Don't forget to remember.

[dave-O]

Another reason why it's better in the east - Nov. 11 is a stat holiday in NB.

[Davey Boy 2.0]

Another reason why it's better in the east - Nov. 11 is a stat holiday in NB.

what's the other reason?

[meggo]

my sister is very interested and involved with canadian veterans, especially ones from the community where we grew up... she just got back from another trip to italy and sent this email.. had me in tears, have a read.

**********************************************

Hi everyone,

I returned from Italy last week with more interesting and memorable adventures under my belt. I've already shared a few "eventful" moments with you while I was over there, if you’ll humour me one last time I'd like to share another.

After my escapades and misadventures with the "mature" travellers in Rome, I took a much-needed vacation on the Amalfi Coast and then headed east with my friend Peter. Thankfully, Peter has a car which allowed me to fulfill a goal and a promise that I made last year.

We set off from Positano and headed east through the province of Campania (of which Naples is the capital) and into the province of Molise, which considered in most guidebooks a rather unremarkable spot because (according to them) it possesses very little art, history or major cities of note. What it does possess in spades however, is stunning, natural beauty and the opportunity to give travellers a chance to see the non-touristy side of Italy that is very hard to do almost anywhere else in the country. And in my mind, it possesses a great deal of history, not necessarily ancient history but modern history -- Canadian history in fact.

During the autumn of 1943, Allied troops were fighting their way up from the southwestern edge of Italy up through the centre of the country, heading northeast towards central Italy and the province of Abruzzo. Many Canadian regiments were part of this push northwards, regiments that included young guys from my hometown of Chatham. One such soldier was Albert Prisner. Albert was a strapping, athletic young man who went to CCI (my high school) and during the war joined the Hastings and Prince Edward Regiment which is based out of Belleville, Ontario. Over the two years I have gotten to know Albert’s youngest Peter and through him, gotten to know a bit more about Albert.

The "Hasty P's" as they are commonly referred to, were made famous thanks to a book called "And No Birds Sang", written by one of their ranks, a young officer named Farley Mowat. Mr. Mowat described in vivid, terrifying detail his experiences fighting up through the boot of Italy with the Hasty P's during the Italian campaign. Although he never mentioned Albert Prisner by name in his book, he did mention the arrival of a new recruit in early October 1943, named Gerry Swayles.

From speaking with Albert's younger brother Peter (who lives in Chatham with his wife Lennie) and going through the collection of documents that Peter has about Albert's service record, we knew that Gerry Swayles served with Albert, and was killed in action along with Albert on October 17, 1943 on the road leading into Santo Stefano, a tiny hamlet in the mountains of Molise.

As it must have been for so many Canadian families, Albert's death was a devastating blow to the Prisner's, and deeply affected everyone, especially Peter, his second-eldest brother Mike, (who also fought in WW2 but luckily survived -- he passed away in 2003) and most of all their mother. Mrs. Prisner went to great lengths to try and uncover the circumstances behind Albert's death, contacting officials in the military, government and otherwise, with little success.

Over the years, Peter had uncovered more information, including the list of the other Canadian soldiers killed with Albert in the ambush outside of Santo Stefano – which is why we could connect the dots when we also saw Gerry Swayles’ name on this list. When I saw this list I realized that thanks to Mr. Mowat's book, we had some detail of what had happened on October 17, 1943 on the cold, windswept hills of Molise.

"...he led his men down the white, gravelled road that curved and twisted toward the little village...directly into an ambush of half a dozen enfilading machine guns supported by heavy mortars...Gerry, and every man of his leading section, was hit. The lucky ones were killed outright. The rest died slowly of their wounds, for it was impossible to reach them. Their bodies lay strewn on the road for five days before a full-scale battalion attack finally took San Stefano and allowed us to recover our dead. I assisted the padre and the burial party. Despite the chill, wet weather, the bodies had bloated to the point where they had stretched their stained, stinking and saturated clothing sausage-tight. They did not look like men anymore. They had become obscene parodies of men. Somebody handed me Gerry's broken spectacles, and for the first time since the real war began for me my eyes filled with tears. For the first time I truly understood that the dead...were dead".

