A few years ago I watched a fine feature-length documentary on WWII. Produced by the National Geographic Channel, "Inside WWII" overviews, in the hyper-speed mode so typical of info-dump docs made these days, the 20th century's largest conflict.
Some of the interview subjects explain why they joined the war. I remember a certain day in the summer of 1984. As we sat in the front yard I decided to start asking my father more-probing questions regarding his war story. What at first seemed to me to be a futile exercise after his first answer was "I don't remember much, Simon, that was years ago" became hopeful after I pushed further. Responses containing details I had never known before only encouraged me. Eventually I got around to asking the most obvious question: What made him decide to enlist?
"I was pissed off. I was doing poorly in school and my mind was on the war overseas."His rationale for joining the bomber force as a gunner was one of expedience:
"You got overseas quickly that way . . . It was an eight-week air gunners' course in Montreal."He knew that flying as "aircrew" in Bomber Command was dangerous work. Many young men, men too young, got "The Chop".
As was the norm at the time in this neck of the woods my dad was sent to the CNE (Canadian National Exhibition) grounds for dispersal. From that famous Canadian site began the process of getting "shipped overseas", but as this was wartime it wasn't quite that easy. German U-boats prowled the North Atlantic in search of prey, and a steamer loaded with fresh faces off to war was a prime and highly-prized target.
I'd be nervous having to cross a canal to pick up a loaf of bread.
As readers here have already surmised, my father survived the war, including a raid on the SS barracks at Obersalzberg during the last few days of the war in the European theatre. He was demobbed shortly after two flights to Rotterdam as part of "Operation Manna", a humanitarian effort which involved food drops to starving Dutch civilians.
After enjoying a few years of civilian life after the war, he reenlisted with the RCAF and enjoyed a long career with Canada's finest service.
I left the best for last; the big "and" part of my dad's explanation for wanting to see action overseas:
"... And I wanted to get the Germans."
(A childhood friend did not come home; he died when his bomber was shot down over France. Kinda sobering, ain't it?)
Passions of the time, those were.
My father loved Germany and the Germans. We moved to West Germany in October of 1966, just twenty-one years after he flew in a Lancaster bomber doing a job he felt he must do.
Royal Air Force No. 626 Squadron ― May 1945
