 
The picture you see at the right is clearly an old picture ... it appears to be a young man in the armed forces, probably during the Second World War, and the wings on his uniform suggest that he may have flown in planes.That's about all you can determine from the picture. Not much. I grew up with this photograph. It was always on display in my parents' home, from the earliest age I can remember, until I went away to university at age 18. In every house my family ever lived in, it was set up somewhere; perhaps on the piano, or maybe on a shelf. At some early age I asked my mother about this photo, and why it was out. Who was the person in the picture? What did he do in the war? She couldn't tell me much. This was her older brother, who went off to war when she was a teenager; he was about twenty. He flew in planes, and was shot down and killed near the end of the war. His name was Donald Frederick Wilson, and I and my brother had been named after him. (My brother got the first name; I got the second). That's all she could tell me ... she didn't know anything about how he died. This was my only connection to the Second World War; I was born well after the war, and no-one else in my family was directly involved. The picture of my dead uncle didn't really mean very much to me ... it was just an old picture collecting dust on the piano during my childhood. It follows that Remembrance Day never had much meaning to me. I'd like to tell you how all that changed. [continued...] |