@Z Yep on spam. Went traveling with some Brits of varying ages, and the older ones seemed to love the stuff. Ugh.
-wolfe

As for rations, two things come to mind. When my Dad was in Australia, he hung out with another guy from South Dakota. This man, however, was a full-blooded native American and taciturn in the extreme. Not a problem for my Dad - he respects people’s privacy. At any rate, this guy used to go out and shoot fresh game, bringing it back to share with my Dad, already skinned and dressed out. The one time Dad asked what sort of meat it was, he stare at him for several long seconds, then replied, “Chicken.” Dad never asked again.

The other stories I’ve heard were from the British nanny who cared for my boys before they went to school. She was in Gloucestershire during WWII and to this day she has awful fears of having anything put over her nose & mouth, because of having to put on gas masks. Sixty years hence, she still loves SPAM, because it was the only meat her family had for weeks on end.

She’s made a SPAM convert of my older son (I think it’s gross), and she ended up later marrying an American GI, for which I am eternally grateful, since it brought her into my life.

~Z~

Here’s a teaser

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars

and from the same poem(bear in mind it was written in 1889)

And the hurrying people daunt me and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste

Clancy of the Overflow, A. B. (Banjo) Patterson

I’ve also heard countless stories about how terrible the rations were in those days. And how my naughty aunt threw the weekly supply of butter out of her pram one day and they didn’t have anymore for quite a while. I always laugh at that one.

It would be interesting to find out where your dad served unless you think asking may upset him. I do think it is a good idea to pass on the family history, especially for your sons.

re: the kangaroo. Karma. Kangaroos bounding towards you at a very fast rate are frightening. I can just see those men scattering in all directions, ha!

I’d have to ask specifically where he served, and I certainly should. I remember stories he told that were gentle, and funny, when I was small. Now, however, he gets misty and becomes very agitated at anything he perceives to be glorifying war. He’s never been a big supporter of the local VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) post, either.

Even though it was 60+ years ago, I don’t think anyone can remain unaffected by having men (boys, really) die in their arms. Several of his brothers (he had 6) served, too, and all came home safe, though not all sound.

He did have a great story about some fellow servicemen who thought it would be great fun to catch and tie up a kangaroo as a pet. It was fun, too, until she went into heat and the boys came calling. Dad just laughed, because as a farm boy, he knew better.

So even posting just “wow” is very, very, very helpful.

Coming up will be some 18th and 20th century British poets, and some (mostly) 19thC Irish poets. If you guys have good suggestions for an Australian poet (Female and Gwallam), I’d enjoy suggestions.

Best,
-wolfe