My mother remembered quite well the Bombers flying overhead dropping their deadly cargo while she worked for the war effort sewing uniforms for the Air Force.
Only difference to most of you is that those bombers were from the RAF and the uniforms she made for for the Luftwaffe.
Lest it were forgotten there were casualties on all sides and few people who died actually freely chose to start - and die - fighting.
My father felt sorry for the Italians fighting in North Africa.
He always avoided talking about the horrible things he witnessed,
but talked about lighter moments, and how sad war was.
He reckoned that most Italians wanted nothing to do with the war.
He said that when captured they were “perfect gentlemen”
One man my dad became friendly with came from Trieste in northern Italy.
They remained friends after the war, writing to each other.
My dad did not speak Italian, he used to go to a fish and chip shop were the Italian owner would translate the letters. Sadly they never met after the war, my dads friend died from cancer when I was a boy. He wanted to go to Trieste for his funeral, but found out to late of his friends death.
My dad used to hate it when people talked about the Germans and the Italians.
He would say “they were just like us scared young men trying to survive“
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