Full Circle!
(Past, present and Future!)
The Long (82 Day) March to Freedom.
This journey has been deeply cathartic, enabling me to finally put some old ghosts and unresolved issues to rest. It began after my father’s passing, when I immersed myself in researching his wartime history—a quest that uncovered life-changing images and guided me onto a new personal path.
IN 1940 at 20 yrs of age he was conscripted into the 2nd Battalion of the Hampshire regiment. He was captured by the Germans on 8th June 1940 at Ruoen in France. Of the 340.ooo British soldiers that went to France with the BEF and were rescued by (Operation Dynamo.) some 40,000 British Troops were left behind and went into Captivity. His group was force marched 350 miles over a 3 week period to Trier in Belgium. With little food and water during the hot summer of June 1945, it was a challenge but nothing to compare with the forced march out of German occupied Poland in the winter of January 1945!
From Trier they were crammed into cattle trucks, similar to the ones that Jewish families and civilians were transported to the Nazi concentration camps. Marked 8 horses or 40 men, up to 60 men were locked in. They endured a harrowing 700-mile journey over three days and nights, uncertain of their destination.
During the trip soldiers had to defecate in their tin helmets and boots then throw it through the small slats in the carriage.Those closest to the slats were showered with the excrement. They sat and slept in the same position throughout the journey.
Apart from the occasional stale loaves thrown into the wagons, there was no food, and drinking water was in short supply. By the time they arrived at their destination men were suffering from dysentery, lice, exhaustion and i would assume complete dejection.
When the carriage doors were opened they discovered they were at a prisoner of war camp in Poland.
He spent his first two years at XXA in Torun, working in construction crews often likened to slave labor, under strict supervision and armed guard, contributing to the German war effort. After two yrs he was was transferred to a British work party BAB 20/1 (E3) in Upper Selisia, Blechammer, close to the I.G.Farben oil refinery complex.
The I G Farben site was a prime target for British and American Air Force bombing raids which occurred twice weekly on Tuesday and Friday from June to December 1944. During one of those air raids on Blechammer 30 soldiers based at E3 were killed. The living conditions, long working hours, minimum rations and the ever present threat of violence, are well documented.
The long marches to Freedom. (Eleven long weeks, 82 days)
On January 22, 1945, as the Russian army advanced from the East, POW camps across Germany were evacuated with barely any warning. The men, ill-prepared and poorly equipped, faced brutal conditions. That January was among the coldest winters on record, with temperatures plunging to -25°C. Around 600 men left the camps at XXA Torun. It is on record there were 30 recorded deaths and burials on that march, men died from a combination of frost bite, malnutrition, exhaustion, Dysentery, heart attack, and some shot or beaten to death by the German guards. It was on record that they were instructed to shoot any soldiers considered to be malingerers.
His camp BAB20/1/e3 and BAB 40? was evacuated on the 22 Jan and forced march west ward along the Czechoslovakian mountings! and into Bavaria. He mentioned the difficult conditions and having to leave dead soldiers in the snow covered fields that had passed away during that night and move on! In all my Fathers march ended in Bayreuth on the 13 April 1945 when his group met up with the American Army. Firstly i still find it difficult comprehend how men endured and survived 11 weeks (82 days) while under German guard, with limited rations, inadequate clothing and shelter. I am now Awaiting details from the National Archives of the mistreatment and deaths of British Soldiers on the march from Blechammer, Upper Silesia, to Bayreuth and will publish them here shortly.
The IG Farben Complex was situated a few miles from an Auschwitz sub camp. He described witnessing Jewish prisoners in desperate conditions, walking along the road, and shared his sadness and inability to help them. I believe those haunting images stayed with him long after the war was over.
The marches out of Poland haven’t received the recognition they truly deserve. The soldiers were mostly forgotten, never given the chance to share what they went through. I tried to piece together the struggles my father faced during and after the war. My mother once said he’d promised to tell me his story someday, but that moment never came. That missing piece left me wondering if my journey might have been easier had he shared it.
On their return to England, many men were able to lead normal lives, but others were deeply affected by their experiences—my father included. I think his time there compartmentalized his emotions, stripping away his ability and freedom to enjoy himself. Sometimes he would tell a joke, but just before the punchline, he’d burst into uncontrollable laughter, tears in his eyes, only for that laughter to seamlessly turn into sadness. He’d stop abruptly and grow quiet. Was it survivor’s guilt, repressed anger, or simply a profound understanding of loss and the futility of it all? It's so sad to think about now. My father held no resentment toward the German people, recognizing that they, too, suffered as victims of war. On a larger scale, aren’t we all victims of war, carrying the weight of inherited trauma passed down through generations? He also acknowledged that soldiers in Japanese POW camps faced far harsher conditions, reflecting his deep wisdom and compassion.
