What a beautiful story, Wendy. That bottle of unopened champagne is heartbreaking. Poor Gordon and his parents, and others who loved him; your father. How terribly young he was.
My father was a Pilot Officer with the RCAF 409 Squadron. Night fighters, flying Mosquitos. He crash landed three times during WWII. Once in Saskatchewan during training, once in Lille, France in 1944 and once on the border of Holland and Germany in 1945.
He was one of the lucky ones and was coming home on a troop ship for a short leave before being sent to the Pacific war when Hiroshima / Nagasaki were bombed, the Japanese surrendered and the war was over.
His memoirs include references to the crews of downed planes that didn't make it and one particularly thought provoking telling of a burial at an airfield.
When he was in his fifties and suffering from debilitating neck pain, he went to our family doctor to figure out what was wrong. The Doctor asked him if he had been in any accidents. My father thought about it and then said, "Do plane crashes count?"
Wow, your father had several very lucky escapes, AB. Amazing. Thanks for sharing that. No wonder he had a crick in his neck! Did he publish his memoirs?
I probably shouldn't have used the word memoirs as much of this information came from his flight logs and he never formally wrote a memoir. But the flight logs had space for notes / comments and that is where his descriptions of crashes and fatalities were found. They were short and very much to the point. "Buried Flt Sgt Jeffries on a hillside overlooking the airfield."
They also had space for personal stuff. At one point, my Dad mentions that "Peggy is disappointed that she did not receive flowers from me on Valentine's Day. I am not sure how I could've arranged that." Peggy - who eventually became my mother - lived I would say "comfortably" in Toronto during the war - and that sounded just like her.
I do have a copy of the memoir of his best friend and fellow airman in the 409 Squadron and my father is mentioned frequently. Perhaps I should think about typing out and posting excerpts - just like our friend Francis F is doing? They are fascinating!
Oh, that’s touching to know your Dad wrote about Peggy’s Valentine flower disappointment in the log!
I’m fascinated to hear these voices from history. There’s more than one way to tell a story, and if you have these insights, it’s good to share them, I think.
No champagne bottle to initiate a story in my husband’s family but he was born eight months after his father was killed over Denmark piloting a bomber in 1942. His father had been home on leave and created a child he was sadly unaware of. I’m sure so many children grew up with a dark dad shaped hole in their early lives as well as he did.
It’s frightening to think how Europe is teetering on the brink of such threats similar to those and so many died defending freedom for us all.
Gosh, that’s poignant. And very well put – thank you for reading and commenting, Jane. The death rates of RAF pilots during WWII was about 50%, according to a page I was just looking at on the Imperial War Museum website. Just unimaginable.
Beautiful and heartbreaking. I have lots of family history stories to tell sometime - two great-aunts lost fiancé or husband in 1939 to 45. One never married, the other married rotters, 3 times, and drank too much gin.
I love that you shared this story Wendy. It is always amazing and shocking to me to think of all that we lose in wars, so much potential and positive energy replaced with grief. I wish we knew more about these kinds of stories in history.
I loved reading this, Wendy. Thank you for drawing it to my attention. It's such a poignant story and a heartbreaking loss. Quite right that the champagne remains unopened.
As you said, Gordon had so much promise and potential, and he died far too young. He also had a gift with language... "that devastating mass of machinery"... what a description!
Thank you, Petra. He seemed such a thoughtful, young man and my dad looked up to him as a role model.
It’s been lovely since writing this to hear from his old school in Sheffield, where the memorial plaque bearing his name and those of the other boys who died in the war is displayed in the school hall.
I was fascinated to read about your grandfathers’ wartime pasts. It’s so important we remember these stories.
It might be my imagination, but first seeing the photo of your girls on the diving boat, and then seeing the photo of Gordon’s mom, I think I see a resemblance.
