My father died over twenty five years ago. Yesterday my mother gave me his medals. Nothing much, just three World War 2 campaign stars and a 1939-45 good conduct medal. The stuff most surviving servicemen came home with in the late 1940’s.
A legacy of Gibraltar and Malta Convoy escorts, Anzio, Palermo, Normandy (Juno Beach) and the Far East just at the end of hostilities, repatriating POW’s. He wasn’t a hero, just one of the cast of thousands that made it happen; working as a signalman and ‘bunting-tosser’ on Minesweepers and Tank Landing Craft. He was not a veteran of any great sea battles, or winner of a higher award like a DSO like my late Father in Law. Just one of the many young men of his era who volunteered for the Navy instead of waiting to be drafted.
I cleaned his medals and will cherish them.
Angie commented that this was a large gesture on my mothers part. This is true. My side of the clan are hardly what you might call demonstrative. Not closed in or anal, but extremely careful about what they say and do. Not for them the grandiloquent, expressive gestures of love or accentuated emotion, but the small, often offhand and understated gesture of trust that connects from the hand to the soul.
My status in my family just went up a notch.
I feel quite proud. Thank you mum.
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