His anger stemmed from the injustices they faced and his inability to share his story. He carried that burden for the rest of his life, and I believe that was the real problem. At times, his bottled-up frustration would flare over small remarks most people would brush off, creating a constant undercurrent of tension. In those moments, he would retreat into his own space, craving solitude and privacy. Over time, I’ve learned to recognize those triggers..(tbc). So as a family we were more often than not walking on egg shells so as not to upset that delicate balance! He was a man of constant patience and kindness, never raising a hand in anger or speaking a harsh word to any of us children. Yet beneath the surface, a quiet rage simmered unnoticed. My mother would say, give him a couple of days and he’d calm down and be fine. She understood what he had endured, stood by him without judgment, and cared for him, shielding him from all stressful situations. Had he been an alcoholic or gambler, we might have been able to help him, but his condition was that silent killer of a person's psyche: the inability and lack of opportunity to share their story. He became socially isolated, with no friends or hobbies.
On December 15 1945, my father was discharged from the Army as medically unfit. A British POW, who was the senior officer on the march from XXA, "Staff Sargent Thomas Aitken" made a sworn affidavit as to the terrible conditions on the Northern route of that particular march. Based on his affidavit, the senior German officer leading the march, Hauptmann Willie Mackensen, was tried, convicted of war crimes, and executed by hanging at Hamelin Prison, Germany, on March 8, 1946. The complete affidavit, detailing the conditions, times of death, causes, and burial locations for each soldier along the route, is available here.
Read their Story!
Is Blood thicker than Water!?
(Betrayed in Life and again in Death!)
Some content on these pages has been temporarily taken down for legal reasons.
The ultimate betrayal!
Years after my father's death, I felt consumed by guilt and anger, haunted by a lingering thought—a sense that something essential was missing, something crucial I needed to rediscover again.
Had someone had suggested, for whatever reason, that I would not participate in the arrangements or be present at my father's funeral, I would have laughed it off, dismissed it outright, it could not be possible! yet it became a reality. How and why did this happen? I needed answers.
In their final years, my parents realized they had been betrayed—a revelation that deeply affected them and cast a shadow over their last days. My mother passed away first, leaving him without his anchor, his support, and the one person he could truly confide in who understood everything he had endured. (to be continued.)
Vulnerable and cut off from his family, he went through a time of intense psychological control. The treatment he received was filled with contempt and showed a clear disregard for his financial, mental, physical, and emotional well-being. Scarred by his WW2 experiences, he couldn’t handle stressful situations. Aware he lacked the emotional strength to resist, they pushed ahead with their plan, using their solicitors to pressure him into transferring his property to his grandchildren and giving up his legal right to live there, with only the condition that he could stay until he passed away. They didn’t just take his possessions; they took away a lifetime of kindness and loyalty.
Unhappy with his circumstances he walked away from his property, leaving a note saying he would not be returning. When i inquired as to his reasons for leaving, i was subjected to verbal abuse and intimidation. He then went to live with!? After a short period of time he was placed in a care home, unknown to myself and family members. they than systematically stole his life savings, disabled war pension benefits, and Assets. The last time I visited him at his new place, I gave him a goodbye kiss, and he thanked me for coming to see him. That was the last time I any had contact with my father.
The last time I attempted to see him i was threatened with assault as was a sister who on a separate occasion was manhandled from the property. When i did revisit his address, I was denied entry and physically attacked. (To be continued).
Picture this: a very aggressive person striding purposefully down their path toward you, wielding a 3-foot wooden or metal baton raised high in attack mode, screaming at the top of their lungs, “Come on then, do you want some of this? Come on!” Wow. Yet another well-planned isolation technique—pure fear!
Caught off guard and unprepared, I hoped my father hadn’t seen the altercation. With no other option, I retreated to my car, only for him to threaten to smash the window. This isn’t the full story, as I want to protect the sensitivity of family members close to me. In fact the full episode has never been told ! (tbc) Police eventually came, arrested him and took him away in hand cuffs! Pleaded self defense! Tough guy? It was the police who later informed me my Father had been moved to a nursing home, when i asked for his new address they withheld it due to the freedom of information act! You could`nt make it up!
