Somewhere in that field of white crosses at Normandy lies an uncle whom I never got the chance to meet. He drew the short straw, coming in with the first wave of glider-based paratroopers on D-Day, and he and everyone else on board were killed when his glider wrecked upon landing. My Aunt Dot, from West Virginia, never got the chance to say goodbye or even visit his grave, but when my Dad got transferred to an assignment in Europe, he made sure to find the grave and pay the family’s respects.
Stories like that, repeated time after heart-breaking time, were why melancholy songs like this, sung by the great Vera Lynn, were so popular both at home and the front lines.
Have a great Memorial Day weekend, and take a moment to remember.
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