“The brave die never, though they sleep in dust: Their courage nerves a thousand living men.” -Minot J. Savage
Memorial day is the day set aside for us to contemplate the bravery, spirit and sheer magnificence of the soldiers that go to war on our behalf. It is a sad day, sure, but also a day of triumph and pride as we watch these selfless individuals march ahead, all the while knowing that they are on a journey to the depths of hell. In the UK we have Remembrance Day or Poppy Day, when we also remember our heroes who have died defending our country.
Memorial Day 26 May 2014 – Originally called 'Decoration Day' and traditionally held on the last Monday of May.
Remembrance Day is observed in Commonwealth countries on 11 November each yearto recall the end of hostilities of World War I on that date in 1918. Hostilities formally ended "at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month," in accordance with the Armistice, signed by representatives of Germany and the Entente between 5:12 and 5:20 that morning.
IndieYAbooks are highlighting on Facebook, various stories each day of Memorial week in posts called Real Soldiers – Real People.
We will be remembering the living soldiers who are out there right now, our own personal experience within our own families and of course, the people who have died protecting a democracy and way of life they believe is more important than their own life. If you would like to leave experiences of your own or your families and friends you can post here:
The Man Who Raised Me Fought in WWII
I knew him as Uncle Joe, one of the two beloved uncles who raised me.
Uncle Joe was drafted into the army when the US joined the fight after the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
A sharp young lad who, although born in the US was raised in Sicily, spoke little to no English. My grandfather did not want him to fight as an Italian soldier, thank God or he would have died with all his friends on the Russian front. No, my grandfather told them, “You are Americans and if you have to go to war you will fight for your country.” He shipped them to the United States with some difficulty, my grandmother told me. Italy didn’t want to lose abled bodies, but when they produced their American birth certificates the authorities had no choice but to let them leave Italy.
With little understanding of the language, Uncle Joe found it hard to execute his duties, at times he really didn’t know what they were asking him to do. But he was there, enthusiastic to fight for his country.
He was shipped to France soon after he was drafted. Don’t know how much of the fighting he saw before an eye doctor heard about the soldier who didn’t speak English and who was in medical school specializing in ophthalmology.
Needing help in the operating room, the army doctor requested my uncle as his assistant.
Uncle Joe was back in his element and helped with many operations while overseas.
When he came back home, my grandmother always told me, he was never the same. He would zone out… but he learned to release all his terrible war experiences through his paintings.
I’m always thankful to God for sparing his life because he was the best Dad a girl could ever have.
This is a perfect example of the kind of story that needs to be heard – personal and from the heart. Thank you Annamaria for posting this on IndieYAbooks.com
To the brave people who risk their lives for us, and journey to the depths of hell in War-torn countries, We Thank You For Our FREEDOM!!
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