18 February 2010
Somebody I don’t know emails my mum’s sister-in-law, who emails my mum, who emails my dad because she’s lost my email again.
There’s footage of her dad, my grandfather, ten years after the war in archive newsreel on a history website. He did something extraordinary over there, other people did some extraordinary things for him, and a small mission of mutual thanks had been organised.
He looks like my mum. It would be stranger if he didn’t. The plummy announcer helpfully reads out his name.
He’s the only one of his companions in civilian clothes. The plummy announcer didn’t need to read out that.
The war broke him and even did its best to break his children. I’m inquisitive by nature, but this is one time I’m not sure whether I want to keep asking. What did his squadron do? What did one bomb – they bomb – we bomb – with his kind of plane?