A Buffalo Soldier In Italy

Thank you for listening to We Have Ways of Making You Talk. Sign up to our Patreon to receive bonus content, live streams and our weekly newsletter with money off books and museum visits as well. Plus early access to all live show tickets. That's patreon.com/wehaveways Hello and welcome to our series of family stories, the podcast written by you, the listeners. Today we're doing a special family stories episode with a range of very different family experiences for Britain, Canada, Ireland, Italy and the USA that you have shared with us. And thanks for sharing these with us, they're fantastic. This week we're starting with a story from Simon. My father, Frederick Irving Pennington, was born in Castleford in the West writing of Yorkshire and joined up in September 1939. He was by trade a cobbler and also specialised in leather support items such as surgical boots. By typical army logic they put him in the RAO C as a signaler. Having been forced to learn more code in the scouts, he had a healthy abhorrence for anything to do with the dots and dashes as he called it and requested transfer to the infantry. It's difficult from his army war record to make out clearly where and with whom he was subsequently posted at times. My father only reluctantly shared stories about the war, and this one is one of them. I'd asked him once rather naively when did they ever get to rest from fighting. I'd always imagined it was pretty non-stop like the Commando comics I'd read as a young boy. Dad told me that actually a lot of the war was spent sitting around waiting for something to happen, and in an North African desert this was particularly trying. But one morning he was approached by an NCO and told to follow him. He was marched in front of an officer, who asked him the rather strange question, "Your record says you're a cobbler, yes?" My father answered in the affirmative and the officer then said, "So you know how to handle a sewing machine?" Of course he did, all cobblers were trained to do so. He was told to speak to no one, go pack his gear and report back in 20 minutes. He did as he was told and found himself loaded onto a truck with about half a dozen others and off they drove into the desert. Later that day they arrived at a place my father didn't recognise. When they asked where they were the NCO and the truck told them to shut up and do as you told. They were marched into a pretty dilapidated building seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The roof was missing but covered with camouflage scrim netting. Inside was a number of tables with sewing machines, many bolts of cloth and a corporal who it turned out was a master tailor. They were told they were going to produce swastikers and they weren't to ask why. The master tailor instructed them how to mark out and cut the different pieces of cloth to make swastika and then how to stitch them together. They were there for a week. It was bloody hot during the day, chatter was discouraged whilst working but they got water on request and fantastic rations at night when the work stopped once the sun went down. They slept in the same room as they worked in, often using the bolts of cloth as extra blankets and were woken at first light to carry on the task. They were only allowed out to use a latrine but a guard went with them. At the end of the week it being deemed enough swastikers had been produced and intelligence officer appeared who proceeded to give them a lecture which basically was mentioned this to anyone and you will be shot. The officer then let's said they were to explain their absence if asked as being put to the work party to help recover damaged tanks. There were plenty of them strewn all about the desert. Dad was then put on the truck back to where he'd originally come from. The state my father was in when he got back was enough to convince his fellow soldiers that he hadn't been on the holiday and his soldiers were often picked up for laborious labouring tasks no one thought it was unusual. My father never knew what the swastikers were used for. Hopefully one day someone might dig the reason out but it didn't sound like the sort of thing entered into a regimental war diary. My father died in 2007 at the age of 92. Two years before at his 90th birthday party he was asked to give a speech to all the family and friends attending. He was a good speaker having been a local county labour counsellor for many years after the war and he knew how to hold a room. He wasn't a long speech and at first was a bit baffling. In a steady voice he related how when he was born in 1915 he was given a middle name that he had never liked. His parents were very good friends with their neighbours and the same day he was born their neighbours received a telegram telling them that their only son and child who was just 17 had