That grim description stuck in my mind for a long time after I first read it, not only because it referred to Albert but because it raised more questions once I became more familiar with the Italian campaign and the physical landscape in which it was fought. Without boring you with too much detail, my dad and I started poring over maps and other books, trying to piece together why Albert, Gerry and their section were ambushed. From our limited information, we had difficulty coming to any conclusion -- I knew the only way to get a real sense of what had happened was to see it with my own eyes.

As Peter and I set off on October 20, 2005 for Santo Stefano, 62 years and 3 days from the day Albert was killed, I didn't know what, if anything we would find. I had a detailed map of the area, Farley's description, and that was about it. It appeared from the map that Santo Stefano was at the end of a winding road from the provincial capital of Campobasso (which was a major headquarter for the Canadian troops in 1943, to the point where it was called "Maple Leaf City"). I was snapping pictures all along the way to bring back to Peter and his family. After a few wrong turns we ended up on the proper road and when I saw the first sign stating "S. Stefano, 7 km" my heart skipped a beat. We followed the road through rolling green hills and small farms and eventually ended up at the sign for the town of Santo Stefano (see below).

Once we got there, I didn't know what to do; my emotions were running high and I felt a bit overwhelmed that I had finally made it to the place where Albert was killed. Luckily Peter kept a cooler head and suggested we head into the town and see if we could find anyone to help us. So we followed the winding road downwards into the centre of the tiny town, with a small town square overlooking the valley of the Biferno River. The road definitely did end there and there wasn't a soul in sight. A few minutes later we saw a woman leaving her house so we approached her, and Peter (who is thankfully fluent in Italian after living in Milan for 4 years) explained who I was and what I was looking for. What she said to me next I don't think I will ever forget.

In her heavily accented Italian, she clasped her hands and to my surprise she remembered that day; she remembered it come un sogno, "like a dream". She was only about 5 or 6 years old, but she remembered the bombing of the town because her family had remained there instead of evacuating like most of the other townspeople. Several of her young friends and cousins had also stayed, and they often went outside to play during lulls in the fighting. I asked her if she remembered any soldiers being killed just outside of town -- yes, yes she did. In fact, she and her friends went up the hill and saw several makeshift graves by the side of the road; the boots of the fallen soldiers still sticking out of the mud at the side of the road. She and her friends picked some flowers and placed them on their exposed boots.

Well, for those who know me well, would know that that type of information would just about put me over the edge in terms of keeping it together. I couldn't believe that not only had I finally found Santo Stefano, but we had found a woman who remembered that day, a woman who, as just a small child who had yet to understand what she had experienced or comprehend, picked "i fiorini" with her friends and placed them on the boots of the fallen Canadians -- on Albert's boots. At that point I was having a pretty hard time keeping the tears in check so luckily Peter kept talking with Carmelina and before I knew it we were back in the car b/c Carmelina wanted to show us right where it happened.

We drove back up the hill with Carmelina giving directions and a play-by-play of what she remembered of the battle. She pointed to the spot just outside of town where the soldiers had been killed, and then slightly further up where their bodies had been buried. Most Allied soldiers were buried where they fell during battle and were re-interred from 1946 onwards in war cemeteries closest to where they were killed. The spot where Albert and his comrades had fallen was exactly where we had stopped to take a picture before we went into town, right at the town sign. I couldn't believe it. Carmelina also pointed out the only high ground in the area, a hill overlooking the road into the town where the Germans had set up and where they ambushed the Albert, Gerry and six other Canadians. The road into the town followed along the "spine" of a hill that was exposed from every direction and therefore they were easy targets.

