I was 13 years-old before I first asked my grandfather what he did in the Second World War. Charged with finding a veteran to interview for a history project at school, and armed with the knowledge he’d been a Royal Marine, I ambushed him during a visit to our house in Suffolk.
"Aged just 24, he suddenly found himself promoted and placed in charge of 60 men, as a hailstorm of bullets rained down around them"
Up until that point, I could barely imagine Grandpa sporting anything other than a cravat, blue jumper and thick-rimmed glasses. If asked to describe him I would probably have said John Russell Sturgis was conscientious, old, drank whiskey and was always ready to laugh at whatever idiocy I‘d been up to. Despite our 67-year age gap (he was 80 at the time) we have always had a surprising amount in common – it’s his genes I have to thank for my large hands, thick eyebrows and blue eyes.
But this conversation revealed a side to him he’d kept hidden from the whole family, not just me. Even my father wasn’t entirely clear why his own dad had been awarded the Military Cross - Grandpa had “never been keen to talk about it and you knew it was a no-go area”. Here, I suspect the passing of time, and being a granddaughter he found it hard to say no to, played to my advantage.
(
TO BE CONTINUED