been killed on the western front. His name was Irvin and my grandparents gave it to my father as his middle name in memory of the boy from next door who wedded the war and never came back. By now the room was utterly silent and my father his voice croaking a little said "I never cared for the name itself but I've never forgotten that boy from next door though I never knew him. He reminds me every day how lucky I am to have been to war and come back to enjoy such a wonderful and long life when he did not." Two years later on his gravestone we had the words used by the mayor of Bayer to finish a commemoration speech for the 40th anniversary of D-Day which my father attended engraved only the forgotten are truly dead. We did it not just for him but also for Irvin. We will never forget them both and that story was from Simon. And this story is from Chris. Chris writes "my grandfather was Italian. He was born in 1912 and came to England in 1919 just after the First World War. His name was Luciano Venay. Though to his English friends he was simply known as Jim. He came from Carrara, a town in Tuscany you may have heard of. His famous for his marble quarries used since Roman times are still considered some of the finest marble in the world. It also happens to be the hometown of the legendary Italian goalkeeper Jan Luigi Buffon. By much of Italy at the time the area where my granddad lived was extremely poor. His surname Venay is quite rare in Italy. I tried researching it and discovered that what I assume a distant relative may still own a quarry there. Apparently my great grandfather Cesare Venay was a sculptor who came to the UK alone first hoping to earn enough money to send for his children later. Their mother had died and family legends says the children were essentially running wild back home. My granddad and his two older brothers, Cesare, known as Chaz and Bruno, were all living in full and went Italy declared war in Britain in 1940. They were subsequently interned on the olive man. Two younger brothers, Maurio and Tony, had been born in England and were therefore not interned. I've included a photograph of all the brothers, which an AI clothing search suggests dates from the late 1930s. This could be from an episode of the Godfather. My granddad always insisted he knew Sir Charles Forte. Growing up, we assumed this was one of his tall stories given Forte's fame in the 1970s and 80s. But recently I watched a documentary about Sir Charles Forte and discovered that he too had been interned on the olive man, so perhaps they really did know each other after all. Family legend even claims my uncle Bruno became quite close to Forte's son Rocco. Another story in the family concerned Uncle Chaz nearly being transferred to Canada. Supposedly, he argued that his two brothers were being left behind and someone decided the three should remain together, so he stayed on the island. But we had been told that the ship he was supposed to be on was sunk. What a lucky escape for Uncle Chaz. By sheer coincidence, I later watched a documentary about the Arondora Star and realised this must have been the shipping question. Early on the morning of 2 July 1940, the SS Arondora Star was torpedoed by a German submarine off the coast of Ireland, while then 800 people were killed, most of whom were Italian civilians being deported to Canada. The tragedy changed public opinion about interning foreign citizens. Following the fall of France in May 1940, the possibility of deporting internees was discussed at the war cabinet. The conversation turned to Italian citizens on the 11th of June, the day after Italy entered the Second World War. Prime Minister Winston Churchill told the war cabinet he had instructed the Minister of Home Security to arrange for male Italians to be interned. 75 miles west of Ireland's Atlantic coast, the Arondora Star was attacked by U-47, a German U-boat led by the prolific submarine commander Gunter Prin. The ship sank, a more than half those aboard Los Alives. This included 470 of the Italian internees at 143 of the Germans. It does say that half the 717 Italian internees who would go to be transferred would deem category A. I find that a bit hard to imagine from my uncle Chaz as he'd been in the UK since 1912. My granddad, Lucia, was released after a relatively short time and somehow ended up being drafted into the British Army. I've included a photograph which on the reverse has August 1941, 29 years old written on it. I don't know many details, but he was stationed at Ilfrakum, Devon, which he often talked about. What I still find remarkable is that right up until his death, he was never granted British citizenship, despite living here since 1919 and even serving in the British Army. He refused to apply later because he would have had to pay for it, which to be fair I can't entirely blame