November 11, approximately 20 years ago

Toni Lucas

Toni Lucas

I had plans to spend Remembrance Day down at the park by the public library, close to where I used to live.  It was where I had gone to Remembrance Day services over the years.  I had plenty of time.  Then I answered the phone.

The old man on the other end of the line was confused that I was not his daughter.  That is who he meant to call.  She was to come and pick him up from the care facility he was in.  Once that it was clear that I was not her, he apologized profusely.  He had problems dialing, with arthritis and vision that had been damaged by war and time.  Hitting the right numbers sometimes was a challenge.


I asked if he was going to celebrate Remembrance Day, and he explained that he was a veteran.  He was flustered and embarrassed over his body letting him down in a myriad of trivial ways.  His frustration over dialing the wrong number was out of proportion with the act itself.  Memories of war, the injustice of aging, pain in his body and soul, concerns of being an imposition on his daughters busy life were ruling the day for him.

We started to talk.  He had to be dressed, and ready to go into the parade at a certain time.  He made all the arrangements and plans to have his daughter pick him up.  That morning someone phoned him and changed the time to gather.  His careful plans were in dis-array.  His daughter had to be reached to be told of the changes in the day.

He did not feel capable to dial the number, and was too fussed and flustered to try again.  I grabbed a phone book, and found her number for the gentleman.  I offered to take his number, call his daughter every five minutes until she got the message, then call him back to let him know that she had gotten it. I would do this until a set time.  After that, she would get the message too late to implement the change in the time schedule.

He was shocked that a stranger would do this. If I could do all this it would free him up so that he could get into his uniform, have his breakfast, and get ready for the parade.  I felt it was an insignificant task.  I have respect for veterans, elders, and women with busy schedules.  This would make several peoples lives much easier, was not onerous, and inconvenienced me a trivial amount.

I did get in touch with his daughter, relatively easily, and told her how upset her father was.  She felt she could get to him a bit earlier, and help him relax and get ready for his day.  When I phoned him back, He said he was dressed and ready.  I let him know that his daughter did indeed know the revised plan.

We chatted for a long time.  I thought it would be an honour to be in a parade.  He felt it was like pouring salt into old wounds that had never healed over.

He explained he had been a glider pilot, and what that meant.  What I remember most was his description of floating with no power silently over enemy lines, and gun nests.  He landed (or crashed) then he had to scout his way back on foot back to allied occupied area, find his own troops and report.  The survival rate among men who were glider pilots wasn't low, it was abysmal.  Out of twelve other glider pilots, he was the only one to make it back home.

I was a stranger, one that he would never face and never know.  He told me of the nightmares and reality of war.  What it was like to be a  young, idealistic recruit, followed by the terror of actually being in a warzone.  How it changed the way that he looked at the world, and affected him for the rest of his life.  A life that in many ways he felt at that point had went on too long.  He admitted to what was "now" called survivors guilt.  He knew not everyone made it home.  In too many cases, he knew them by name.  He also realized how often luck made the difference between landing on home soil in a body bag, and returning with a breathing chest covered with medals.

We talked of war, aging, politics, and parenthood and probably more, that is lost to an imperfect memory.  I gave him a sounding post to yell, rail, weep, whisper and laugh at, and with.  I stayed on the phone with him until he was joined by his daughter.  By the time she came, he was ready to once again face his duty as a soldier, even though he felt that he was a barely tolerated outcast from society 364 days of the year.

I have never put in time in a military career, and did not consider that the duty of a civilian towards a soldier.  I thought of it as an act of compassion between human beings.

He is most likely gone now.  I remember him.  I hope that he does rest in peace.