Will be enjoying the day tomorrow, but VE is always bitter sweet for me, as my Dad fought in Burma. Didn't get home until January 1946, when he did get home they wouldn't let him have a pint in the Royal Oak which use to be next to Woolwich Arsenal station. He was proper soldier, just like Windsor Davis in It aint Half Hot Mum.
Why wouldn’t they let him have a beer @usetobunkin ?
Also interested to know why.
My father always had issues with the MIlitary Police at Woolwich Arsenal station when he was returning to Mill Hill barracks after a few days leave to visit his family. They were checking anyone in uniform to make sure they weren't doing a runner 😲.
Terrible disguise if you’re running away from the army to be fair!
True but as you can probably guess most soldiers would have been returning to barracks on Woolwich Common at the time of day Dad was travelling, so those going the other way came under close scrutiny.
I wonder if there will be a marking of the end of the far east (forgotten) war. My father (like Captain Tom actually) was in Burma. Wasn't captured or killed by the way, and didn't build the bridge over the river Kwai.
I hope so Seth. My great uncle on mum's side, never recovered from his time in Burma and the level of cruelty they suffered.
I wonder if there will be a marking of the end of the far east (forgotten) war. My father (like Captain Tom actually) was in Burma. Wasn't captured or killed by the way, and didn't build the bridge over the river Kwai.
Totally agree, I have written on here in the past about my fathers experiences in Burma and it would be great if they finally got some long overdue recognition for there bravery, but sadly I doubt if they will, it would have been so easy to move the August bank holiday forward 2 weeks and celebrated on the 14th August, such a shame the forgotten army has lived up to its name.
The Grandfather in law was a Chindit and fought in Burma. Nothing but praise for the Burmese people, but he hated the Japanese for the rest of his life. I got to hear some of his fascinating and spine tingling stories.
He had a servicing garage in Blackheath and refused to work on Japanese cars and would stock no Japanese parts until the mid 1980's when his son persuaded him it might be an idea to finally forget.
@Addickted asked me to post this picture of him in 1945
I never know with you Henry, for real or not? Which is Addickted? Where is it? Taking the flag down or putting it up?
It's Berlin in 1945. A red army soldier raises a Soviet flag on the Reichstag.
While we're quite right to celebrate Britain's roll in defeating fascism the red army did most of the fighting and most of the dying. Over 90% of German casualties came on the Russian front.
The cold war and how the war is told from a British perspective, understandably, means this is often overlooked or ignored.
The disgusting behaviour of the red army in Germany and the vile regime and dictator they fought for shouldn't be brushed under the carpet, as it often was during the war, either.
As children, easily up to the mid sixties, when a friend knocked on your door to ask your mother if you were coming out to play we would agree amongst ourselves to go to a 'bombsite' to muck about. 'Bombsite' was common vernacular back then.
The house I grew up in at Kinveachy Gardens SE7 was severely damaged by a high explosive bomb but not demolished. The bomb fell directly opposite and I’m guessing about 8 - 10 houses destroyed. A small block was built on that site opposite my house in the late fifties I think.
As children, easily up to the mid sixties, when a friend knocked on your door to ask your mother if you were coming out to play we would agree amongst ourselves to go to a 'bombsite' to muck about. 'Bombsite' was common vernacular back then.
Parents would often refer to it.... “your bedroom looks like a bomb site”
My great nan was born just around the corner in 1902. DNA matches on Ancestry suggest her father was likely to be one of the brothers in a family who lived in this street (her middle name is also the family's surname, which was a huge help in working this out). The aunt of the person with the DNA match is in this photo and looks like my nan, they're probably second cousins.
The father of this family was also illegitimate. One of his great grandfathers was an Italian who moved to England in the late 1700s - my only known ancestor from outside Britain and Ireland. He had three English wives and lived in to his 90s. There are various distant DNA matches around the world linking back to this family. Would be great to trace back further and find out more about his family and ancestors in Italy.
Will be enjoying the day tomorrow, but VE is always bitter sweet for me, as my Dad fought in Burma. Didn't get home until January 1946, when he did get home they wouldn't let him have a pint in the Royal Oak which use to be next to Woolwich Arsenal station. He was proper soldier, just like Windsor Davis in It aint Half Hot Mum.
Same as my dad. He was a sergeant in the Royal Artillery and served in Burma and Malaya. RIP Dad x
I’m sure many people will remember them and will have a drink today at home. I know I certainly will, but without the bunting and I don’t own a Union Jack flag.
My Facebook is full of people posting about VE Day.
@Addickted asked me to post this picture of him in 1945
I never know with you Henry, for real or not? Which is Addickted? Where is it? Taking the flag down or putting it up?
It's Berlin in 1945. A red army soldier raises a Soviet flag on the Reichstag.
While we're quite right to celebrate Britain's roll in defeating fascism the red army did most of the fighting and most of the dying. Over 90% of German casualties came on the Russian front.
The cold war and how the war is told from a British perspective, understandably, means this is often overlooked or ignored.
The disgusting behaviour of the red army in Germany and the vile regime and dictator they fought for shouldn't be brushed under the carpet, as it often was during the war, either.
I thought it looked familiar, thanks, Henry. I agree that without them the outcome might have been very different. I was referencing my father's family's experiences in pre-war Latvia under Stalin and later, the cruelty in Berlin. Thank goodness they escaped. It took until the late 1960s for my grandparents to get my great grandmother (Welsh from LLangollen!) out of Latvia.