him for. I believe something similar happened despite Milligan. Anyway, please keep up the excellent work gentlemen. Well, thank you, Chris. And that story was from Chris. And this story now is from Jim R. Both my parents were born in West Cork before Irish independence when Ireland was part of the United Kingdom. The South West of Ireland was an area of support for Irish independence. Following the The Irish Civil War, 1922-23, West Corp remained strongly in favour of the Republican faction, the IRA, and anti-treaty. My mother, Sheila O'Callaghan, was born in Caragafooka, west of Macroom, on 2 February 1917. For many years she signed herself as Sheila Bridgett, and it was only once she applied for a copy of a birth certificate in the 1960s, but she learned she had been registered as Julia Mary. I guess that there would have been drinking involved before my grandfather's visit to the registry office. She became a domestic servant in the doctors' house at the bottom of the lane in Kill. While there she got together with Paddy Roach my father. Paddy was proud to have been in the old IRA and became the adjutant of the West Corp Italian as a young teenager. The Royal Navy was seen as a way out in those days since they hadn't been involved against the IRA, so he wangled a reference and joined up. Incredible. In 1937 Paddy joined the Royal Navy as a stoker for 12 years in Devonport, perhaps not the wisest time to join the British Armed Forces from a neutral country. He was posted to Cornwall in November 1937 following her refit. In 1938, Sheila moved from County Court to London and found a job in Brentford working for Trico, making windscreen wipers for military vehicles. I have a photograph of Paddy from the 17th of April with HMS Cornwall on his capital. Sheila lived in digs at Parkwood Road, Houndslow, and was earning 21 shillings a week at Trico. Britain declared war on Germany on September 3rd, and on the 15th of September Paddy and Sheila were married at St Vincent de Paul, Isleworth, Middlesex, with father Basil Parton P.P. officiating. It seems that the normal rules about extended spiritual preparation and formation before Catholic weddings were speeded up in times of war. In the wedding picture, Sheila looks very glamorous and Paddy had Cornwall on his cap telly, although he had been posted to HMS Curlyw on 31 August. Sheila remembered being married on the Friday, and Paddy went off to see on Sunday a very short honeymoon. At this stage, Sheila started to collect the war illustrated month by month carrying the volumes around as she travelled between lodgings. Paddy travelled north to HMS Curlywinskappa Flow. His action station was as an ammunition handler for one of the anti-aircraft guns. She escorted several convoys to Norway, providing radar cover over the autumn and winter. HMS Curlywinsk was sunk on Sunday 26 March. As she was going down, Paddy dropped out of his hammock and found himself up to his chest in Arctic water in darkness. When he was pulled from the sea he was forced to drink rum to revive him. He spluttered that he was a pioneer, a Catholic group committed to total abstence from alcohol, but was told that he had to take the rum as medicine. That was the end of the pioneers. The news of the sinking of Curlyw on the 26th March had been made public. Sheila kept a press cutting, and it must have been very stressful for family members until news was received. Paddy had sent a field service postcard on the 27th March to Sheila to say he had survived, and Sheila remembered that Paddy got six weeks survivors leave. As well as working at Trikow, Sheila was a fire watcher at night in the blitz when the blackout was enforced. Lots of people were sleeping in the tube after the last train had gone. Sheila's landlady didn't like the tube or the Anderson shelter, so they both hid under the table. During the blitz when Paddy was back on leave the house was burgled while Paddy and Sheila were in the shelter. His only civilian suit was stolen. So much for the blitz spirit. Sheila moved to Devonport in July 1940, and again in October 1940 to Birkenhett so that she could be near Paddy. He had been sent to Kamel Leard for the building of HMS Prince of Wales, and he was probably nearby in August when a German bomb exploded next to the ship and damaged the hull and propeller shaft with deadly consequences in the future. HMS Prince of Wales was commissioned on the 19th January 1941 and completed in Recife at the end of March the same year. Sheila found a new job with Bernard's naval tailors in Recife and really enjoyed the work. Later in her working life I can still remember her speed and skill at wrapping brown paper parcels in local Haberdashry in clotheshop. She kept a letter from one of the directors thanking her for her service, noting the happy circumstances which occasioned her departure, the