I’m more or less the keeper of my uncle’s WWII story. He died over the Pacific Ocean on one of his early pilot missions. It wasn’t determined if he was shot down, or if his plane malfunctioned, or if (as my dad suspected) the victim of inadequate training. I have two crocheted baby caps — one of which was his. I’ve been valiantly trying to determine which was his, and which belonged to my other uncle. My plan is to donate them to a textile museum, along with his story, but first I want to narrow things down. The little bonnets are wonderful…each 105+ years old, and ever so delicate. Anyway: Robert Theodore Hall. Born June 22, 1919 and died July 1944. 25 years old. Always remembered with love, respect, and admiration.
I enjoyed writing about him so much, that I am going to post it also on my own, small Substack page. Might as well get these things down. 🌿
Thanks for sharing your Uncle Robert’s story, Deborah. Like Gordon, so very young. Lovely idea to donate the baby caps to a textile museum. And to write up his story.
So sad and moving. I had an uncle who died in WWII so I never met him, but the loss traumatized my father’s family. I wrote about him in a Substack post for last Memorial Day. So much loss and so young! Thanks for sharing Gordon’s life and story with us, Wendy. 🙏
You know when you are reading something, something you know is going to be sad, you brace yourself emotionally as you venture into the story. Your mums words came thundering through my mind, so true, tragic and sad. There we go, you learned to write from your mum, Wendy. Oh you Varley women, always making me cry before I’m even out of bed.
Thank you, Rosie. Gordon’s story has come into focus gradually over the years, I only fully grasped it as I drew the strands together for this piece. It’s so satisfying to complete a jigsaw!
Wonderfully written, Wendy. The title alone tells such a tragic tale; a celebration that never came. Especially with so many wars raging, it's important to remember people in their entirety as individuals, not just as statistics. I really enjoyed the moment of calm captured in Gordon's poem and accompanying illustration.
I, too, felt a similar sense of responsibility for bearing the stories of previous generations when the Queen died, strangely enough. Primarily I think of my grandmother fleeing Nazi-occupied Austria, and so many other family stories that I try my best to remember, let alone share.
Thanks, Alice. Yes, so important to remember individual stories. I was made up today to hear from Gordon’s former school - they sent me a photo of the memorial RAF plaque that’s on the wall in the school hall, including his name.
I hope you can piece together your grandmother’s and other family stories. Really helps if there are letters, photos or other artefacts to jog memories and help with dates.
“the Mums and Dads who suddenly died inside: plodding on with secret tears and cold uncomforted hearts for forty empty years.” These words by your mother should be the ones to stop all wars So poignant , so true.
What a beautiful, touching piece you have written. I agree stories like this do need to be shared. You have done great credit to your young ancestor whose life was ended far too young.
Ah, very touching. May 18 also my (you nger) son’s birthday… And yes, I’m the keeper of my maternal Great Grandfather’s *flame*, which will inevitably be extinguished when I am. Born in Australia and died in France, fighting for King & Country in the Spring Offensive, 1918. His wife had died while he was serving, leaving their only child - my Grandfather - parked with an Uncle & Aunt who had never wanted children… The ramifications of all of that leached down through the generations, as it always does.
Your Great Grandfather’s and Grandfather’s story sounds dramatic and worth telling, especially as you’re still feeling the ripples. Do you have any photos and artefacts?
Yes, I transcribed all his letters home, to his brother, many years ago. When my mother (who had them) died she left them to a museum in Canberra - they were an *important* Aussie family in the early Settler years. Have intended to tell the story so many times … But maybe in *retirement* (whenever that is!)
What a beautiful story, Wendy. That bottle of unopened champagne is heartbreaking. Poor Gordon and his parents, and others who loved him; your father. How terribly young he was.
Thank you, Ros. It’s an honour to be able to piece together some of Gordon’s story.
My father was a Pilot Officer with the RCAF 409 Squadron. Night fighters, flying Mosquitos. He crash landed three times during WWII. Once in Saskatchewan during training, once in Lille, France in 1944 and once on the border of Holland and Germany in 1945.
He was one of the lucky ones and was coming home on a troop ship for a short leave before being sent to the Pacific war when Hiroshima / Nagasaki were bombed, the Japanese surrendered and the war was over.
