Reflections on the two world wars
Reader David Morrison remembers what it was like to grow up with the veterans of World War I, then to live through World War II.
WaikatoTimes With a century having nearly passed since the start of World War I, there will be a great deal of material brought to light on this tragic event that kicked off the 1900s.
There can be no doubt that the exact cause of this human tragedy will forever remain in the fog of history. The cost of this conflict can never be measured, nor should it be forgotten with the passage of time.
As a boy growing up in the mid-1930s, there were many veterans living in our small, closeknit suburb. Even in my early years, the suffering of these men was apparent: amputations, symptoms of gas poisoning, alcoholism and shell shock, as it was then known.
Being a somewhat curious youngster I soon learnt that ‘‘The War’’ was a subject that was treated in a way which drew the curtains on the ghastly situations. The conversations would go something like this: ‘‘How did Mr H lose his leg?’’ ‘‘Machinegun bullets.’’ ‘‘How did you get your military medal, Mr L?’’ ‘‘No idea.’’ At that latter encounter, I have never forgotten how his hands shook as he rolled his own cigarette. And there it ended and I was left to make of it what I may.
My own father was wounded at Passchendaele in October 1917 and spent many months in convalescence in England and was pronounced fit to return to duty as the war ended. He spoke of his rehabilitation after his wound, but very little of the actual battles that took place.
In latter years, he did tell me that he was grateful he survived and that he did not suffer flashbacks, which afflicted many returned men. My later father-inlaw as a 20-year-old was wounded twice; his convalescence on the second occasion coincided with the cessation of the hostilities.
After World War I, the catchphrase was that it was the war to end all wars. How wrong could the world have got it? Hitler with this brutal territorial ambitions plunged the world into a conflict of such magnitude and widespread involvement that it cost millions of lives and untold damage.
I well remember the concern of those of our elders who had been through World War I. Mobilisation was the pressing priority; young men were enlisting, rationing was introduced and restrictions were put in place. Before long, troop ships were departing to destinations unknown.
My two brothers joined the navy, one as a naval airman and the other as a radar operator. Fortunately they both survived, but the worry and consternation of my parents during those very long years was hard to withstand. Then the casualty list started to come out of the Middle East campaign and other areas.
The telegram from the War Office delivered to the next-of-kin, starting with ‘‘The War Office regrets to announce . . .’’ was always hopefully never going to be delivered. Tragically, hundreds of families received these fateful messages.
While attending Hamilton Technical College during war years, the principal asked if I would deliver letters of condolence to two neighbouring families who had been informed their sons had been posted as missing believed killed. The grief and devastation of these people will remain with me forever.
One month earlier, I had delivered a letter of congratulations to one of the families, when their son had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal.
During college days, you did wonder if you would be caught up in the war, should you reach military age and you would ask the question, How would I shape up? The question never arose for me. Post-war, I served with the British Commonwealth Occupation Forces in Japan and was able to get the vanquished view of the Pacific War, which was a brutal and savage conflict. Be that as it may, the occupation of Japan was the most benign military operation the world has seen.
While posted to a Military Intelligence Unit, I had a close view of Hirohito on one of his early provisional visits and witnessed Emperor worship at first hand. It was chilling, but showed how easy it was for him to be such a puppet for the Japanese military.
Another unforgotten incident was the discovery of a letter written in blood by a junior army officer to his commander, pleading for clemency on behalf of two soldiers suffering under the brutal disciplinary regime that prevailed in the Japanese Army.
The ‘‘ink’; was from a self-inflicted source.
What generated this spark of compassion?
With the passage of time and generation overtaking generation, my reflections are dominated by gratitude, respect and grief, hoping that in the future, these people who are the historical fabric of our country shall receive a measure of veneration.
We shall remember them.
Hamilton Technical High School (now Fraser High School) cadets parade in Victoria St.
World War I veterans, plus territorials 4th Waikato Mounted Rifles and the Hamilton Citizens band at Hamilton Girls’ High School grounds off Ward St.