forthcoming birth of a son, me. This enclosed a checking recognition of her long time looking after the recife branch. Those few months in Birkenhett a recife were probably the longest they spent near each other until 1944. On the 24th of March 1941, Prince of Wales and the battle cruiser HMS Hood engaged the German battleship Bismarck and heavy cruiser Prince Oigon in an historic naval engagement in which Hood was sunk and Prince of Wales was damaged but not before Prince of Wales struck Bismarck with three of her 14-inch shells. Prince of Wales returned to Rosyth through repair where an unexploded shell was found as the dry dock emptied. You've never seen Doc Yard Matys move so fast, my father told me. The young married couple must have had some time together in Rosyth and done firmly. Sheila was living in Rosyth and found great satisfaction in her work at Burnards, outfitting naval officers and others in support of the war effort. Next time you see a wartime photograph of a brave naval Japanese uniform, remember Sheila and all of the others who helped to make him look smart. In the early afternoon of October 25th 1941, Prince of Wales, in company with the destroyer's electro, express and haspers, left Greenick naval base destined for the far east. Paddy and Sheila could only stay in contact through letter-writing and these were intermittent because of the delivery in time at sea no matter how radially they wrote to one mother. Sheila kept only two of Paddy's letters from the war. One was a special one-page letter to San Christmas greetings before the Prince of Wales sailed. The other was from Ceylon, following her sinking. The first dated the fifth of December he describes the heat and the sweat dripping onto the page since I started this letter I've drunk about two or three pints of water, that's in about an hour. He also writes, "My god Sheila, I wish I could come along with this. Fancy walking in and surprising me on Christmas Eve?" "Yes, there's no harm in Fancy is there." He was 23. Sheila 25. On the 10th of December 1941 in the South China Sea the Japanese attacked with the non-expected force at torpedo bombers. Men on the upper deck watched in horrors the tracks the torpedoes closed in. Within seconds the Prince of Wales took on a list of 11 degrees, a speed felt of 15 knots with both her steering gear and main electrical systems fatally damaged. She could no longer maneuver with any degree of control. His station for abandoned ship was to man the scrambling nets near the bow in the famous photograph and to release them of all the ship went down so as to avoid them floating out in entangling swimming sailors. When Miss Judge Dis became entangled in the wire cables after diving in, he was pulled down and described the warm tropical water becoming very cold and completely black. Just before he was forced to breathe out he struggled free of the scrambling net and swam up the surface. Paddy was rescued by one of the destroyer escorts and with the other survivors returned to Singapore. In his letter to Sheila, he doesn't mention these dangers. He writes, "I must be a bloody general or something, that's two ships to the sun under me, but thank God I've managed to get saved every time. I'm lucky in that sense anyway." Paddy continues, "When the ship went down I had to jump and swim for it, I had my life belt on and a damn good job too. I swallowed some more oil fuel but I think it was a good thing there was oil in the water as it helped keep the sharks away. After fumbling about for a bit of the water I managed to get onto one of our boats that was floating about. We couldn't get the engine going anyway, I didn't have the energy to try and after a spell one of our destroyers picked us up and rushed us to Singapore. From there well we've got some clothes and shoes, big eats and rum. Rum I mentioned especially as it's great stuff in a time like that." Few sailors escaped the fall of Singapore in February 1942. Paddy was lucky. In 1937 he had learned how to handle the equipment for an old fashioned coal boiler to a noise CPO in Devonport. When the coal went out, are there any stokers who know how to serve a coal-fired ship? He was able to say yes and left on one of the last old steamers as it left Singapore with civilian and military evacuees before the surrender. I have a series of tickets and receipts tracking his progress through the Dutch East Indies. Sheila was living at 9 Almer Street in Vakething and worked in Burnards Naval Outfit as Ross Seythe. On the 30th of May she received a telegram from Australia asking "Please send me £8." Sheila witnessed a raid on Clydebank and on the 8th of August sent a telegram to Paddy. Have you received money? Many thanks for letter. Paddy's reply telegram was from Freemantle in Australia. In Australia Paddy trained Australian Navy recruits