I could have returned to fight my corner but at that time my partner "Wendy" had terminal cancer and needed my full-time support. With my emotions not in a mindful state, who knows, had i returned the outcome would probably have been tragic. I couldn't bear the thought of her suffering alone in the hospital and becoming an innocent victim of my anger. My love for her was far greater than my ego. After my divorce, when I had virtually nothing of value except my character, she shared everything she had with me and asked for nothing in return. Respect! There was also another important reason I never went back to see my father. (tbc)
When my father passed away we were not notified of his Death! He passe away without his four other children present and his Funeral took place in secret. I found out of his death by contacting the Birth deaths and marriage register. Not a fitting end for a son, 3 daughters and for a man of his kindness, intelligence and bravery! (to be continued) In all those years we shared together we never once had a disagreement or a cross word! silence is not always golden? There was what i would describe as an unspoken, mutual Respect!
I never got the chance to say goodbye or pay my respects to my father.
It was a tough pill to swallow, leaving me stuck between a rock and a hard place. Dealing with intimidation, fraud, and theft from one group, violence from another, and the heartbreaking loss of my father had piled on immense stress for a long time.
I never really had what could be called a normal, enjoyable conversation with him. I believe that had a negative impact on me, though I didn’t realize it at the time. It was this tenuous relationship with my father that became the weakness others exploited. I never got much guidance or any of those little gold nuggets of wisdom from my father. The phrase “You’ll learn the hard way” sticks with me. Was it a prophetic statement, just a cynical warning, or maybe even a subtle challenge? Maybe he knew when the time came i would meet the challenge.
I instinctively realized that addressing these issues would be a complex and demanding task. It felt urgent and personal! Should I pursue the legal route with solicitors and the associated costs? Confront them directly, lock, stock and barrel? Or expose them through the media and private prosecutions. Alternatively, let Karma take its course and simply move on. Maybe contemplate selecting two of the four options? Two of those options now in progress!
Sigmund Freud said, "All family life is organized around the most damaged person in it." After researching my father's history and understanding what he and other soldiers endured during those years of extreme, prolonged stress, it has become clear to me what shaped him into the man he became and how it impacted on me and our family life.(TBC) Was I holding onto feelings of anger and resentment because he never confided in me? The primary objective of my research was to gain a deeper understanding of him, I now see past that protective shield he carried, and see him, know him and appreciate the person he truly was. (TBC)
Thinking back on my time with him, I’ve come to see that what he really needed was understanding—not therapy from people who couldn’t truly relate to his experiences, but from fellow soldiers who had been through similar challenges and could offer real validation. I believe that alone might have brought him closure. I set myself the challenge of writing an iconic book and capturing an iconic photograph to represent the past, present, and future while discovering more about my own character. I had a large-format 4x5 perspective control camera and all the necessary gear, yet, despite my expertise, I couldn’t find inspiration for a subject. It wasn’t until much later that I remembered a simple photograph I’d taken at home in the Lincolnshire Fens back in 2017—"The Footprint." That’s when the journey truly began.
"A born again Intellectual"
Moving on: Julie!"
The suspension, Dream, the Counselor, the Foot prints—and their connection. (To be continued)
For years, I was plagued by a persistent thought: the sense that something vital was absent, something crucial I needed to rediscover. Was this my challenge?
During this time, I was consumed by guilt and anger. Wanting to figure out how I’d managed the situation so badly and landed myself in a mess I couldn’t fix alone, I decided to speak with a counselor. I wasn’t seeking therapy, just an intelligent conversation to find a clear solution to a complicated problem. Was the problem anger management, an inability to think clearly under stress, or some other reason I wasn’t aware of? Was it nurture or nature, the relationship with my father, or something deeper, lost in the passage of time?
It was a huge step for me to take! opening up the old wounds and laying bare my thoughts to a perfect stranger! (tbc) It turned out to be perhaps, the shortest counseling session in NHS history. Approximately 15 minutes, for which I shall remain eternally grateful. The counselor, Julie, acted as the catalyst and Key! person on this journey. It may sound cliched but without her insight and intuition I would not be writing this story.
It was a strange day. The premises was a run down mid terrace Victorian house, with zero curb appeal! I signed in and was directed upstairs to a room and waited to be seen. Who was i about to lock horns with! what was the Protocol, would we be singing from the same Hymn sheet? would he/she understand my predicament and would i find the answers i was seeking.
