The uncle I never met was my Uncle Joe, who died of wounds in hospital in Alexandria following the battle of El Alamein serving in the 8th Army.
His brother, my father, was just 17 when he was landed on Sword Beach as a stretcher bearer/medic. He sustained wounds that caused him problems for the rest of his life.
Their father, George Harris, served throughout the First World War in the Rifle Brigade, ended up in the Army of the Rhine in occupied Germany before being demobbed and returned to civilian life in time for the 1930's depression and a bleak future.
His father, Daniel Harris served in the Royal Irish Rifles at the time of the Boer War, abandoned his family and took to drink as a result of his experiences.
My maternal grandfather, CPO Francis Gynes, served in the Submarine Service and died in the first week of WWII when HMS Oxley was sunk in a 'friendly fire' incident by HMS Triton whilst on patrol off Norway.
No heroes, no decorations, no recognition beyond the standard campaign medals. Just a bunch of working-class blokes doing their bit and paying the price.
To the end of his days my dad hated fascists with a vengeance, but he never held an ounce of antipathy towards Germany or its people - quite the reverse, if anything. I think he saw the German people as much as victims as anything else.
