The Joy Of Talking To a Survivor of Two Wars in a Lifetime
6 gratitude lessons I took home in one day
My first acquaintance with this gentleman was in the rehab classes (which I do weekly at work); he had his beard trimmed in such a way that his burns grew till his chin, he spoke a British accent which he calls “posh” for his liking, talked a lot about places that ended with the suffix -shire or -er endings; he couldn’t be more English.
I run this weekly seniors exercise class as part of my full-time job and for me, it opens opportunities to meet people with all genres of stories; stories about their grandchildren, stories about their childhood, stories about their lives.
My grandfather passed away at an early age before I was born, and so all these stories dated 70–80 years ago are somewhat novel and intriguing to me since I have never had anyone tell me these. I get hooked to hearing these tales more than my actual job (my supervisor doesn’t need to know this), but I enjoy every second of them chatting away for hours.
Sometimes there are the occasional people who will come in and whine about the tiniest issue they have with me or the facility, but then there’s those that change perspectives. I didn’t think I would be impacted so much by hearing someone’s story; this was their true life outside the classes, not a tale captured in a book or a movie.
He’s 80 years of age and has gone through a lot physically — in terms of the rehab he needs, but that has never stopped him from committing to these classes, rain or shine. Most of the time, it ends up being just him, but needless to say, he has a great time getting out of the house and coming to get his legs burnt on the bike and using equipment that he can’t remember names of even.
My inspiring stranger (read patient) so to speak has had a turmoil of life and now lives by himself or as he amuses,
“it’s me and my mirror that lives together.”
He still manages to feed himself, cook for himself, care for himself and drive himself around with no complaints about life. I recall that post every session; he has thanked me for the class more than I could imagine. It melts my heart as a professional in the field because there is nothing more heartwarming than someone appreciating your work.
With the pandemic still in lure and constant lockdowns that we face (Melbourne based, look us up; we still have lockdowns), there comes the point he is at home for weeks, but not once has he ranted about how frustrated the situation is — instead he hears me do so.
A couple of days ago, he told me about how he grew up in England long before the war began. He must have been 6 or 7 years of age and at that time did not understand the gravity of what was going on. The sound of planes going over his house and bombs creating huge holes on the earth intrigued him and his friends at that time. Roaring nights filled with fighter jets going to and fro, dust-fumed clouds, blurry visions, packs of armed men running around and finding refuge in odd places all seemed thrilling to him.
And then, it was the era of class.
The upper-class children did not talk to the lower-class children, and there was a big gap between the rich and the poor. Their schooling system was different, and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t share toys or food with children who didn’t match your class. It was that long ago.
Food, water, and plenty of other resources were strictly rationed across every village within every family — this also meant that you only ate how much was needed for your body and not more. You ate healthier and more fuelling food rather than the junk we eat today (honestly, probably why they have survived long enough to narrate these tales).
The strict rules preserved in boarding academies didn’t make it easy to go through teenagehood. And despite being the only child, after completing school, he was soon enrolled in the British army on a compulsory requirement.
The war life was not easy; being a soldier was not easy; you didn’t make friends, but there were always enough foes.
They had strict rationing with food and water, the lights went out early every night, you could not communicate with family, they had rotations on who would guard the area in the dark, they were bombed, and all of that was normal life to them at that point.
The war never got more manageable, but having no other option, they all kept going, leaving only a handful of them like him in the end who live on to tell these tales.
I could picture all this as he narrated to me and wondered if it was ever possible to survive times like this, times where you want to go watch movies, but you can’t, and not because it sold out, but it got bombed minutes before you reached it.
After the second world war, one of the wars he fought was against my home country, Kenya. Just another war on the resume.
The war was a chapter that came to a close when he found someone to settle with at the borders of Canada — an Australian. Because of her, he tells me that he moved to Australia and never went back to England again.
Their marriage didn’t last too long as he lost her to a cancer battle, and he decided to live in her memories and not re-marry. But while they were together, they had a house that they built themselves. Back in the 1960s, Australia wasn’t all that developed that it looks today, and they made their house out of tatters, found their water supply, and connected it; electricity was scarce, and because he was used to food rationing, they survived all those years.
For the past 20 years or so, he has lived by himself and looked after himself. He may know only a couple of people still alive from back in England, but there is no way to reach out since there was no communication system back then and no contacts were kept.
If I ask you where a stranger is on your contact list, you can easily open up an app and track it down on locations. We’ve advanced that much. Crazy, isn’t it?
I have a lot to be grateful for that I know I overlook, and there is a lot to learn from this. Here’s what I have to say:
- I don’t think I have a reason and right to complain about the smallest of problems anymore; I did not go through the life that someone did 80 years ago and still says they have no complaints with life.
- I have a meal whenever I want; I don’t have to think how much water I have drunk today and how much will be left for tomorrow; I have an automatic cooler and heating service in my house, for crying out loud.
- The next time I complain about living in a lockdown, I will never forget that so many live alone — I live with both my brothers (although that is a handful sometimes if you can relate).
- I don’t think we understand the gravity of how grateful we are to be born in these times and resources — think of it, would you be where you are right now if you weren’t born into these resources? If your parents didn’t work hard to give you what they have given you? What if you didn’t have the electricity, the internet we revolve around? Would you be even reading this? Let that sink in.
- Our work is done so much at our comfort regardless of having a boss or working as a freelancer. We should aim to work bloody darn hard on ourselves and becoming better versions. If not to us, we owe it to our ancestors who went through the most challenging times, so we don’t have to.
- The social media we have and surround ourselves with today should be used to the broadest advantage, don’t let it drag you down but using platforms such as medium, for example, uplift the spirit of those around you with the work you love to do and excel at.
Lastly,
I don’t think I have counted my blessings enough, but hearing stories from someone you don’t know can change how you work, think, discipline, and motivation.
If someone randomly comes and talks to you and feels like sharing their day even, hear them out. They might not make your day any different but you, for sure gave them a moment of happiness.
This writing aims to share my experience with a stranger who has inspired me to live life better. There can be no better way of understanding that you only get one shot in life; just make it a beautiful journey.