The We're Here! gang is thinking about wartime today on this anniversary of D-Day.
More than 14,000 Canadian soldiers landed or parachuted into France on D-Day. The Royal Canadian Navy contributed 110 warships and 10,000 sailors and the RCAF contributed 15 fighter and fighter-bomber squadrons to the assault.
But my photo is from the previous world war. These are a couple of pages from the diary of my grandfather, Edward Faraday Odlum (who wrote under the pen name "Will Faraday").
I have transcribed the poem for you below. Gordon was my father, and the third child. Grandpa returned from the war, and had two more sons after these first three.
From somewhere in France:
Gordon boy, baby mine: When your papa here in France Lets his thoughts go “fancy free” His eyes will sparkle as they glance West towards Canada and Thee. So far away beyond the brine Gordon boy, baby mine. For he sees your twinkling smile, Sees the mischief in your eye In the years that were worthwhile. Oh how swiftly they sped by. Wasn’t that a glorious time Gordon boy, baby mine?
Harold lad, daddy’s boy Neath the twinkling stars of night Daddy’s thoughts are far away, Where the sun shines warm and bright And his laddie is at play. Always happy, full of joy, Harold lad, daddy’s boy. He sees you playing on the lawn With buoyant laugh, free from alarm, And long to see the glad day dawn When he can fold you in his arms. Heart of gold without alloy Harold lad, daddy’s boy.
Charlie boy, father’s man; Every day as it speeds on, Every night that follows fast Father thinks of his young son, Safe from bomb, and shell, and blast. Being good as e’er boy can, Charlie boy, father’s man. Helping mother with the Chores; Making baby’s moments bright; Earning money in the stores, Father thinks you are just right. Be as good as e’er you can, Charlie boy, father’s man.
Gertrude dear, wife of mine; When the big guns are booming loud And aeronauts are dropping death, My thoughts fly homeward as a cloud Straight driven by the Storm King’s breath. O’er shuddering land and foaming brine, Gertrude dear, wife of mine. When flowers are blooming, bird songs please, And all seems sweet in Sunny France, My thoughts drift homeward as the fleece That seems to move as in a trance. Thus softly turns my heart to thine, Gertrude dear, wife of mine.
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