When Rememberance Became Personal

Neil Griffiths

1941

Imagine the scene: Hong Kong in the mid-1970s, I'm on gate duty at my barracks, dwarfed by big dirty blocks of flats and the sun is beating down. Chinese pensioners totter past beneath heavy loads. At 18, I'm tall, slim, and, like all young soldiers, know everything. I'm just about to finish a two-hour stint at the barrier and am looking forward to a cup of tea.

My reverie was broken by two old ladies, Americans obviously, in wing-mirror glasses, trainers and floppy hats. 'We're here to see your chapel, young man,' said one. I looked dumbly back before shouting up to the Provost Sergeant, who was leaning on the guardroom railings above: 'Sergeant, two Americans want to see the chapel!' 'Canadians, we're Canadians!' hissed the lady. ... (continues)