h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Some of us have been fortunate enough to witness historical events at first hand - maybe you saw the Berlin Wall come down, or Obama's inauguration speech?

What about 'at second hand'? Did your grandfather, say, tell you about a historic event he saw during the War?

Did he also pass down anything to you that his grandfather told him?

In this age of information overload, I'm interested to know if we're still handing down our personal experiences to our children.

My dad lived in Kent in the summer of 1940. He was 7 at the time. He and his mates used to hang around outdoors watching the Battle of Britain.

RF

My dad didn't. He waited for the movie to come out.

My Granny's dog walked on a landmine on a beach in Northern Scotland during the war where she had been evacuated to.

My Grandfather parachuted into a Dutch town by the name of Arnhem but he didn't like to talk about it so I only heard this 2nd hand from my Father.
He seems to have been amongst those who got out though as the rest of his tales (according to my father) were about occupying Germany and how all they were fighting against were children who more or less instantly surrendered to them as they swept through.
Apparently he also had something to do with Dunkirk but I'm not sure what.

I had two uncles at Dunkirk. One in the army on the beach, the other in the navy trying to rescue them. Neither knew the other was there and both had only praise for the small boat owners who came in to rescue those on the beach.

Another uncle was sent in to relieve the troops in Singapore, only to be immediately captured by the Japanese. Their rifles had been taken from them in South Africa as they changed ships (SA was a neutral country, so wouldn't allow them to carry their rifles). The rifles where left behind, so they only had small arms, bayonets and plenty of rifle ammunition! This uncle was endured working on the Burma Railroad, even with a broken back... No work, no food! My aunt thought she was a widow for four years.

My dad fought the terrorists in Rhodesia in the 70s. His dad was a commando in the Middle East during WWII.

I'd say they had first hand accounts, but they never talked about it.

BUT I was there at the Reading Festival when the lead singer of L7 threw her bloodied tampon into the audience, and Kurt Cobain came on in a wheelchair in a maternity gown, pushed by Everett True. They were good, but not as good as Mudhoney.

I could as a 57 year old give you all sorts of tales passed to me by family and old passed away friends and neighbours...but I won't.There has to come a time when a war is finally history and not just hearsay.

I think it would be nice perhaps to concentrate on the first hand stories/tales that are presently being recounted by the young men and women returning from present war zones and address some of the issues arising from the present day conflicts..such as adequate supplies and equipment as well as poorly available medical help.Something that those of WW1/WW11 were unable to comment on in the press of the time.

I´m always interested in the personal stories that go along within the frame of "big" historical events.
My grandfather was inprisioned during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939)
There was a teacher who taught him and others in jail some rudiments about Maths, Physics, literacy,etc. What he learnt during those three years abled him to earn a living teaching rudiments of literacy to the children of the village.
I find quite moving that story. That teacher is an example of overcoming a nasty circunstance by helping others.

I was at Metallica's 'surprise' gig at the first Download festival. They had Apocalyptica's slot on the second stage in the tent.

I've seen them several times and never enjoyed it except that once.

ALso, I work near an airfield that the A380 landed at on it's maiden flight. (or so I was told). It was disappointing, you didn't get a good idea of the scale from here (not that far, we have a wire fence between us and the airfield!) and it's *really* quiet! Much quieter than any of the other jets that come in here. Boring!

My grandad was captured at Dunkirk. 'Rifles against tanks' was pretty much all he'd say about it. He also told me about a time during the phoney war when they were in a cafe watching these poofy Frenchmen drinking creme de menthe out of little glasses. He and his friends ordered a pint each and spent the next two weeks in a military jail...

After being captured, he escaped 13 times from various prison camps, and finished the war with the US 8th army somewhere in Germany. One time, he was being taken to a court martial (for sabotage) and the train him and his pal were in went past the recently-firebombed Dresden. They looked at each other, and the other guy went, 'Hey Tommy, we're really fd this time'.

Instead of being shot, when asked why he'd broken a guard's gun whilst a prisoner, he said 'I'm still a British soldier'. The German officer was impressed by this and merely sent him to a salt mine in Poland. Tough old sod my grandad.

What does this post of Pedro need to be considered literature?

It works so for me. And with my critic of literature cap on I´d say that " the writer in a synthetic, impressionist style, with only a few strokes, offers us a entire clear picture of a man who..."

wrong thread there?

I don't have any tales from my uncles as they all died what one imagines would have been especially frightening deaths as tale gunners.
My grandfather spent part of that war guarding those fake Spitfires and my great-grandfather was cavalry in the Great War.

I myself witnessed history being made a few years ago by taking part in the worlds largest coconut orchestra! And last year by being at the UK's first ever Zombie Convention.

<>

Shooting the messengers?

My father was a radio/navigator instructor and told me horror stories of the special high pressure water hoses they used specifically to wash out the tail gunner sections before installing new glass (non-bullet-proof) and a new gunner.
peace
~jwf~

He was a despatch rider. North Africa, Greece, Italy...
I called him my Wicked Stepfather.
He told of scraping out a small depression for his hip when settling for the night in the desert.
He said very little but his cheeks were often wet, towards his end.

Years ago, we employed an agent to sell our products. One evening, we went for dinner with her, accompanied by her elderly husband. I listened, fascinated, as he described being a Swordfish pilot in WWII in the Mediterranean. He took part in the raid on Taranto, but described in wonderful detail the joys of flying in an open cockpit at 50ft in the moonlight over the desert and the sea. His observer used to trail a fishing line behind them, but they only once ever caught a fish - funnily enough on the first attempt.

On Sunday 2 August 1980 I was visiting friends in Fulham. I can't remember who turned the TV on or why, but we were sitting round watching the SAS break the siege of the Iranian embassy. When the building caught fire, somebody suggested we might be close enough to see the smoke, so we went up on the roof and confirmed that the incident was actually happening.

It made it, if anything, a bit more surreal.