and served on minesweepers. Paddy served as an instructor training the volunteers for the Royal Australian Navy. He told me he would advise the officers that "Isn't how we do things in the Royal Navy, sir." Paddy was ordered back to the UK and travelled home on the blue funnel line ship SSNASTA. On the 7th of October 1942, Sheila received a telegram leaving shortly home soon. On returning to the UK, Paddy expected to be posted to a ship or landing craft assigned to the long-expected landing in France, which everyone knew was coming. With Sheila and he were relieved when he was posted to a training ship HMSDIMEED. Paddy much preferred training he recruits to becoming involved in D-Day. HMSDIMEED left for a site each week and returned for the weekends. She was known as the BEF back every Friday. Sheila and Paddy were together again, living at 6 Dunlop Terrace in Vakething. Paddy did not fancy getting more involved in even more fighting and took a primary German course. aiming at becoming a guard at the Prison of War camp and even safer job than Diamied. It was not to be, and he was posted to LST3009, which was destined to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. A landing ship tank could carry 18 Sherman's and more than a company of infantry. Paddy was one of the most experienced sailors aboard. Sheila recalled the excitement of VE Day on the 7th of May, but she couldn't fully join in the Gaiati because her Paddy was still in the Pacific, anticipating fighting against the Japanese. The LSTs were to land on the Malay coast, expecting an opposed landing. Fortunately, the Japanese surrendered, however the landing went ahead, as planned the ship ran out of momentum as she ran up the beach, but then hit a palm tree would stop the bowdaw's opening. Because of the full loaded tank, she could not pull back on the Kejanka. Had the landing been opposed, LST3009 would have been a very large target under fire and unable to move. And I wouldn't be here. VJ Day was announced on the 14th of August and Sheila could celebrate it last. Sheila and Paddy went to the paying off dance for LST3009 in Gov. on the 23rd of August 1946. All the time, Sheila continued working for burners in Recife. In the 1950s, after serving in the Royal Navy, Paddy found it hard to leave the sea and worked in a hopper dredger in the 4th. Later, Paddy studied at night school to become a gas engineer and both he and Sheila worked for the gas board in Dunn, Firmland. She was a specialist demonstrating the benefits of cooking using gas. Sheila died in 1991 surviving Paddy by 20 years. They had two sons and now have three grandchildren and three great grandchildren. And that story is from Jim Arren. Thank you so much for judging what an amazing family story. This next story is from Kerry. Gentlemen, I'm a fairly recent subscriber to your podcast and I love it immensely. It's what we love to hear. I especially love when you guys break into your American accents which are quite good by the way. Well, thank you very much. Can't disagree. I wanted to tell you the story about my uncle, Dr. Lawrence S. Lackie, who was an officer in the US Army Medical Corps, attached the segregated 92nd Infantry Division in Italy, the famed Buffalo soldiers. They were called Buffalo soldiers by the Native Americans, who they fought against in post-civil war America in the so-called Indian Wars because the African American soldiers' hair reminded the Native Americans of the hair of the Buffalo. And also because the fighting spirit of the soldiers reminded them the strength and resilience of the Buffalo. Uncle Lawrence was born in Oklahoma in 1918. They are the oldest of six children born to my grandparents. My father was the youngest and here my uncle Lawrence, bracketed four sisters. Uncle Lawrence graduated from Langston University, a historically black college or university, HBCU, in Oklahoma in 1938, after being voted most brilliant by his classmates. When World War II broke out, he was teaching in a segregated school in rural Oklahoma. Once he was inducted, he army realized he was a college graduate, so they shipped him off to officer candidate school. He completed OCS and was assigned to the 92nd Infantry Division as a medical officer at their base in Fort Wachukar, Arizona, as a second lieutenant. Eventually, the 92nd got shipped off to Italy where they saw combat. Uncle Lawrence won a silver star for setting up an aid station behind German lines and crossing the line numerous times for medical supplies. He received a write-up in the black press specifically the Philadelphia Tribune for this accomplishment. He was also awarded a bronze star for pulling a wounded soldier to safety while under fire. Lastly, he was wounded once and received the purple heart. My dad told me that he remembered when their mum, my grandmother, received the telegraph