Remembrance

I know exactly two things, about my Dad's time during WW2; How he learned to swim, and a staring match with a Tiger in the jungle, which he won i'm glad to say, or i wouldn't be telling you about it in this blog.
I remember one day, at the age of ten, being sat in the kitchen after a particularly rotten day at school. Tears rolling down my face because yet another sporting activity was beyond me and as usual, the kids in my class made my life a misery for it. My Dad sat down and on one of those rare occasions he chatted with me he asked what was wrong. "I can't swim" i howled, "and the other kids are picking on me for being scared of the water". He smiled at me, and told me how as a soldier in the Army he was taught to swim. He was on his way with his unit to Burma, by ship and on one particularly hot day, his fellow soldiers were in the water swimming to cool down, His Sergeant saw that my dad was still on deck, watching his colleagues. I imagine the conversation went a little like this-:
Sarge-"Wells! why aren't you in the water?"
Dad -"Can't swim sir"
Sarge- "best you learn then!!" and with a shove, my dad found himself in the ocean with his fellow soldiers and the ever present possibility of sharks. He always roared with laughter at this experience. It didn't help me overcome my fear of water, but seeing my dad laugh like that made me feel better

My father also had a passion for tigers, this came about while on patrol in some Jungle they had been on foot for sometime when their guide told them to be still. Not more than three feet in front of them was the biggest Tiger he had ever seen, so he stood stock still staring into the eyes of this potential killing machine. What seemed like an age passed, and with  grumble the tiger sloped off.
Those are the only two things i'll ever know..
Come November, comes remembrance sunday, or as we called it when we were kids, "Poppy day". I still refer to it as that now and again. I watched the remembrance service today and without realising, had tears roll down my face as i listened to the stories of soldiers old and new, and it brought back another memory of another remembrance sunday when i was a kid. I remembered it because of the question i asked as an innocent child, and how the words stung my father.
"Did you shoot lots of people, dad?" He got up, and as he got up, i saw his eyes glisten with tears as he left the room.
Looking back, with my adult perspective, i understand now why i only ever knew the two stories he did tell me. However it's the stories he never told that are why i never forget the sacrifices he made or any of the old soldiers during that terrible time...

Did i mention my Dad was, always will be my hero?