His memoirs include references to the crews of downed planes that didn't make it and one particularly thought provoking telling of a burial at an airfield.
When he was in his fifties and suffering from debilitating neck pain, he went to our family doctor to figure out what was wrong. The Doctor asked him if he had been in any accidents. My father thought about it and then said, "Do plane crashes count?"
He lived to be 96, sore neck and all.
Wow, your father had several very lucky escapes, AB. Amazing. Thanks for sharing that. No wonder he had a crick in his neck! Did he publish his memoirs?
I probably shouldn't have used the word memoirs as much of this information came from his flight logs and he never formally wrote a memoir. But the flight logs had space for notes / comments and that is where his descriptions of crashes and fatalities were found. They were short and very much to the point. "Buried Flt Sgt Jeffries on a hillside overlooking the airfield."
They also had space for personal stuff. At one point, my Dad mentions that "Peggy is disappointed that she did not receive flowers from me on Valentine's Day. I am not sure how I could've arranged that." Peggy - who eventually became my mother - lived I would say "comfortably" in Toronto during the war - and that sounded just like her.
I do have a copy of the memoir of his best friend and fellow airman in the 409 Squadron and my father is mentioned frequently. Perhaps I should think about typing out and posting excerpts - just like our friend Francis F is doing? They are fascinating!
Oh, that’s touching to know your Dad wrote about Peggy’s Valentine flower disappointment in the log!
I’m fascinated to hear these voices from history. There’s more than one way to tell a story, and if you have these insights, it’s good to share them, I think.
No champagne bottle to initiate a story in my husband’s family but he was born eight months after his father was killed over Denmark piloting a bomber in 1942. His father had been home on leave and created a child he was sadly unaware of. I’m sure so many children grew up with a dark dad shaped hole in their early lives as well as he did.
It’s frightening to think how Europe is teetering on the brink of such threats similar to those and so many died defending freedom for us all.
Gosh, that’s poignant. And very well put – thank you for reading and commenting, Jane. The death rates of RAF pilots during WWII was about 50%, according to a page I was just looking at on the Imperial War Museum website. Just unimaginable.
Beautiful and heartbreaking. I have lots of family history stories to tell sometime - two great-aunts lost fiancé or husband in 1939 to 45. One never married, the other married rotters, 3 times, and drank too much gin.
Thank you, Anna. Your own family history stories sound fascinating.
I love that you shared this story Wendy. It is always amazing and shocking to me to think of all that we lose in wars, so much potential and positive energy replaced with grief. I wish we knew more about these kinds of stories in history.
Thank you, Deirdre. Zooming in to look at Gordon's personal history was a revelation. We do need to remember the human impact of war.
I'm so glad you shared this story, Wendy. Thank you.
Thanks, Ollie.
I loved reading this, Wendy. Thank you for drawing it to my attention. It's such a poignant story and a heartbreaking loss. Quite right that the champagne remains unopened.
As you said, Gordon had so much promise and potential, and he died far too young. He also had a gift with language... "that devastating mass of machinery"... what a description!
I'm so glad you kept and shared his story.
Thank you, Petra. He seemed such a thoughtful, young man and my dad looked up to him as a role model.
It’s been lovely since writing this to hear from his old school in Sheffield, where the memorial plaque bearing his name and those of the other boys who died in the war is displayed in the school hall.
I was fascinated to read about your grandfathers’ wartime pasts. It’s so important we remember these stories.
It might be my imagination, but first seeing the photo of your girls on the diving boat, and then seeing the photo of Gordon’s mom, I think I see a resemblance.
Fair point, Deborah! Florence was my grandma’s sister, after all. It’s interesting spotting facial similarities across the generations.
