Originally published on November 11, 2012

On Remembrance Day on November 11, 2001, I realized that my Dad’s hero of eleven oh one.

It must have caused quite a commotion when my Dad arrived.

Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of it before (or since) – being born with different colored eyes. 

But it’s true – although I never saw them myself. 

Mom told me about them after Dad passed away.

She also told me that he was just a teenager when he left school to join the army – the Ontario Regiment, to be exact.

Ma said his mother didn’t kiss him goodbye when he and his older brothers left for Europe to fight in the Second World War.

It was a long journey—boarding a train in Oshawa, Ontario, for Halifax, Nova Scotia, and then a ship to England. 

But he had his guitar with him and his buddies from the neighborhood, so he probably wasn’t lonely.

Ma also told me – with pride – that Dad played his guitar on BBC Radio, although it didn’t make him famous.

Then, a few months later, his regiment was shipped to Sicily, Italy.

She told me he was severely wounded – shrapnel from a bomb or grenade had struck him in the eye. 

Ma said that the medics placed sandbags around his head to keep him still while they removed the metal from his left eye – the operation took place on the battlefield.

But they couldn’t save his eye – nothing was left of it.

Dad returned home to Oshawa – but the war for him was not over. 

There would be many sleepless nights – reliving the horrors of war.

He wore an eye patch for quite some time – until he got his replacement – a “glass eye.” 

Nobody could tease him about his different-colored eyes anymore – they now matched!

Ma also told me they had met after the war, and it was love at first sight. 

She said they married and then went to Montreal for their honeymoon.

They started a family – their first child was a girl – and named her Linda Mae.

Their second daughter was born a year later – they named her Leslie Heather.

A year later, they had their first boy named Daniel James.

Nobody ever called me Daniel  – it was always just Danny or Saint. 

My brother Frederick (Freddy) was born a year later.

Several years later, the stork brought Eric (Ricky) and returned a year later to bring Randall (Randy).

Here’s a photo of our family visiting Dad’s Uncle Geoff Law at his apple orchard in Leamington, Ontario. My two sisters were attending a Girl Guide event at the time and were not present.

I remember asking Dad about his experiences in the war, but he would always remain silent. 

He never talked about the war until I was an adult, and even then, he would only talk about it in general terms—never the gory details.

Dad would never allow us to watch war movies – either.

Mom explained that most soldiers who had seen action would never discuss their experiences.

I remember my cousin Jim Little from Calgary, Alberta, telling me he was a young boy when my Dad returned home from the war. 

Jim and his parents lived in my Grandparents’ home on Ritson Road, and he remembers that whenever there was a severe storm with thunder, Dad would be in the closet, taking cover, still thinking he was on the battlefield.

Mom told me that Dad would wake up at night screaming for years.

Dad was sick for the last year of his life.

In early November 2001, Mom phoned me to say that Dad got rushed to the hospital in Oshawa, and his heart was failing. 

My brother-in-law called a day later to say Dad was near death.

I made arrangements to fly from Vancouver to Toronto the next day. 

When I arrived in Toronto, I took a taxi from the airport and went directly to the hospital in Oshawa.

My family was in his room – he was lying on the bed – eyes closed.

I asked my Mom if he was sleeping, but sadly, she shook her head and told me he wasn’t conscious.

I went out into the hall and asked the Head Nurse – “Is my Dad going to regain consciousness?  Is he going to be okay?”

She told me that Dad could still hear and comprehend but couldn’t respond. 

I didn’t believe her, though – she was probably trying to be a comfort.

I walked back into the room and over to his bed. 

I stroked his head and told him that I loved him. 

I had never said that to him, and Dad had never said he loved me.

I also whispered that I was sorry for anything I did that might have hurt him. 

I then went over to sit beside Ma and Linda, my sister.

I had just sat down when Dad suddenly sat up, looked directly at me, raised his arm, pointed at me, and tried to say something, but it all came out garbled. 

It lasted only a few seconds – and then, just as suddenly, he laid back down.

It was a beautiful moment – one I’ll never forget. 

Dad did hear me and was telling me he loved me!   

Or at least, it’s how I interpreted it.

I ran over to him and stroked his forehead, reassuring him that everything would be okay.

Ma suggested that we leave for the evening. 

My brother Randy would stay in the room with Dad, and then I would return to the hospital in the morning.

We said goodnight to Dad, and as we were leaving, I glanced at the framed picture of him in his Army uniform—taken just before he went to the war in Europe. 

Ma brought the photo to Dad’s room because it was Remembrance Day – November 11.

On our drive back to their apartment, I told Ma I had never said I loved him, but I was happy he could hear me.

But I knew that he loved me – because Ma told me so. 

Dad’s family didn’t show their emotions, which wasn’t in his nature.  

We had just walked into their place when the telephone rang.

I answered the phone; it was Randy. 

He said that Dad had just passed away!

Yes, he passed away on Remembrance Day, November 11, 2001 – – how befitting for a veteran.

And Ma, who was just a bit superstitious, would often comment on how strange it was that when she moved into a condo in Ajax sometime later, it happened to be suite #1101 (eleven-o-one) and that Dad had died on November 2001 (eleven-0-one).

At Dad’s funeral, there was an honor guard of veterans from the Royal Canadian Legion.

They marched up to the flag-draped coffin, and each removed the poppy they were wearing and pinned them on the flag.

Yes, my Dad was a hero, and I was so proud of him.

He is the only person I know I would consider a hero, except for the other war veterans who sacrificed so much for Canada.

I wonder if I would have been as brave as those veterans if I had been sent as a teenager to fight in a war.

And on September 26, 2010,  my Ma was reunited with Dad.

Rest in Peace, Dad.  Rest in Peace, Ma.

Dedicated to my Dad – a hero!

I hope my stories are a gift to your head and heart.

Hugs,

Danny

Today’s tune from Danny’s library (purchased):

When I was a young man, I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover
From the Murray’s green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then, in 1915, me country said: “Son,
It’s time to stop rambling; there’s work to be done.”
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war

And the band played Waltzing Matilda
When the ship pulled away from the quay
And amid all the tears, flag waving and cheers
We sailed off for Gallipoli

Oh it well I remember that terrible day
When our blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk, he was ready; he primed himself well
He rained us with bullets, and he showered us with shell
And in five minutes flat, we were all blown to hell
He nearly blew us back home to Australia

And the band played Waltzing Matilda
When we stopped to bury our slain
Well, we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs
Then it started all over again

Oh, those that were living just tried to survive
In that mad world of blood, death, and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive
While around me, the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head
And when I awoke in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
I never knew there was worse things than dying

Oh, no more I’ll go Waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush, far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

They collected the wounded, the crippled, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, and the insane
Those proud, wounded heroes of Suvla
And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And thank Christ, there was no one there waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity

And the Band played Waltzing Matilda
When they carried us down the gangway
Oh, nobody cheered; they just stood there and stared
Then they turned all their faces away

So now, every April, I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades how proudly they march
Renewing their dreams of past glories
I see the old men all tired, stiff, and worn
Those weary old heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask “What are they marching for?”
And I ask myself the same question

And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men still answer the call
But year after year, their numbers get fewer
Someday, no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong
So who’ll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?

Songwriters: Eric Bogle

Here are other songs I’m listening to: These Songs Will Make You Smile Today