What Grandad did in the War.......

Stuckfast

My grandfather must have been an extraordinary person, but I never met him. He was a scientist, and during WW2 he was stationed at a research centre in Farnborough where he jointly invented the glue they used to stick Mosquito aircraft together. This was later marketed as Araldite and someone else made a shit ton of money from it.

I have two of his things: a stuffed duck-billed platypus, and a signed contract with the devil.

westford

My mum’s dad was in the army and fought in France, that’s about all I know. He died before I was born.

My dad’s dad joined the TA as a teenager and was 19 when the war broke out. He signed up right away and went to North Africa with the Royal Artillery. He spent time in Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Yugoslavia, and by the end of the war he was one of the British officers in charge of a POW camp in Germany. My dad has his uniform, medals and photographs. I have what we call my grandad’s ‘Nazi stick’, a stick he confiscated from one of the prisoners with a swastika, eagle, ‘Russland’, ‘Leningrad’, ‘1943’, a cross and dove carved on it. 

Jalapeno

My grandfather was in the Navy in WW1 and fought in the battle of Jutland.

My Dad joined up in 1939, was blind as a bat and had flat feet so he was in Radar/Artillery home defence. At VE day he was posted to India until 1948 to oversee transition - so his "war" was 9 years long ! Dad never claimed his medals and was pretty bitter about the war cocking up his early life, and the extra 3yrs. As a result of India hated rich food too.

fields5069

Grandad fought in the 1st World War, in France, was captured in the trenches and escaped a POW camp. He brought back a souvenir, some shrapnel in his leg. He never really spoke about it much and I don't blame him.

fields5069

For WW2, family happenings of note are that my great great Uncle, a man of towering intellect, declared himself a CO, an action which I'm immensely proud of. He immediately lost his sponsor, a lady from a wealthy military family. He met a German refugee when he was studying in Oxford and married her, He was subsequently instrumental in forcing Thatcher to de-renege on her promise of a new Welsh-language TV channel.

Fretwired

My grandad was a professional soldier - France in 1914, battle of the Somme in 1916, Palestine with Lawrence of Arabia and then Russia 1919. Had a chest full of medals - went in a private came out a sergeant. Wounded a few times but never said much.

My uncle and father were RAF in WW2. My uncle was in the first Mosie squadron.

Longtallronnie

Don't know much about my grandad other than he was in the 14th Army in Burma, liberating POWs. He never really talked about his time in the army, wish I'd spent more time with him when I had the chance. I know he carried a deep hatred of the Japanese to his grave which I guess was a result of what he'd experienced.
There were two stories he did tell though, one was of being able to hear the enemy being attacked by crocodiles in the swamps. 
The other was of acquiring a pet monkey that freaked out one night as the door handle in the building they were in started turning. Apparently they could see the other side of the door and there was no one there. The monkey eventually buried itself into his jacket, terrified.  Mad story that if anyone other than my grandad had told, I'd never have believed them. He was such a straight, sensible bloke that he just didn't have it in him to make shit like that up. 
A very gentle soul that had a remarkable affinity with animals - they seemed to gravitate to him. I remember my sister have a right little bastard of a dog - constantly barking, jealous of everything, completely disobedient. One Christmas, she'd brought it to our parent's house and it was being a twat until grandad gently spoke to it. It spent the rest of the day curled up at his feet. 

HerrMetal

My grandfather on my dads side had a reserved occupation so little to report. On my mothers side my grandfather was in the western desert and was captured in the fall of Tobruk. He spent the rest of the war in a POW camp. He was a gentle soul and I understand was affected quite deeply although naturally enough I'm grateful he made it home.

My father in law's story has some similarity. He joined 211 Squadron as ground crew prior to the outbreak of war. They were in the Middle East initially fighting against the Italians.  With the German invasion of Greece the squadron was sent to Greece where they were annihilated on Easter Sunday 1941.  They withdrew back to Egypt via Crete.  In early 1942 the Squadron reformed and were fighting another rearguard action, this time against the Japanese in Sumatra and Java. Within two months they were defeated and many of the Squadron became POWs.  Of those captured only around half survived and it's fair to say were treated brutally.  He was hugely fortunate to make it back to the UK in 1946.  His health was never good and I never got to meet him. My MIL would not have anything Japanese in the house or on the driveway. 