I’m more or less the keeper of my uncle’s WWII story. He died over the Pacific Ocean on one of his early pilot missions. It wasn’t determined if he was shot down, or if his plane malfunctioned, or if (as my dad suspected) the victim of inadequate training. I have two crocheted baby caps — one of which was his. I’ve been valiantly trying to determine which was his, and which belonged to my other uncle. My plan is to donate them to a textile museum, along with his story, but first I want to narrow things down. The little bonnets are wonderful…each 105+ years old, and ever so delicate. Anyway: Robert Theodore Hall. Born June 22, 1919 and died July 1944. 25 years old. Always remembered with love, respect, and admiration.
I enjoyed writing about him so much, that I am going to post it also on my own, small Substack page. Might as well get these things down. 🌿
Thanks for sharing your Uncle Robert’s story, Deborah. Like Gordon, so very young. Lovely idea to donate the baby caps to a textile museum. And to write up his story.
Heartbreaking and beautiful, I'm so pleased you've written and shared it with us. Gordon's story, all these stories need to be told and shared.
Thank you, Harriet.
So sad and moving. I had an uncle who died in WWII so I never met him, but the loss traumatized my father’s family. I wrote about him in a Substack post for last Memorial Day. So much loss and so young! Thanks for sharing Gordon’s life and story with us, Wendy. 🙏
Thank you, Victoria. I’ll look up your piece about your uncle lost in WWII. Thanks for the pointer.
You know when you are reading something, something you know is going to be sad, you brace yourself emotionally as you venture into the story. Your mums words came thundering through my mind, so true, tragic and sad. There we go, you learned to write from your mum, Wendy. Oh you Varley women, always making me cry before I’m even out of bed.
Thanks so much, Lisa, for this very touching comment.
Wendy, that is such a very sad story. He was so young. Thankyou for making his name known.
Thank you, Rosie. Gordon’s story has come into focus gradually over the years, I only fully grasped it as I drew the strands together for this piece. It’s so satisfying to complete a jigsaw!
Wonderfully written, Wendy. The title alone tells such a tragic tale; a celebration that never came. Especially with so many wars raging, it's important to remember people in their entirety as individuals, not just as statistics. I really enjoyed the moment of calm captured in Gordon's poem and accompanying illustration.
I, too, felt a similar sense of responsibility for bearing the stories of previous generations when the Queen died, strangely enough. Primarily I think of my grandmother fleeing Nazi-occupied Austria, and so many other family stories that I try my best to remember, let alone share.
Thanks, Alice. Yes, so important to remember individual stories. I was made up today to hear from Gordon’s former school - they sent me a photo of the memorial RAF plaque that’s on the wall in the school hall, including his name.
I hope you can piece together your grandmother’s and other family stories. Really helps if there are letters, photos or other artefacts to jog memories and help with dates.
“the Mums and Dads who suddenly died inside: plodding on with secret tears and cold uncomforted hearts for forty empty years.” These words by your mother should be the ones to stop all wars So poignant , so true.
What a beautiful, touching piece you have written. I agree stories like this do need to be shared. You have done great credit to your young ancestor whose life was ended far too young.
Thanks so much for your thoughtful comment, Margi. You’d hope we’d learn from these past losses and sorrows.
Ah, very touching. May 18 also my (you nger) son’s birthday… And yes, I’m the keeper of my maternal Great Grandfather’s *flame*, which will inevitably be extinguished when I am. Born in Australia and died in France, fighting for King & Country in the Spring Offensive, 1918. His wife had died while he was serving, leaving their only child - my Grandfather - parked with an Uncle & Aunt who had never wanted children… The ramifications of all of that leached down through the generations, as it always does.
Thank you for sharing Gordon’s story, Wendy
Thank you for reading, Kathryn.
Your Great Grandfather’s and Grandfather’s story sounds dramatic and worth telling, especially as you’re still feeling the ripples. Do you have any photos and artefacts?
Yes, I transcribed all his letters home, to his brother, many years ago. When my mother (who had them) died she left them to a museum in Canberra - they were an *important* Aussie family in the early Settler years. Have intended to tell the story so many times … But maybe in *retirement* (whenever that is!)
Brilliant that they’re already conserved and transcribed. Yes, a wonderful project to go back to when you get time.