"There's No Reason Why I Shouldn't Come Back"

Remembrance Day

I am outsourcing this Remembrance Day post to my late uncle, who died in World War II. These are two of his letters: the first is a Mother’s Day letter (written in England) and it speaks for itself. He wanted to make sure certain things were said, and they were, beautifully; the second (written in France, in the middle of battle) is his last letter to his mother, written eight days before he died.

7 May 44

Dear Mum & Dad:

I’ve been wanting to write this letter for a long time now, but it’s a hard one to get started. Today being Mother’s Day, though, I will write it.

You know how hard it is for us kids to show the things we feel most; though I’m sure you know how much we do love and appreciate you, I’m sorry at times that we never did tell you just how it affected us. We certainly realize how much you have had to do to get us the things that we have. We know how hard you have had to work and how much you have given up so that we could have our chances. Though we never felt ungrateful for your worries, I’m sure we did act at times as if we were. Now, I think I know what caused that in me – I was afraid of being snowed under by so much goodness that I would never be able to repay it. Do you know what I mean? – that we wanted a chance to give things to you and repay you that way; in love, even though unexpressed, I’m sure you were repaid. I think I started to tell you that a few times, but it’s impossible to put into words just how we feel about you. You see, we were growing up at the same time, and probably felt that it was unadult to talk about love and that sort of thing.

You know, too, don’t you, that it isn’t just for the sacrifices you made that we are grateful? You gave us a bringing up that very few people in Canada have been lucky enough to have. I’m glad I had it, because I find that it’s hard for me to do anything bad without my conscience warning me. You can be quite sure that no matter how far we are from you at any time, we’d never do anything wrong. That’s so not only because we were taught, but because we don’t want to do anything you would disapprove of.

Also, mum and dad, you really were more than a mother and father to us – you were good friends; you gave us all a good sense of humor, and showed us what things in living are the really worthwhile ones. And you taught us to work so that no matter where we go we do our best – and hope that a good report of us will go back to you.

And I know you taught us what family life is, and that the good and bad in it should be equally shared by all. The only thing is that you shared the good with us, took part of our bad luck, and shouldered most of the troubles on your own shoulders. I don’t think that any family is as close as ours. We certainly had a lot of fun together, and we were happy in our home.

Don’t think that we don’t know how lucky we are. We know it, and we can’t help but know it, when we see other families. When we do anything, near or far, we are trying to do it to the best of our abilities so that you’ll be as proud of us as we are of you, and so that you’ll be glad to be our parents.

I’m not writing all this because being away has made me appreciate home. I appreciated it before, but as I say I was afraid to tell you for fear I be looked upon as sentimental. When I come home again it’ll probably be the same again. And my letters (except this one) will be just as cold as ever, probably. But you’ll understand, won’t you, that I (and Wilfred, Rigmore & Wesla) love you, and think that God never made two people as fine and good as you before. We do appreciate what you do for us, and we’re proud and glad to be able to tell people that you are our mother and father.

As for the war, I might as well say a few words on that, too. I couldn’t very well stay out of the army – I had to help somehow. If people are being bullied by someone, any decent person would take a hand trying to stop him. And joining the army means taking the risks involved, so though I’m afraid at times, I pray I’ll be brave enough to do my share. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t come back, and I probably will so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m glad I’m in the army where I feel I should be at this time.

I thank God you were my parents.

Your son,

Norm

[Letter to my grandmother from my uncle. Photo: Rondi Adamson]

2 Aug 44

Dear Mum:

Here I am with another letter after quite a gap in time, but things have been so busy I haven’t had an awful lot of time, and am now sitting in a little hole waiting and listening to the gunfire. War is hell, believe me, and I don’t like it very much.

There’s not an awful lot of news – apart from a little cold I am quite well to date.

Don’t worry about me, please folks; everything is in the hands of God. I’ll be as careful as I can be, and write as often as possible – not very often, I guess, but you’ll be notified if anything happens to me.

Please don’t worry.

Norm

[A full collection of these letters, along with some family history and some of my uncle’s poetry, can be found here. He and his brother both served - his brother was in the RCAF - as did my father’s brothers. Everyone else came home.]