Today is Remembrance Day.
This is my grandfather. He was a tail gunner in World War II, and a member of the RAF228 Squadron where he accepted the detail of tail gunner. He had initially planned to be a pilot, but when they asked him to be a tail gunner he accepted.
They asked him because the average lifespan of a British tail gunner in WWII was less than two weeks or 10 missions.
Being a tail gunner was “a dangerous and un-enviable position.” You sat in a cramped rear turret of an airplane, froze your ass off, and tried to return enemy fire while being cut off from the rest of the crew who were often flying over the most dangerous territory.
Frankly, they were running out of men for the position. They knew it; everyone there knew it.
My grandfather knew it.
Today I will remember my grandfather, who fought in WWII and came home. He came home, had a family and was able to hold his first great-grandchild, my beautiful daughter.
Remember the men and women like him who came home from a horrible duty.
Remember those who didn’t.