained of his family.

He could not go home for his father’s funeral nor go on leave because he was already deployed in the liberation of France, Belgium and Holland.

When the war ended, my father went to see the parents of his friends and comrades who died during the war, to help them bring closure to their deaths…a very noble gesture and respect that was part of his character.