This May in Aberdovey, I spoke to the surviving handful of
commandos who had been close to Daddy. They couldn't enlighten me
about the action he had seen in the war. All reconnaissance
missions were conducted alone or in small groups and kept top secret. Of course
the men could tell me nothing about the years my father had spent
in England before joining the Pioneers.
As cars pulled away from the hotel that had headquarted the
weekend's reunion and, some 50 years ago, 3-Troop's command, I
felt a wave of anxiety. I'd had only two days to make the acquaintance
of the men who'd known my father as intimately as anyone had, at
the pinnacle of his youth. I suppose I'd had unrealistically high
hopes of finding out .what?.probably things no one could ever
tell me. I felt as if I were waving goodbye to my father.
I didn't come away from this event with a catalogue of my father's
espionage activities. I learned, instead, about strength of
spirit, willpower, and selflessness. These men, as young and
individualistic as they had been, showed a remarkable
determination to confront, at whatever cost, the evil they had no
choice.
Although some had champed at the bit to see "action" in
Europe, others dreaded it. Tony Firth spoke of the war as a
"great waste of time" for all young men sacrificed in the
prime of life. But he, too, saw no choice. At war's end, most
3-Troopers stopped talking about it, determined to set their
sights on the future. In Aberdovey, however, even the previously
silent ones admitted they now saw value in speaking about the
events once more. As we met to commemorate this small troop, the
Kosovar conflict served as a fresh and tragic reminder of the
horrors so-called civilized people continue to inflict on one
another.
My father was a refugee, but he never let me or anyone else know
it. Growing up middle class in Toronto, I would never have
entertained the notion. Refugees fled revolution and war; they
arrived on this country disheveled and possessionless; settled
amongst their own kind, struggled for years to eke out and
existence. What had those circumstances to do with me? I lacked
nothing, my father spoke flawless English (was referred to in the press as "the British,
pipe-smoking Kershaw").
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