My Mother's uncle was a gunner in the British Royal Artillery. She remembers him as great fun to be around and generous in the way that all young, single uncles are to their sister's kids. He was wounded in the fighting around Knightsbridge Box in Libya. The 25pdr was damaged in a German bombardment and several of the crew seriously injured. The others in the gun crew left him while they evacuated another wounded gunner, and when they returned to the gun position there was no sign of him. He was never listed as captured by the Germans. He has a grave site in Knightsbridge War Cemetary, even though his body was never found. He is still sorely missed by family.
On a brighter note, Dad was just a lad growing up in Battersea, London. He remembers watching the fighters leaving vapour trails as they dogfought over London and the fun of collecting brass cases that fell from the sky. One of his best "toys" from that period was a billy cart made with wheels from a Messerschmidt. I blame him for my habit of collecting old military rubbish. His sisters remember the day a V1 "Buzzbomb" landed two streets away and blew up a block of terrace houses. They now live in Adelaide and one of my cousins blames this often repeated story (over and over again like we've never heard it before!) for her current job, with British Aerospace as a Rocket Scientist (No s***! True!).
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