As I stood along the gravel road, I looked all around me, trying to burn every vision into my mind, the valleys surrounding, the little hilltop towns facing us, the dirt, the grass, everything. I pictured Albert leaving Campobasso, walking along this same winding road, wondering if he had any sense of what he would encounter, or if this was just another regular patrol. As the sun went behind the clouds the wind picked up and chilled me to the bone, it got very cold very quickly and I imagined what it would have been like to lay in that mud, mortally wounded. I hoped that he was one of the "lucky ones" as Farley mentioned, who was killed instantly, not left out to die because it was too dangerous for his comrades to get to him. As it often does when I try to think of what it would have been like, I get a little discombobulated by the enormity of it, but at the same time, the utter banality of it. This was just one little road and one minor skirmish among the legions of little winding Italian roads and skirmishes that left so many Canadians killed or wounded. This battle (like so many other battles fought during the Italian campaign) never made it into the news; it barely made it into the history books.

But it happened, and 8 young Canadians were killed, just like that. And the only reason that this battle made it into my own experience is because Albert was from Chatham; he walked the same halls at my high school as I did, likely walked along King Street like I have, and maybe even had a few "pops" at places like Water Street Park where high school kids always went to have a few on a Friday night....

The point being, that every guy who was killed in WW2 (and all the wars before that and since) had a story, had a family, had a life. Lucky for us many of the guys who went off to fight did come back, guys like Farley Mowat who wrote about their experiences so that we wouldn't forget about the guys like Albert.

The day after I went to Santo Stefano, I went to Ortona and to the Moro River War Cemetery like I have done so many times before. It's where Albert Prisner is buried, where Gerry Swayles (who is from Toronto, incidentally) is buried and also where 16 other young guys from Chatham-Kent have their final resting place. As I knelt down in front of Albert's grave with my bunch of flowers, and Gerry's beside his, for the first time I actually talked to him. I felt a little strange at first, but I told him where I had been, what I had seen, and I said thanks. I don't know if he could hear me, but I still felt the need to say it.

So. The point of this story? There are still people today who CAN hear me say thank you, and so I say it every chance I get, especially this week. And so can you.

Please thank a veteran this week. And the rest of the year too -- it's the least we can do.

Alysson

[Velvet]

Beautiful.

[headymamamyrna]

Very beautiful indeed.

I have a 91 year old aunt who is still alive and lives in a home in Moncton NB.her husband was killed in the war and just before it ended.

She was left in a very small village with four young children.

How could anyone forget tomorrow especially if they have been touched by someone and we all have in some way.

You can be very proud if you can stand tomorrow in the cold and reflect on what those young men did for you and I.

[Guest Low Roller]

Why The Poppy?

In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

More info on the author Lt. Col. McCrae

[can-o-phish]

my sister is very interested and involved with canadian veterans, especially ones from the community where we grew up... she just got back from another trip to italy and sent this email.. had me in tears, have a read.

**********************************************

What a very beautiful and powerful experience your sister had. Very thankful that you posted this.

We've just finished a documentary about a RCAF unit who had to ditch their plane in the North Atlantic after sinking a U-Boat so your sister's thoughts and words are something I connected with after completing this documentary.

Thanks for sharing...

[bradm]

Today's User Friendly is pretty good, IMHO.

Aloha,

Brad

Edited November 11, 2005 by Guest
Replace image with URL.

[Hartamophone]

Bump for remembering.

[Dr. J]

Just returned from the Remembrance Service at my old high school. What a powerful, powerful experience! Really. I'm always amazed at the brilliance of young people when you give them a concept (friendship/conflict/justice/sacrifice etc) they can relate to and allow them to use their creative skills (writing/art/music/drama/technical etc.)to respond to it. Incredible. The down side to doing it in a school gym, of course, is that the community at large can't be there and, as a result, think our young people simply don't care anymore...which is far from the truth.

As this thread has suggested, we need to do a better job of getting people together for this very important occasion.