It was my first year out of ITMI and I had a group from Great Britain.
Many were elderly, but one couple looked like they could be parents of the rest. They appeared frail and had knees that longed for rest stops. They moved on and off the coach with difficulty. But their minds were as sharp as a new Ginsu.
As we approached Niagara Falls I joked that I had misread the map and was now disappointed cuz I thought it had said Viagra. Without missing a beat she whipped her head to the side looking out the window in mock disgust and quipped, “Yeah, I was hopin’ the same thing.”
He usually had residue from food and drink on his shirt and there was evidence of a bladder problem. Somewhat shy and soft spoken. He mentioned to me more than once he sad that this would be their last trip to North America. But once he felt comfortable he shared stories. And he had much to tell.
He was an artist and had been drafted into the Royal Navy during WW II. He said he reported to this huge recruiting hall full of young men receiving oders and completing paperwork. In the midst of it all he heard his name called over loud speaker.
An officer took him into an adjoining office and explained that he possessed talents that could be used at home. He said he looked out into the hall and asked the officer if someone would have to go in his place. He said the officer told him yes.
With that he refused and reported for active duty. He found himself below decks in the South Pacific when General Quarters was sounded. He scampered up a ladder and swung open a hatch and popped up waist high onto the weather deck. He was stopped short staring up into the muzzle of a Japanese rifle.
He said he and the young Japanese sailor locked stares, but only for a moment. There there was a flash of orange and smoke filled the air. He was wounded in of all places the fingers that held his brush and the arm that moved it over his work. There was limited movement of his arm and middle and ring fingers were numb and stiff.
His talent now came with new challenges. But it did not stop him. Upon his return to England he was commissioned to paint script below the windows and some art in the Chapter House at West Minster Abbey. He said the original, dating back centuries, had been destroyed by Nazi bombs.
I was sad on a visit to the Abbey last year to find the Chapter House locked.
But most of all I am sad when I think of him and his wife. I wonder about his return to the UK. His children. And if they really appreciated him. And if he had been as forthcoming with those close to him and he was with a stranger from another continent. And if they knew all he had done surviving the Japanese and later celebrating victory over the Germans with palate and brush. And I wonder how many new years might have been left for him and his wife.
Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind. The very best wishes to you and yours for the holiday and the new year.
Darrell Hosack
ITMI #170