Family WW2 Stories by Nikki Salt

Nan and Grandad Rees 1955

Today is the 75^th anniversary of Victory in Europe and I feel incredibly privileged to have today of all days to write my blog post. I’ve always been fascinated by the nation’s stoicism and strength and how we, as a country, pulled together to get through such a dark and terrible time.

I have a certain pride that my own grandparents fought and won against that awful dictator but I wish I knew more of their experiences. While they were alive, both Nan and Grandad Rees were evasive about the war and shared only the sketchiest slivers of information and often only by accident. I remember my nan telling me she’d never heard of tripe until during her time as a WAAF. Entering the canteen, she casually asked what was for dinner, and when the chef replied tripe, she said: “I know it’s tripe but what is it!” To this day, her cockney accent and choice vocabulary makes me giggle and I miss her enormously. But the point is, I didn’t even know she was a WAAF.

Grandad Rees WW2

Grandad Rees, a furiously proud but quiet Welshman, would never talk about the war and apparently refused all his medals. He worked very hard running his own grocery business and I hardly saw him as a child but later when he retired, he spent hours poring over WW2 books and photographs. The only time I ever asked him about it, he told me there was nothing good about the war. A staunch atheist, he refused to believe in a powerful, loving God when he’d lost so many courageous friends and seen so much death.

On the other side of the English Channel, Grandpère Jézéquel died when I was very young so I only have vague, fleeting memories of him. My grandmère, a typically self-respecting, aloof Parisian, adored me as much as I adored her. A strong woman, she ran her own successful business while singlehandedly raising two boys (putting them through boarding school while she ran her company) and caring for her invalid husband. She described my grandpère as a weak man incapable of providing for his family and anyone outside of our family thought her haughty and harsh. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered why my grandpère was such a sickly man and since then, despite some of the details being a little sketchy, in my eyes, he became a true hero.

Grandpère Jézéquel 1970 

Shorty after the Germans occupied France, in 1943 French Canadian born Gustave Jézéquel became involved with one of the French resistance groups and was assigned a mission to transport some documents across Paris to a drop-off point. He cycled under the cover of darkness during curfew. Unfortunately, he was caught and taken to the police cells for questioning where he refused to cooperate despite being tortured. Had he not possessed a Canadian passport he would have been shot but instead, the Gestapo sent him to one of the smaller concentration camps where he was made to work in slave labour. He never recovered from his wartime experiences nor his injuries and was unable to hold down a job. We have since gleaned he suffered from ‘petit-mals’ or epileptic attacks which, in those days, was taboo and never talked about which might explain why my grandmère did not like to talk about him.

I always found it strange that both sets of grandparents were so nonchalant about their war experiences. Their attitudes were very much of the ilk that anyone else would have done the same. It has astounded me that even my grandmère did not have the admiration that I have for my grandpère and his deeds. Just before she died, Grandmère Jézéquel told us about Grandpère Jézéquel’s exploits and about his epilepsy and said she was embarrassed about both! I tried to explain that I thought him brave but she just shrugged in that typical Parisian manner and said he was a fool for getting caught! Perhaps when you have lived through such a time, your perspective changes!

However, I know that 75 years on we are immensely grateful to all those who fought not just that war but all wars to defend this beautiful country. I am also in awe of those who stayed behind and kept the country running. This is a proud day!

Please share your family’s WW2 stories. I’d love to hear about them.