I had two uncles. One died this year and the other died in 1944.
My uncle Bill flew Spitfires in the blue skies of England and was “one of the few”. He left Canada as an office runner with the Aluminum Company of Canada and returned a decorated Squadron Leader. He earned his D.F.C. the hard way. He was shot down over Germany and managed to “float” over toward the American lines. When the Americans got close to him they yelled “Run for it Limey!” as they were under small arms fire from the Germans. He yelled back “I"m a Canadian not a bloody Limey!” and stood his ground with his revolver until The Americans came to him. Two days later, while still travelling with the Americans ( no transport) they liberated a consentration camp.
When you looked into my uncles blue eyes you could still see the eyes of a Spitfire pilot ; eyes that had seen what no man was meant to see.
My other uncle, also named George, left Canada as a talented concert pianist. He flew Lancasters for Bomber Command. He never came home and today lies in the same green fields of England that my uncle Bill flew to protect.
To all the men and women of our armed services; from the cold wastes of the Murmansk run to the deserts of North Africa; from the flooded poulders to the mountains of Afghanistan; from Krysler’s farm to the Golan; for all you have done and all that you have given;