and she hurriedly packed my dad off with her to go to church and pray for her eldest son, Lawrence. After the war, Uncle Lawrence who must have as a captain wanted to go to medical school. He would have preferred to go to the University of Oklahoma's medical school in his home state, but he was denied from doing so solely because of his race. He was approached by the NAACP to be a plaintiff in a lawsuit to challenge the University of Oklahoma's admission policy, but elected not to, as he'd been accepted into the University of Kansas Medical School. After graduation from medical school, Uncle Lawrence went under practice medicine in Detroit, Michigan for many years. My uncle was normally a quiet man and could be kind of taciturn. When I learned he'd been in the war, I asked him questions about it, and it seemed like he changed into a different person. He was very happy to discuss his experience and his normally placid face would like it up like a Christmas tree. Although I know he saw some of the worst things a person could see in war, it seemed to me like his experiences in World War II was the greatest adventure of his life. One of my favourite stories he told me was about how their base would be shelled by the Germans, who held the high ground every day, precisely the same tie. He said he'd count the shell hits, and knew that the Germans would only fire that exact number every day as well. No more, no less. After the shelling and end of one day, he climbed out of his bombshell to and started waving his arms at the Germans, knowing that they could see him, but that they wouldn't shoot another shell. Years after the war, Uncle Lawrence owned a medical office in Detroit, and the doctor, who was about his same age, and had a German accent rented an office from him. He asked the doctor if he'd been in the war, and it turns out that he had been. He was an artillery officer in the German army. My uncle relayed his story about jumping out of the shelter after a shelling and rousing the Germans, and asked the doctor what he would have done if he'd been in the mountains overlooking the base. He said the German doctor got beat red in the face, and said he'd have lobbed another shell at my uncle. My uncle said he laughed his head off after hearing the doctor's response. Sadly, my uncle passed away suddenly and I expectedly in 1993. My father and he had planned a trip to Italy to visit my uncle's or battlefields, but it was not meant to be. Uncle Lawrence was a great man, a great doctor who gave about his patience, and I miss him dearly. Keep up the good work, gentlemen, and as you always say, Cheerio. And this story is from Anne, and Anne writes, "My great uncle Stanley Dexter was only 28 when he died in England while serving his country in World War II. Although born in barking Essex, he grew up in Moose-Geor, Saskatchewan, and was quick to enlist when Canada entered the war in September 1939. After a short training period, he was shipped to England in December that year and assigned to the third Canadian field regiment, e-battery, RCA in Aldershot as a Lance Bombardier. The early days of the war were not going well. By June 1940, France had fallen to the Nazis, and the British forces had been evacuated from Dunkirk. The Germans were on the north coast of France and poised to invade England at any time. Britain was building its defenses, particularly along the South Coast. Stan's unit was transferred to Shore and by Sea. In early October 1940, to patrol the beach in Manon Observation Post. The observation post was about half a mile from an abandoned beach cottage that was used as the soldier's billet. Shifts in the OP were tedious. Every time he wanted a cup of tea or needed to report the sighting of a fishing ship or the appearance of a curious neighbour, you had to walk down the Peppity Beach between the billet and the OP and back again. Shore and by Sea was a typical English seaside village with a single beach that stretched from Brighton to Wirving. It offered fishing chip shops, a cinema, and a pair with Vodavillian musements, O and landmines. The beach had been cleared of most of the seaside cottages in order to have a better line of sight to the sea. Concrete walls and terraces had been built to trap the tanks and landmines planted strategically above the high tide mark. Dangerous and warning signs were installed, but the rains, the salty air and the winds, even in the warm days of September, stretched the wires out of position and faded the wooden signs. Storms and waves disturbed the gravel and shuffled the mines from their original locations. Stan thought the communication could be improved by laying a telephone wire from the billet to the beach to the OP. On Friday, October 25, 1940, Stan approached his battery leader, Lance Sergeant Ingleby, with his proposal and got his permission to