On Christmas 1944, my father, who was 20, was in Luxembourg.
It was during the Battle of the Bulge. Part of the 10th Armored Division was at Bastogne. Part was holding positions at the base of the bulge to the southeast.
It was cold, and Allied troops took shelter where they could.
On Christmas Eve, a local boy ventured to an American post and asked if there were any French speakers. My father, who’d taken French in high school, talked to the boy. He got permission from the company sergeant. The family had room for two, so my father, a Tennessean, took a friend from the mountains of eastern Kentucky and ate a hot meal among new friends. It was a lovely moment during an ugly war. He remembered it for the rest of his life.
What a memory to have — and pass down.
ReplyDelete