When I was a cadet, I used to sell poppies with veterans. To me, it was the least I could do, after all that had been done for us. Though I sat with many men, and perhaps the occasional woman, pinning poppies on civilians, there was one instance that has always stayed with me.
I can't remember if I was 16 or 17, but I can tell you that I was a WO2 at the time. Just like every year, I went to Limeridge Mall to do poppy sales with veterans. That year, our table was set up beside the Dynamite, and across from the Laura Secord. I remember there was a massive line-up ahead of with people waiting to round the bend, and get their flu shots. This also made for an opportune time for us to get people poppies. Not only would passers-by stop to pay their respects, but people would step out of the flu shot line, just to come say thank you.
As luck would have it, I was doing poppy sales around Halloween. The vets did their shift change, leaving me to meet Hank, Frank, and Stan. Hank was finishing up, leaving me with Frank and Stan. I was always amused by the two people I was selling with, as their combined names made a rather appropriate play on the Frankenstein moniker. As we were near Halloween, I'd thought that to be quite clever.
Besides selling poppies as a way of saying thank you, I'd always listen intently to whatever tales the veterans would tell me. After all, they, sadly, won't be around forever, and someone has to pass on their stories. Besides being constantly corrected and mocked for the improper use of the term "boat" (boats go under water, hence why they're called u-boats, and ships stay above the surface), and hearing about hiding out in darkened garages while shrapnel blasted through, taking out the comrade to the side, the story that left the greatest impact on me involved a pair of long underwear.
I can't recall for certain, but I believe Stan was the one who was seated to the right of me, and who pulled out an old black and white photograph from a pocket inside his tunic. The picture was of a young man, with a big smile on his face, who was standing in front of a massive pile of snow. Stan was the young man in the photograph. It was taken in Europe, sometime between 1941 and 1943, and he'd said that it was one of the worst winters he had ever experienced. He then went on to tell me that he was wearing the exact same pair of long underwear at that very moment that he was wearing in that photograph. Of course, Frank was skeptical, and I didn't know what to say. Stan then proceeded to pull up his pant leg, revealing the most god-awful, disgusting, filthy, hole-filled long undies that I have ever seen! While I burst out laughing, Frank just started to shake his head, as Stan just sat there quite amused and pleased with himself.
Whether or not that pair of long underwear was really from the 1940's could only be confirmed or denied by Stan, but, at the very least, a good story came from them. I have no idea where Frank and Stan are now, let alone that pair of long underwear. I don't even know if they're still alive.
Frank and Stan, wherever you are, thank you for sharing your stories with me, and giving me something special to share every November. And Stan, I hope you bought a new pair of long johns, and put those old, ragged ones away someplace special.
For more, refer to the other posts in my 11 Days of Remembrance series. As well, if you have any tales to tell, please share them in my comments section. I would love to hear them.
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