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This was in a day wherein you wished you had more pictures but short of always carrying a camera around it mostly happened only on special occasions.

Dad had six brothers, three of which including him, landed in the middle of WWII. One brother was in the South Pacific and in a big battle (cannot recall the name right now) their battle ship was so beaten up it took them three months to make a friendly port on only one screw, no com’s, and more or less continual hand-over-fist bailing with buckets. Many casualties. He died the youngest of alcoholism and I surmise he suffered from the then unknown PTSD.

A second, was a medic in North Africa and was captured and endured a POW camp for the duration. He was a mild mannered man, a great bird shot, and I have find memories of him. Apparently he was the source of great encouragement among the POW’s and looked after everybody. He died of stomach cancer in his seventies. I do miss him probably the most and my dad of course.

Dad ended up drafted at 18, the youngest, and ended up in the Philippines where a sniper took the sole of his boot off along with the heel. How far away was he? Dad said he “heard him working the bolt of his Carcano and in hind sight was glad he wasn’t a very good shot. He was probably as scared as I was.” He had many other tales when pressed. He died just before Christmas 2017 at age 92.

None of them hunted outside of a traditional once-a-year pheasant hunt with my dad and brother number two and my two cousins.

I wished I had asked more questions but none of them were really conversational, more the quiet, humble, even taciturn-like.

Some of us cousins had to piece together the histories.

Thanks for posting. It’s a very interesting thread.

Bump for a great thread.

BTT