Remembrance Day +1

Original photo by Benoit Aubry, available here.

Yesterday was Remembrance Day here in Canada.  It's celebrated in various parts of the world as Poppy Day, Armistice Day, and Veterans Day.  It's history is pretty well chronicled, as is the Poppy pin, an international memorial symbol directly linked to the history of Remembrance Day.  (If you're interested, the Canadian War Museum provides a good explanation, here.)  This isn't about the day, or the pin, per se.  This is about remembering and gratitude.

My mother's father, Jan Hogenkamp, was either mounted artillery or mounted infantry with the Dutch Army.  He died long before I was born, so his story of riding out to face the vastly superior German Army and the embarrassment of surrender came to me second hand through my mother.  He would continue to fight, however, as a committed member of the Dutch Resistance, along with his sister Ina, and his best friend Gert. I am fiercely proud of their selfless dedication to their cause, and to the anonymous numbers of people their actions assisted.  I'm also grateful that they all survived, because many of their compatriots did not.

My Zaida - my father's father, Paul Hirschman - wanted to serve in the war and enlisted, but family lore says he never got further than New Jersey.  I don't know if that's true, but knowing him, it probably was.  He had lousy luck.  Or, in this case, maybe great good fortune, since he never saw combat.  My understanding is that he, as an optician, ended up making glasses for service men and his skill set was too important to sacrifice.  Maybe.  He was also really short and himself bespectacled, but I do have the vaguest memory of seeing a black and white photo of him in uniform.

Until I came to The Secrets of Radar Museum, those were my personal connections to the Second World War.  Certainly, I must have had distant family in Europe who perished in the Holocaust, but most of my immediate Jewish family arrived in the first two decades of the 20th century.  This is not to say my connections are no less important than those of people whose family members fought and died (or survived), but they were outside the realm of battles and frontlines.  Since arriving at SORM, however, I've had the distinct honour of working with, speaking to, and developing friendships with numerous veterans of the Second World War.  I am routinely asked how I got into radar, and while I used to say my background was in museums and history, not actually radar, I have genuinely become interested in radar, but not because it is electronics, or radio, or any of that.  I am interested now, because of the people.  The war-time radar program gathered all manner of Canadians into its fold, all united by a few things: intelligence, curiosity, ingenuity, and a fifty-year oath of secrecy.  Every one of these men and woman has a story to tell. 

The great tragedy for me is that there are so few of them left now.  Even ten years ago, there were three times as many radar veterans living as there are now.  And in the three years-and-a-bit I've worked at SORM, we have lost several veterans, some of whom I never had the chance to meet, but a few whose lives briefly touched mine.  This Remembrance Day, I reflected on how lucky I have been to get to know the radar veterans I have.  Some of them have become my friends.  I've met their family and friends, and I can see first-hand how wide a net these men and women have cast into their communities.  I am grateful to know them, to share meals and drinks with them, to record their stories, and share their stories with the public.  I wish I had known many of them, or known them better, but I am grateful to know their histories, handle their photographs and mementoes. 

Although the number of ancient veterans marching in the parade wanes thinly, now, my list of names has grown.  My feelings for Remembrance Day have deepened, as has my resolve to preserve their stories.  I will remember them.

#LestWeForget