Missing The Boat: War Stories of Thomas Alan Dirkin

41 I never thanked my father, or mother for that matter, for their service while they were living. The phrase “thank you for your service” is common now. I never thanked my father or mother for the freedom they fought for. My father went to war to fight for freedom and to protect his way of life and his family’s way of life. I suspect that notion was a bit abstract at the time my dad enlisted. Losing his freedom and being incarcerated as a POW must have certainly brought full meaning to the value of freedom. His time spent fighting after he escaped must also have underscored the value of remaining free - even if on a daily basis, fighting to stay alive was concrete reality. For many of his generation, the assimilation back into normal life was fast with minimal support except from families, perhaps, many of which had suffered great loss in the war. The community energy to transition fighting men and women back into everyday life was low. It was largely up to the individual to suck it up and get on with it. So, with ticket in hand my father, seething from the snot nosed welcoming committee, he steamed north from the English southern counties. The train was full of men excited to be back, looking forward to a pint in their favorite pub, a hug from their loved ones, chasing women, eating a favorite food. They had many options and free to choose from what was available in post war Britain. The same passengers on that train I am sure tussled with anxiety. What will they find, how will they fit in, will they be welcomed? Flashbacks in quiet moments, lost friends. Why am I here? One way or another the train’s arrival was going to take place, and a new journey was about to unfold.