Every year on this day (It’s ANZAC Day here in Australia and New Zealand for my readers further afield) I spend the day being grateful for my two grandfathers as they both served in WW1.
In particular I dwell on my maternal Grandad, Lancelot Boughen Stevens as he was at Gallipoli. It was his experiences there and in the later conflicts of WW1 that shaped him and as a result his children and thus myself.
What he saw and experienced must’ve been nothing short of horrific-both psychically and physically scarring. I made the mistake of asking him about it when I was too young to know better. I never asked again.
When Papa came home from the war he was severely malnourished and devoted the rest of his life to wellness. The grandson of a medical botanist and son of a wholesale druggist, he bought every book he could find related to health and diet, he grew his own fruit and veg, had a compost pile out the back and saved seeds. He was a firm believer in whole foods and warned everyone against the perils of white sugar (white death) and refined anything.
It is interesting to note that all 4 of his grandchildren have veggie gardens. We all compost, we all have chickens, we all cook (one professionally) we are all (knock on wood) healthy.
Thanks Papa, every day I try to honour your sacrifice and I hope one day us humans will finally grow up and learn to settle differences in a civilised fashion.
Lest we forget.