figure out a route. Next, Stan located a spool of communication wire and said to his mate, Gunna Wilford, "Let's go lay the wire." Stan dashed off and Wilford ran up to catch him. Stan walked on the Stoney Beach while Wilford took the concrete terrace as far as he could before they turned inland towards the tank of structures. Another soldier approached from them from the opposite direction and they exchanged greetings as they passed each other. Suddenly a blast showered Wilford with pebbles. Stan had tripped to mine and was killed instantly. The other soldier exclaimed, "I was just talking to him. I didn't think that would happen." Wilford scrambled to the OP and called HQ. The OC-19-77 film battery, Major Jones, rushed to the side of the accident as did the local police. Left-handed wear of the Royal Engineers arrived to make sure the area was safe and their recovered Stan's remains. They wasted no time and an official court of inquiry was quickly convened. A captain and two left-handeds of Stan's battery officiated. Major Jones, Lance Sergeant Ingleby and Gunna Wilford were questioned as witnesses. No one outside the chain of command was present at the proceedings. The inquiry focused on the state of knowledge about the locations of the landmines. It was understood that there were landmines that were signposted and were behind You poor boy. warning seemed to be ignored. Soldiers routinely walked between the bullet, which is behind the warnings and the shore, and there was even a canoe left on the beach that looked like it had been used recently. The major and Lieutenant Sergeant admitted they knew there were mines in the area, possibly along the two paths to the beach, but not exactly where, and didn't think they were a risk to their soldiers. Stan Dexter was just trying to do his mates a favour, making their posting a little bit easier by installing a telephone line to save them, the uncomfortable and dangerous walk, between the OP and their billet. He didn't think he was risking his life on the beach sat Friday afternoon in shore and by sea, and neither did his commanding officers. Stan Dexter's death was ruled in accident. He was awarded the War Cross, the Defence Medal, and the Canadian Volunteer Service Medal with Class, and his widow was paid a small pension for his brief service. He's buried in Brockwood Cemetery, and the province of Saskatchewan named a leak in his honour. And that story was from Anne. Well, a huge thank you to Kerry Lackie, Chris Wilson, Jim Roach, Anne Richards and Simon Pennington are contributors there. What an amazing set of stories, and again, family stories always just goes to show. This thing is an enormous, enormous kaleidoscope of people's experiences, stories, I mean, HMS prints and whales, but for those soldiers, it's all there. So, if you've enjoyed this episode and you have a family story you'd like to share with us, then please email it to [email protected]. Here we are for those of you watching. If you have any photos or images alongside these stories, we'd love to have your mission to use those two, so please include them with your submission. And don't forget, label the email family stories so that we don't miss it, because these are absolutely fantastic records of the Second World War. Thanks for listening everybody, and as we do say, on the show, Cheerio! Why did we really go to war with Iraq? And did Saddam Hussein really have weapons of mass destruction? I'm Gordon Carrera, National Security Journalist, and I'm David Buklowski, author and former CIA analyst. We are the hosts of the RESTIS classified, and in our latest series, we are telling the true story of one of the history's biggest intelligence failures, a rock WMT. In 2003, the US and UK told the world that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction, but they were wrong. This wasn't a simple lie. It was something far more complicated, far more interesting, and far more dangerous. Spies who believed their sources, politicians who wanted the public to believe in the threat, and a dictator who couldn't prove he'd already destroyed the weapons. In this series, we go deep inside the CIA and MI6, go into the rooms where decisions were made, and look at the sources who fabricated the intelligence that took us to war. The Iraq War reshaped the Middle East and permanently weakened public trust in governments and intelligence agencies, and its consequences are still playing out today. Plus, in a declassified club exclusive, we are joined by three people who read the heart of the decision to go to war. Former head of MI6, Richard Deerlove, Tony Blair's former communications director, Aleister Campbell, and former acting head of the CIA, Michael Moral. So get the full story by listening to the RESTIS classified and subscribing to the Declassified Club, wherever you get your podcast.