Remembrance Sunday is the second Sunday in November, the Sunday nearest to 11th November which is the anniversary of the end of WW1 at 11a.m. 1918.

I don't think any sane minded person wants or condones war, but I do know that it is vital that we remember those who gave, and continue to give their lives so that we might experience freedom.

People of my age will undoubtedly know heroes from WW2 within their own familes. In this post I want to talk about my own parents experience during that war, and at the same time remember those that died along side them.

On October 2nd 1942, my father was serving in the Royal Navy on the cruiser HMS Curacoa. The Curacoa's job at that time was to escort the Queen Mary, which was carrying 20,000 American troups from the 29th Infantry Division to Glasgow where they would then join the allied forces.

The Curacoa

curacoa

Using a zig-zagging technique to confuse U-boats in the area, it was later said by those on the Queen Mary that the Curacoa seemed to be too close for comfort to the hulk of the massive ship.

In fact, the Queen Mary hit the Curacoa and sliced it in two. Moving at 25 knots, policy dictated that the Queen Mary could not stop to pick up survivors. It was too dangerous as the threat of U-Boats was always present.

My father was one of just a few survivors from the Curacoa. Many years later, sitting in my beautiful little cottage garden in Wales, totally free and at peace, I read a book about this incident, and it was then that the real impact of what so many young men and women experienced during that and all the other terrible wars, hit me.

Here is the cover of the book covering the incident.

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My Mother was a nurse with the VAD, and was stationed at Halar Naval Hospital in Portsmouth during the Normandy landings (D Day 1944). She was one of 140 young nursing members of the VAD waiting to treat the thousands of wounded soldiers and sailors who would be brought there from the battle field.

My Mother says that during the 24 hours prior to D Day and the injured arriving at Haslar Hospital, there was a complete silence - they were totally unaware of the huge manouvres taking place. To this day she marvels at the discipline and organisation shown at that time.

By telling these two stories, it helps me to understand why it is so important that we remember all the young men and women who have given the ultimate sacrifice.

By remembering those who have given so much, it also helps me to be grateful for the freedoms I have today, and the importance of not wasting any of this precious life.

A Bientot