Later, he received a transfer to Europe. While traveling from Hawaii to England, the B-17 he was in flew over Griffith, Indiana and “buzzed” his hometown. My mother said they had been expecting it, and everyone knew who it was. Joe, being short (about 5’8”), was a tail gunner flying bombing missions over Germany.
The first week in December, on his 13th mission, his B-17 was shot down over the Black Forest. The crew parachuted to safety. All survived but the pilot. Joe hid in an abandoned farmhouse for 4 or 5 days. He melted snow to drink, and in one of the houses he found one egg, flour and sugar. His feet froze, and he wrapped them in old rags. He decided to try to make it back to the American line. He was dressed up as an old lady, and some German solders spotted him crossing a river.
I wonder if he stole the clothes? He was a beautiful young man, charming, and he spoke German. Perhaps he talked a kind older woman into giving him the disguise? We never felt like we could ask him, he didn't like to talk about those days. Regardless, he was captured and imprisoned at a German prisoner of war camp until the end of the war.
War, of course, is Hell.
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| Uncle Joe, Uncle Jerry, and Grandma (before he was captured) |
Your uncle saw so much during the war and fought in both theaters. Your family must be so proud of him.
ReplyDeleteMy relatives, who fought during WWII, spoke little of what they saw and what they did during the war. I am sure the memories were horrifying. What an honor it is to have had these heroes in our families.
I always wanted to ask him questions, but it seemed rude. He really didn't want to talk about it. So many don't. I can well imagine why.
DeleteThe photo of your Uncle Joe, Uncle Jerry, and your grandmother is quite moving. Thank you for telling what you know about his war experience on this Memorial Day.
ReplyDeleteYou are welcome.
DeleteMy dad never talked about the war either. I only found out from my aunt this past fall that my father's best friend was killed as he stood next beside my father. The only thing my father ever said to me about the war is that he was afraid that he would go to hell for the things he had done during the war. I told him god doesn't work that way. He carried that fear with him his whole life.
ReplyDeleteOh, that breaks my heart. The things we force young people to do...
DeleteThat is quite a story of your uncle. I love his inventiveness. I often think of my father on these holidays, how he fought behind enemy lines in the Battle of the Bulge. My dad was a medic there and saw things that haunted him for the rest of his days.
ReplyDeleteSoldiers on all sides have seen too much. The Battle of the Bulge was a bloodbath.
DeleteWow, what a story! It's interesting that the stereotype is old men telling their "war stories," when so many of those who went through wars actually didn't relish telling stories at all. I'm sure there were a lot of scars.
ReplyDeleteI've actually never met a man who wanted to tell his war stories. Interesting, but not really surprising. How awful it must be to serve during war.
DeleteFew soldiers who have seen combat like to talk about what they experienced. It is too horrible to relive.
ReplyDeleteSeems that way. Just the horror of taking a life. And on some level you would know the enemy wasn't the other soldiers, it was the people who made the decisions to send them to war who were the enemy.
DeleteThe war stories don't begin being written until about ten years after the end of the war.
ReplyDeleteI guess it must take a long time to process the horror.
DeleteThank you for this. Did he ever go back?
ReplyDeleteThere are several memorials and cemeteries for Allied troops near where we live - also the remains of the bridge at Remagen (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Bridge_at_Remagen) now a peace museum - and we have accompanied many visitors incl. ex servicemen, US and Australian, there over the years. Always very moving.
He never went back. He was a broken man when he returned. He tried to live a normal life, and had a wife and family. But he became a serious alcoholic and lost everything. He died a homeless man. What we call a wino here. It hurts to write this, because when I was young his goodness was always apparent, and he made a point of interacting with the nieces and nephews. We loved him. My mother and my Aunt Colette were his champions. If love alone could have saved a person, he would have been saved. But, of course, it doesn't usually work that way with alcoholics.
DeleteI imagine it is quite moving to take visitors there. I am deeply moved that the bridge was never rebuilt. I am happy to hear it is now a peace museum. The world is so complicated.
DeleteThat war has left the most dreadful scars which I don't believe will ever heal even in later generations.
DeleteI remember the homeless men of my childhood often with missing limbs and certainly alcoholics hanging around in the city - with an existing network of care etc. Nobody said anything but everybody knew the reasons why.
Yes.
DeleteThank you for sharing this story Colette. I cannot fathom what these men and women went through but can imagine how your uncle Joe felt surviving Pearl Harbor when so many died, let alone everything else he went through. I’m in the middle of D-Day The Battle for Normandy right now and am shocked at how lightly some commanders shouldered the burden of sending young men to their deaths. Thanks again for telling us about uncle Joe.
ReplyDeleteYou are welcome, Linda.
DeleteThis day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
ReplyDeleteHe that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day.
WS never went to war so perhaps he may be forgiven for getting it wrong. In more ways than one, since the worst wounds are not necessarily visible. My Uncle Harry survived WW1 as a soldier. On his daily visits to my Grannie he would always pause halfway down the pathway and stand briefly on one leg. To anyone who didn't know it must have seemed comical. This, years after the end of WW2. As far as I'm aware, no one ever asked why.
In your Uncle Joe's situation, booze (always cheaper in the US than in the UK) would have provided a very necessary oblivion. Who know how he would have been without it?
I believe you are right about the oblivion he searched for. When sober, he was soulful and sweet, but truly sad.
DeleteI wish I knew why your Uncle Harry stood briefly on one leg. To ward off evil, a promise kept, or just a touch of eccentricity? I wonder.