Son of a 29er.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
This Day in WW2
St. Paul's cathedral is damaged by large scale German air raids on this day in 1940.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
This Day in WW2
Sinking of HMS Audacity: Sinking of the HMS Audacity by U-751 while escorting convoy HG76.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
This Day in WW2
December 20, 1944
1. Calcutta is bombed for the first time by the Japanese Air Force.
2. First Flying Tigers combat. Aircraft of the 1st and the 2nd squadrons intercepted 10 unescorted Kawasaki Ki-48 bombers of the 21st Hikotai raiding Kunming. Three of the bombers were shot down and a fourth was heavily damaged.
1. Calcutta is bombed for the first time by the Japanese Air Force.
2. First Flying Tigers combat. Aircraft of the 1st and the 2nd squadrons intercepted 10 unescorted Kawasaki Ki-48 bombers of the 21st Hikotai raiding Kunming. Three of the bombers were shot down and a fourth was heavily damaged.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
A French Sing-Along
This is a tale I've remembered many, many times, and one that never fails to warm my heart, and sometimes, brings tears to my eyes.
On D+2 we entered the town of Gran Camp de Les Bains, immediately adjacent to the channel. The town had been cleared that morning and the lead elements, whoever they were, had moved on to greater deeds. The town was really not very badly damaged, being situated somewhat to the west of where the heavy fighting and shelling had taken place on D-Day and D+1.
At any rate, Co. "E" had marched part way through town when we were given the work to hold up. I don't know why, and didn't particularly care, for it gave us a chance to sit and rest. I passed the word that we might as well eat as it was about mid-day. My theory had already developed that you rest and eat whenever you can, because no one knew when the next opportunity might come. So--I sat down in a recessed doorway (if you'll recall, many of thein the old countries come right to the sidewalk. There is no front yard such as we're used to) and began to open up my "K" ration. There were several other soldiers with me, but I'm sorry to say that the only one I remember for certain was Robert O. Berthiaume. I dimly remember that Ludger Boucher and Armand O. Berthiaume were in the group, but cannot be certain of that. All three of these men were able to speak the French language quite fluently and were absolutely invaluable as interpreters, as you can well imaging.
As we began to eat there arrived in front of us four French children, running across the street in their noisy, wooden "sabots". Threee of them were about five or six years old and the fourth, a girl, was about eight.
They seemed delighted to be with us, not at all afraid, and were quite charming in their innocence. Of course they immediately asked, in their sing-song way, for "chocolate por babie". Well, we were perfectly willing to give them whatever we had, but first I had one of the french-speaking men tell them that they had to perform some little song or dance for us. This they did, all the while giggling and chattering as any children would do, apparently thrilled to find that some of the men could speak French. Then, all of a sudden, the eldest spoke to us while the rest watched, all solemn and round-eyed. That foxy little rascal, it turned out, wanted us to now entertain them with a song or verse. Well, the fellows all demurred, stating that they knew of nothing that would amuse the children, who, of course, were waiting expectantly for something to happen.
I was reluctant to have this wonderful little episode end, and all at once remembered a song my sister had learned while playing with two little French girls in our neighborhood. The song, and I'm sure many of you are familiar with it, was "Friar Jacque, dor me vous, dor me vous" etc.
Now, my singing was never anything to brag about, and I'm certain my pronounciation of the French words was atrocious, but they immediately recognized the song and began to sing along with me with all the delighted innocence and charm of children the world over.
We sang several more times, and then it was time for us to move on, and to start the war once again. As we put on our packs and moved off down the street the children ran alongside, their sabots once again clattering on the pavement, laughing and collecting more sweets, all the time singing the simple little French nursery tune.
We soon came to the edge of town and moved of down the road, where once again things became somewhat more menancing. We had to tell the children to go back home, which they did with much waving og hands and blowing of kisses.
I've often wondered if they, in fact, had a home left to go to. And, too, I've often wondered if they remember those American soldiers who sang the nursery rhyme with them.
On D+2 we entered the town of Gran Camp de Les Bains, immediately adjacent to the channel. The town had been cleared that morning and the lead elements, whoever they were, had moved on to greater deeds. The town was really not very badly damaged, being situated somewhat to the west of where the heavy fighting and shelling had taken place on D-Day and D+1.
At any rate, Co. "E" had marched part way through town when we were given the work to hold up. I don't know why, and didn't particularly care, for it gave us a chance to sit and rest. I passed the word that we might as well eat as it was about mid-day. My theory had already developed that you rest and eat whenever you can, because no one knew when the next opportunity might come. So--I sat down in a recessed doorway (if you'll recall, many of thein the old countries come right to the sidewalk. There is no front yard such as we're used to) and began to open up my "K" ration. There were several other soldiers with me, but I'm sorry to say that the only one I remember for certain was Robert O. Berthiaume. I dimly remember that Ludger Boucher and Armand O. Berthiaume were in the group, but cannot be certain of that. All three of these men were able to speak the French language quite fluently and were absolutely invaluable as interpreters, as you can well imaging.
As we began to eat there arrived in front of us four French children, running across the street in their noisy, wooden "sabots". Threee of them were about five or six years old and the fourth, a girl, was about eight.
They seemed delighted to be with us, not at all afraid, and were quite charming in their innocence. Of course they immediately asked, in their sing-song way, for "chocolate por babie". Well, we were perfectly willing to give them whatever we had, but first I had one of the french-speaking men tell them that they had to perform some little song or dance for us. This they did, all the while giggling and chattering as any children would do, apparently thrilled to find that some of the men could speak French. Then, all of a sudden, the eldest spoke to us while the rest watched, all solemn and round-eyed. That foxy little rascal, it turned out, wanted us to now entertain them with a song or verse. Well, the fellows all demurred, stating that they knew of nothing that would amuse the children, who, of course, were waiting expectantly for something to happen.
I was reluctant to have this wonderful little episode end, and all at once remembered a song my sister had learned while playing with two little French girls in our neighborhood. The song, and I'm sure many of you are familiar with it, was "Friar Jacque, dor me vous, dor me vous" etc.
Now, my singing was never anything to brag about, and I'm certain my pronounciation of the French words was atrocious, but they immediately recognized the song and began to sing along with me with all the delighted innocence and charm of children the world over.
We sang several more times, and then it was time for us to move on, and to start the war once again. As we put on our packs and moved off down the street the children ran alongside, their sabots once again clattering on the pavement, laughing and collecting more sweets, all the time singing the simple little French nursery tune.
We soon came to the edge of town and moved of down the road, where once again things became somewhat more menancing. We had to tell the children to go back home, which they did with much waving og hands and blowing of kisses.
I've often wondered if they, in fact, had a home left to go to. And, too, I've often wondered if they remember those American soldiers who sang the nursery rhyme with them.
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