It was a drab room with an open sash window and dreary velvet orange and brown curtains swaying gently in the warm breeze. The furniture—a pair of old Queen Anne style chairs chairs and a stained coffee table—looked like they had been plucked straight from a Salvation Army donation shop. A good feel factor was not emerging. At that point I was thinking of giving it up as a bad idea! and making a quick exit. ! At that moment she entered the room. My first impression of her was a young, confident well-presented woman, dressed in black, not at all what I had expected. I had pictured someone much older, perhaps near retirement, with years of listening to others' problems etched into their face, now tasked with having to endure my tales of woe. But I was determined not to go down that route. i did`nt need therapy either drug or cognitive I just needed a straight forward conversation and a clear answer to a complicated problem. How and why i had I found myself in this dreadful situation? something was missing? and i needed to find it.
Julie!
She sat directly across from me, and we just stared, neither of us speaking. I decided I wasn't going to break the silence first. Were we simply sizing each other up, or was there something deeper, something inexplicable happening beneath the silence? Unseen neurons arcing, connecting through shared experiences, memories, thoughts, and feelings from the past? Her first question cut through the tension—no introductions, no small talk. "What's been happening?" It caught me off guard. I did not anticipate having to explain my circumstances so promptly and succinctly straight off the bat! i had nothing prepared. My understanding was a softly, softly approach would ensue, gradually peeling away the layers and revealing the underlying problem.! I tried my best to interpret my circumstances without sounding like a victim or a weak-minded person seeking sympathy or empathy. After i had explained my position, she replied, "we don`t normally see people like you!
Her next words completely shifted my perspective. In just twelve carefully chosen words, she somehow revealed something that had been hidden inside me for years. With that single sentence, she brought to light the very answer I’d been searching for all along.
That piece of the puzzle began to full into place.! (TBC) I knew in those first few minutes, the search/talking for me was now unnecessary. I never mentioned it to her then and anyone else since that day! I needed time to understand the implications and knew it was a path i had to travel on my own. (TBC) Reminds me of the lyric from my favorite song of the 1960`s. "I was alone i took a ride, i didn`t know what i would find there, another road where maybe i could see another kind of mind there?" (Got to get you into my life.) Lennon and McCartney: 1966.) It appears she arrived at precisely the right moment, a perfect example of synchronicity, perhaps even an epiphany. There was nothing else to discuss, i had found the missing piece. It was as though a mental fog had lifted, my mind became clear, RESET! and I grasped the essence of the problem.
It’s 1967, the last day of school, suspension finally over. I picture myself outside those gates, looking back at that solid, cold, emotionless building and giving it a double “Harvey Smith!” all Bravado of course! Then it hit me—I was on the wrong side of those gates! Friends and other pupils were streaming out of the building no doubt looking eagerly to the future, although i was waiting for my girl friend for what should have been a romantic walk home along side the Thames and through the picturesque Battersea Park, my mind was focused on the fact that my connection to academia had been severed. Time stood still. Did my fathers visit to the school that day, 6 weeks prior to my leaving, determine my Destiny? (TBC)
Any way I rediscovered it that day; it had never truly left me but was always lurking in the shadows of my subconscious. It wasn`t that sense of Joy, Religion or that i had fallen for my counselor, intelligent and attractive as she was! Respect! neither that i was a closet gay or any mind altering substances, in fact i had never indulged, and had given up alcohol and smoking some 25 years ago; now, it's been 37 years and counting! It was a paradox— simple yet complex at the same time. Julie’s 12 words were the missing piece of the puzzle, an awakening, a wake-up call.
I told myself i`d explain those twelve words later. That I`d reveal their meaning when the time was right-when the manuscript was finished until the story unfolded, until i could wrap them in something worthy. But the truth is- I hadn`t yet understood them. Not fully. i knew they mattered . I felt their weight. But i hadn`t dared to look to closely.
Maybe i was afraid. Afraid that if i unraveled them, they might full apart. That they`d turned out to be nothing more than a kind phrase, a fleeting comfort.
The Affidavits
The main POW evacuation Route`s.
(Blechammer.) Bab 20/1.E3. Bab 40. Went to Bayreuth/Mooseburgh?
(XXB went to the Hanover area.)
(Torun.) XXA. Went to Magdeburg.)
In search of the Affidavit`s?