Robert Zarb, born in Port Said, held British citizenship. He was studying medicine in Grenoble (Isère). As an enemy alien, he was placed under police supervision. Zarb became friends with Jean Feigelson, a fellow medical student who was a Jewish refugee from Russia. On August 25, 1942, Zarb and Feigelson discovered that the police were about to conduct mass arrests of foreign Jews. Zarb managed to warn Feigelson’s parents, and he concealed Jean and his brother Simon in his apartment. That night, police visited the Feigelsons’ apartment and found it empty. In December 1942, Feigelson was prosecuted on suspicion of activity in the Resistance. The court convicted him and sentenced him to eight days in prison, but he was released at once because he had been interned for three weeks before his trial. Zarb, his friend, waited for him outside the courthouse and immediately led him to a hideout, knowing that as a Jew, Feigelson would automatically be placed in administrative detention, meaning that he would be turned over to the Germans. Thus, Zarb saved his Jewish friend’s life again. Several days later, after obtaining a forged identification card, Feigelson fled and joined a Resistance unit. Zarb, his friend, was arrested on suspicion of activity against the authorities and deported to the Mauthausen camp. Fortunately, he survived, but he returned to France in extremely poor health. On December 16, 1998, Yad Vashem recognized Robert Zarb as Righteous Among the Nations.
As children, easily up to the mid sixties, when a friend knocked on your door to ask your mother if you were coming out to play we would agree amongst ourselves to go to a 'bombsite' to muck about. 'Bombsite' was common vernacular back then.
I worked at Midland Bank in Ludgate Hill in the early 80s and there was bomb site next to it. I believe it is now the City Thameslink station.
The Grandfather in law was a Chindit and fought in Burma. Nothing but praise for the Burmese people, but he hated the Japanese for the rest of his life. I got to hear some of his fascinating and spine tingling stories.
He had a servicing garage in Blackheath and refused to work on Japanese cars and would stock no Japanese parts until the mid 1980's when his son persuaded him it might be an idea to finally forget.
My Grandfather fought in Burma too. I never really knew him that much but he could never forget the cruelty of the Japanese.
When we were clearing his house after he died we came across his diary and it had an entry which read “cleared ???? village, bad day”. My dad explained that they had to rebury the dead from a village that had been massacred by the Japanese. They’d killed and dismembered all the inhabitants, including women and children. He’d told my dad that he could never forget burying a small girls head.
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We tried getting some bunting last/this week and it was sold out everywhere. So we'll probably be the only house on our road without any.
Looking forward to our picnic on our driveway.
He had a servicing garage in Blackheath and refused to work on Japanese cars and would stock no Japanese parts until the mid 1980's when his son persuaded him it might be an idea to finally forget.
While we're quite right to celebrate Britain's roll in defeating fascism the red army did most of the fighting and most of the dying. Over 90% of German casualties came on the Russian front.
The cold war and how the war is told from a British perspective, understandably, means this is often overlooked or ignored.
The disgusting behaviour of the red army in Germany and the vile regime and dictator they fought for shouldn't be brushed under the carpet, as it often was during the war, either.
'Bombsite' was common vernacular back then.
My great nan was born just around the corner in 1902. DNA matches on Ancestry suggest her father was likely to be one of the brothers in a family who lived in this street (her middle name is also the family's surname, which was a huge help in working this out). The aunt of the person with the DNA match is in this photo and looks like my nan, they're probably second cousins.
The father of this family was also illegitimate. One of his great grandfathers was an Italian who moved to England in the late 1700s - my only known ancestor from outside Britain and Ireland. He had three English wives and lived in to his 90s. There are various distant DNA matches around the world linking back to this family. Would be great to trace back further and find out more about his family and ancestors in Italy.
He was a sergeant in the Royal Artillery and served in Burma and Malaya.
RIP Dad x
Celebrate the end of suffering by remembering suffering.
I was referencing my father's family's experiences in pre-war Latvia under Stalin and later, the cruelty in Berlin. Thank goodness they escaped.
It took until the late 1960s for my grandparents to get my great grandmother (Welsh from LLangollen!) out of Latvia.
Always remembered on days like today.
Robert Zarb, born in Port Said, held British citizenship. He was studying medicine in Grenoble (Isère). As an enemy alien, he was placed under police supervision. Zarb became friends with Jean Feigelson, a fellow medical student who was a Jewish refugee from Russia. On August 25, 1942, Zarb and Feigelson discovered that the police were about to conduct mass arrests of foreign Jews. Zarb managed to warn Feigelson’s parents, and he concealed Jean and his brother Simon in his apartment. That night, police visited the Feigelsons’ apartment and found it empty. In December 1942, Feigelson was prosecuted on suspicion of activity in the Resistance. The court convicted him and sentenced him to eight days in prison, but he was released at once because he had been interned for three weeks before his trial. Zarb, his friend, waited for him outside the courthouse and immediately led him to a hideout, knowing that as a Jew, Feigelson would automatically be placed in administrative detention, meaning that he would be turned over to the Germans. Thus, Zarb saved his Jewish friend’s life again. Several days later, after obtaining a forged identification card, Feigelson fled and joined a Resistance unit. Zarb, his friend, was arrested on suspicion of activity against the authorities and deported to the Mauthausen camp. Fortunately, he survived, but he returned to France in extremely poor health. On December 16, 1998, Yad Vashem recognized Robert Zarb as Righteous Among the Nations.
When we were clearing his house after he died we came across his diary and it had an entry which read “cleared ???? village, bad day”. My dad explained that they had to rebury the dead from a village that had been massacred by the Japanese. They’d killed and dismembered all the inhabitants, including women and children. He’d told my dad that he could never forget burying a small girls head.