Over the hills and o'er the main.
To Flanders, Portugal, and Spain,
Queen Anne commands and we'll obey.
Over the hills and far away.
My father has a painting of a ship. It has hung on one wall or another of our family home since I was a child. I was once disappointed to learn that it was not a battleship or a destroyer, though it did have some awesome looking guns. They were strictly for the defense of the ship. Later, I learned to appreciate the ship on which my father served in the Second World War. Its function was to repair landing craft. It was part of the immense auxiliary fleet without which all the warships and marines would be helpless. My father's ship was built and manned to be part of a second D-Day, landing American forces on the shores of Japan. I am happy to report that that invasion turned out to be unnecessary.
My father was one of a generation of heroes. They served no King nor any Queen but a Republic, of which they were themselves the heart, soul, and will. They brought down two of the most terrible empires to ever menace free peoples. My Uncle Bill landed on Okinawa and was killed by a Japanese sniper. We who were born in the kinder and gentler half of the last century have much to be grateful for.
I remember that my younger brother and I tore open an old box in our storage room and found the uniforms that Dad and his brothers wore at sea. Aunt Barbara went to work of them and produced smaller versions that fit me, my brother, and a cousin my brother's age. What a hoot! Kenny and Dave looking o'er the main! But she couldn't do anything about the shoes. Little boy's feet just wouldn't fit in them. Looking back, I still have to wonder whether this generation can fill those shoes.
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