My mother mentioned that he once said he would share his experiences with me someday.. If only he had, it could have significantly impacted our relationship and my future. My instinct was the "March" was a defining episode in his story! I was determined to uncover the conditions they had endured and the consequences they faced. I had been searching for the affidavit for some time. I had sent off for details with a fee to the National Archives offices in Kew, for a copy of the affidavit but they were returned without explanation. (Covid!?) Mmm! I almost put the thought of ever finding the Affidavit behind me! By sheer chance! I stumbled upon the Affidavit!
When i was a youngster my father would often give out some thinly disguised details of being "on the March" as he would refer to it, that made little sense to me! For example:
:He would roll his trouser leg up tap his calf muscle and say "i got those on the March!" What march! What was that all about!? :"
:If you ever have to walk a long way, just keep looking down at the ground!" Why?
:Or a soldier in his camp, who`s hair had turned white overnight, caused by the stress of the continuous Allied bombing raids. I found that difficult to believe until I made contact with that soldiers daughter, who confirmed the story.! His name was Jim Wilson!
:A German Officer pulling a Luger Pistol on him and threatened to shoot him for stealing bread! That`s a tough one to get your head around! The threat of being shot, murdered! for trying to keep yourself alive!) It is not surprising that he harbored a dislike for authoritative figures. Ha! Ha!
:There was a time he was with two other soldiers during a bombing raid. He probably knew them well and had spent time with them on the march. My father ran into the woods while they took shelter under a bridge, but both were killed, just weeks from freedom. No detailed explanation or context was ever given about what he and his fellow soldiers went through. Why he didn’t share his experiences—that’s another story. (TBC)
During my research i had read many books including "The Last Escape" The untold story of Allied prisoners of war in Germany 1944-45 written by John Nichol, (ex RAF Navigator, shot down over Iraq during the Gulf war) and Tony Rennell. It mentions a soldier had made a sworn affidavit as to the terrible conditions of the march, quote, "but never showed up at trial to give evidence and to be cross examined, so the court does not feel justified in finding guilt on his unsupported affidavit". Which i discovered later was incorrect! Overall, it’s a remarkably well-researched book that blends historical facts with personal accounts from individual soldiers, providing perspectives from both the British and American sides.
At this time i was considering giving up the search for the affidavit. My mind was set on finding Ghost Writer to help me with the story. (Still considering!?) At Christmas 2017 my partner gave me a book, unrelated to my research? The book was "Camera Girl, Fleet Streets first women Photographer." Checking out the Author, Doreen Spooner, i saw she had used a ghost writer, I researched the Ghost Writer, "Alan Clark" and found he had also Ghost written "The soldier who came back".
The Author Steve Foster, (A retired Naval Commander) was also searching for the Affidavit. In the book he mentioned he had found the affidavit from Staff Sergeant Aitken at the National Archives, after 3 months of rigorous searching! and had published it on line.
I was then able to produce them here. Was it chance, coincidence, or synchronicity? You be the judge!
Book: "The soldier who came back."
Author: Steve Foster with Alan Clark. (Published by Mirror Books. 2018.)
The book delves into profound themes like courage, respect, loyalty, and self-sacrifice—traits my Mother and Father embodied but, unfortunately, were lacking in two close family members. (To be continued)
The sworn Affidavit from Staff Sargent Thomas Aitkin.
Route.
(XXA at Torun to Magdeburg area.)
(Where it states broken: should read, Beaten!)
List of Deaths on the March from XXA Thorn to the Magdeburg area.
Deaths on the March.
XXB. To the Hanover area.
Excerpts from the book. "Survivor of the long March." Author. Charles Waite with Dee la Vardera. First Published in 2012 by Spellmount.
Bab:20/-1. e3. Bab:48.
Awaiting details from the National Archives at Kew, regarding the Deaths and Mistreatment of British soldiers on the march from Blechammer to Bayreuth. 22/1/1945- 13/4/1945.
My Father: Bottom right.
On the ropes!
Propaganda Photograph!
Sent to Families, reassuring them all was well!
Note: Those are not British uniforms!
This photograph torn in half and shared with another Soldier?
Jim Kingston. (XXA. Poland.)
Survived the march into Captivity, the challenges of life in the Camps and the "long March to Freedom." 22/1/1945- 13/4/1945.
Only to be betrayed at the last hurdle by two Family members.
(To be continued.)
Old school Motto!
"Non mihi, non tibi, sed nobis"
("Not for me, not for you, but for us")
Reading between the lines.