LastMantra

My mum's dad was a farmer. He ran away to London (from Scotland) to try and join up but for whatever reason ended up getting sent home. My dad's dad was in the navy  then he was a warden(?) in clydebank during the blitz. My dad gets annoyed that clydebank is rarely mentioned when it took such a heavy pounding. Most of it was flattened. 

joneve

One of my grandad's who was a Lancaster Bomber Navigator in WW2. Stationed at RAF Woodhall/Coningsby, which is where the family lived (in the village itself) at the time. Was cool to be able to go back and live there with my mum and dad for a a period. And my inlaws still live there. 

It also turns out that he was a member of the SIS/Secret Service during his career. Which no one knew about until recently when my Gran started to give zero fucks and just started telling us shit she probably wasn't supposed to  

Shame he was (as it goes) a raging alcoholic, womaniser and all around douchebag. I never knew that side of him, as my only memories of him was visiting him when it was 4 or 5, at his home when he was ill with Throat Cancer and lived with a tube in his throat.

my other grandad also fought in the War in Italy, but I'm actually not 100% sure what his role was. I'm sure I've been told - I should probably ask my dad again and see if he has any memorabilia.

LastMantra

My dad was rear gunner on the clydebank/Drumchapel bus.

  

blobb

Quite a few Desert Rats coming up in stories. Of all the theaters I've read about, the Western Desert came across as the most brutal. Probably due to the open warfare element. The Burma stories are also harrowing to read, incessant Banzai charges - the tennis court at Kohima springs to mind.

I had an uncle (one of those friends of family type uncles) who was a Chindit with Wingates army.

the_jaffa

I know my paternal grandfather worked at Bletchley but that is all I know. He never elaborated any further.

My other grandfather was a clergyman so I don't think he went to war but I don't know for sure.

Headphones

On my mother's side, grandad was in the Army between the wars.  After a few jobs on leaving he was working in London's Water Board when WW2 started, so was a protected profession.  Similarly my nan drove the coal trains and cranes for the local rail system that fed the various pumping and filtration systems.

No idea on my father's side, though he would probably have been too old for WW2 as he was already retired when my father was born in 1939.

bodhi

My paternal grandfather was up in North Africa.  When I was little, my grandmother once showed me a picture of him in uniform in the desert somewhere up there, and a postcard he had sent from Egypt.

He never said a single word about the war - nothing at all.  My grandmother and dad both said they knew better than to ask, but they reckoned that he ended up being a medic, as he came back with a rather unusual amount of medical knowledge.

My maternal grandfather was a policeman, and I think later a prison officer, and was already too old for soldiering at the time.

Matt_McG

Maternal grandfather was in the RAF.

Initially, I think, barrage balloons and similar civil defense measures during the Battle of Britain. Then in Orkney and/or Shetland, where he was ground crew mostly for bombers and coastal command, I think. He was transferred to Palestine at the end of the war in time to get shot at a bit by the Irgun and the like. He continued as a civilian aircraft mechanic until he retired in the late 70s.

My paternal grandfather, on the other hand, was a career soldier. He was in India from the early 1920s on. He was a Sgt Major in the Signals, and spent most of the war in North Africa -- dragging around in the desert in a jeep intercepting field telephone cables, and the like -- and then in Italy, where he saw a lot of fairly hard fighting close up. After the war, he was in the Indian Army for a while, including post-independence, as they kept a smallish number of British non-commissioned officers for a few years as part of the transition to independence.

rlw

My grandad was probably too old for WW2.
His son, my uncle, wasn’t old enough but that didn’t stop him.  He ran away from home and signed up about 18 months before he should.
He wasn’t the worlds best soldier and faced court martial several times, once for overturning a truck on the parade ground. He liked to drive fast.
Captured in the desert fighting with Montgomery, and taken to Italy.  Needless to say he wasn’t having that and escaped.  Found the partisans and lived with them until the end of the war, never missing a chance to fight and kill people.
His family thought he was dead until one day his sisters went to the cinema in Leeds where the newsreel was showing footage of the liberation of Italy.  

A convoy of Americans was shown arriving in a town and being met by a skinny Yorkshireman smoking a roll up with words along the lines of what kept you.  That was Eric of course.
Mentioned in Dispatches and ended up a with three stripes before being demoted. Again.

rlw

Forgot to add that Eric stayed in the Army f
or years and retired near Farnborough and stayed in touch with his regiment and the partisans, going to Italy every year and receiving a high honour very late in life.
When he died, the funeral was in some soulless crematorium with the service conducted by someone who didn’t know him from Adam.
It was shit until, out of the blue, a soldier in full dress uniform marched in and played the Last Post and laid a wreath.  Bit of a shaker that.