At its heart, the story is about transformation, centered on personal growth through self-reflection and honoring my father’s legacy. On a political level, it highlights the value of collaborative decision-making, which means examining changes in political dynamics, understanding the forces driving them, and crafting strategies to ensure resources are shared between all stake holders. By addressing these elements, the narrative strives to build a political framework that bridges local and global decision-making, inspiring a much-needed shift into a new era.
Foot note: No pun intended?
I am neither an experienced writer nor a skilled website designer. I am simply someone following the evidence presented to me and using my own unbiased, inherent intelligence to ask questions and share insights that may guide us into a new era.
JK. (2025)
Challenge`s.
The often preventable and deeply tragic losses stemming from missed opportunities to share one’s story underscore the critical value of open communication. When voices are muted, experiences go unexpressed, and lessons remain untaught, the capacity for understanding, healing, and connection is greatly reduced. These untold narratives not only withhold personal catharsis from individuals but also deprive communities of the chance to learn, empathize, and grow through the wisdom embedded in each unique life journey.
Are the toughest challenges in life those deeply personal, individual ones where there seems to be no alternative, except maybe that free get-out-of-jail card? Every year, countless people, young and old, face that decision. It might sound cynical, I began comparing and high lighting two types of challenges: freedom of choice, adventures, alone or group challenges testing ablity, durance and character, and no choice.
The march out of the POW camps.
Freedom of choice encompasses both personal and collective pursuits driven by ego. This isn’t to downplay their challenges, but to highlight the distinct differences.
Freedom of choice.
Known risks, a thorough risk assessment, and maybe a hint of selfishness? A clear destination, set start and finish dates. Careful planning, intense training, specialized gear, a detailed diet plan, and a dependable backup. The freedom to cancel anytime. Success could bring personal satisfaction, recognition, fame, and maybe even a book to write! If they come up short, reassess and give it another shot. And if they stumbled at the final hurdle, at least they went out doing what they loved.
No choice! (The March.)
Poland, January. 21- 22. 1945. (Was there a choice!) open for debate!
Forced to leave at a moment’s notice, they grabbed only what they could carry. Walk or risk being shot, murdered, or left to die in the snow covered fields—and many were. They had no idea of their destination or duration, many soldiers expected just two to — three days marching at most yet nearly 3 months (82 days)—they were still on the road, struggling to survive. There was no risk assessment, no training, no special gear, no backup. If they made it, there were no medals, no rewards and no recognition. The forced marches from Poland on January 21-22, 1945, were defined by their grueling length and the severe hardships faced by the brave soldiers who endured and survived, making it one of the most brutal ordeals in modern history.
An open letter to my father.
This journey began as a personal attempt to understand my father-the man he was, the experiences he carried and the silence that shaped so much of our lives. As i uncovered fragments of his past, i found myself seeing him and myself, with a clarity i never had before.
I share these words for anyone who, never had the chance to say what they felt, or to understand the quiet distance of a parent shaped by hardship. If this letter makes you pause, reflect, or rethink your own story, then it as done what i hoped it would.
Dear Dad,
what iv`e come to realize, that every document i uncovered, every fragment of testimony, every half-remembered story you let slip, wasn`t just a history. It was a map - a map back to you. I`ve been thinking lately about things never said. The conversations we never had. You once told me, " if you ever have to walk a long way, just keep looking down at the ground" I thought it was just advice. But now i see it was survival. A way to keep going when the world around you was to painfull to face.. You were trying to teach me something you could not say out aloud.
Over time, you let slip peices of your story. The sound of the Stukas dive bombing Rouen. The march from Rouen to Trier, the sealed cattle trucks from Trier to Poland. The soldiers in the snow that never woke. The American air raid- how you ran into the woods, and the men who sheltered under the bridge didn`t make it. You probably would have been with them. You survived by inches, by instinct, by fate. Then the finale march from Poland to Bareuth.
Five years as a prisoner of war. That`s a lifetime of silence. And i see now how that silence shaped our family. I never had a joyful, open conversation with you. you were trying to protect us-from the noise inside your head, from the ghosts that never left. But i have come to understand that your quiet was not rejection-it was survival. You were still fighting, long after the war had ended. This letter is my way of reaching you across time, of saying i see you I understand, and i carry your story with me-not just the pain, but the strength and love that lived below the silence.
With love,
Jimmy.
"PS:" Challenge met!
(Home Portrait. Taken in 2001.
"We will meet again"