Showing posts with label War. Show all posts
Showing posts with label War. Show all posts

Sunday, February 22, 2015

Hands Around the World

 
Toward the Olympic Range
Gillian Cornwall c. 2011

It really works. I probably shouldn't be surprised. I have made connections all over the world through new media, but this past week it has really hit home. Blogging, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, whatever your sharing tool of choice, it works. It brings hands together around the world. 

I do realize that the paragraph above is not ground-breaking information, but sometimes it's hard to know if the content is received at all or received well. It is easy to produce content (harder to produce good content) but difficult to know how widely and positively it is being received, understood and appreciated. Yes, we have analytics to measure reach and make some fact-based assessment of readership but that doesn't always give us the kind of feedback we desire. 

There is nothing that boosts a writer's spirit more than contact with one's readers, through comment, email or direct message. Even if that contact is a challenge, it's great to know that you are engaging with people - some who you know in real life and some you are meeting in cyber-space for the first time. 

Back on November 10, 2013 - just before Remembrance Day - I published a post entitled, Love and Molecules - Lest We Forget. It is the synopsis of the story of my mother's participation in the Second World War and her love of a pilot by the name of Richard N. Foster.

I won't tell the story again here. I'll let you have a look at that in your own time through the link in the previous paragraph. I had researched quite heavily into my mum's service at RAF Base Biggin Hill and into Richard's service in the British Air Force. It was difficult to find fact-based information and I am ever so grateful to all the people in the UK and France who dedicate all of their time outside of their day jobs to ensure those who served are remembered for their sacrifice. It is those people with whom I initially had contact for this project - sometimes they found me and sometimes I found them - reinforcing the impact of new media and the world as it exists with internet connectivity. 

The next aspect of engagement with this project was the response to that post back in 2013. I was astounded by the number of hits it received and by the heartfelt feedback. I had always hoped that I had the facts right and was doing justice to my mother's and Richard's past. 

Last week, the most phenomenal thing happened with respect to that post. Richard's nephew found it (and other sites to which I had added information) by Google searching "RN Foster" and he contacted me by email! I had no idea there were any living relatives to find. My searches in this regard had not come to fruition. Imagine my surprise, after my initial reaction thinking it was likely all spam and almost ignoring the emails and comments. It took a call from Richard's niece, before I could accept - they are real! They are descendants of one of Richard's siblings! I won't release their names as I haven't their permission but, suffice to say, there are 3 family members in total who contacted me in the past week. As if that weren't enough, Richard's niece lives a 30 minute drive from me and we had lunch together this past week and shared photos and stories! Uncanny! She knew my mother as well ("I called her Auntie Eunice"). She has Richard's smile.

All of this has brought me closer to Richard's and my mother's lives and verified everything I thought to be true about their relationship. Had he lived, everyone expected he and my mother would have married and I either wouldn't be here or I would be here in a different embodiment of myself! I wonder how different their lives would have been. It's mind-boggling to think of the possibilities and to think of how many lives, full of promise, were taken so early as a result of that war. We must never forget. 

Had I not written that piece, with the goal of honouring my mother, Richard, their service, and her lifelong commitment to her love for him - despite his physical absence and despite her marriage to my father which resulted in four children before their divorce - I never would have had this opportunity to continue this story and develop this bond with Richard's family. I feel somewhat inarticulate in describing it here; I am still absorbing the uniqueness of this opportunity. 

Reach out. Use your social media accounts to share your stories. Reach out, because you never know who has their ear to the ground, half way around the world, listening for your heartbeat across the sea, across time. You may never know the impact that acknowledging a tweet or commenting on something shared means to someone. Use these tools for good. Use these tools to reach out around the world in loving thought and action. 

I dedicate this post to Richard's family - who I feel are, in some way, my newly found family. Thank you for your interest and persistence and for helping me to remember why I do this and why I believe in the power of the internet and new media to heal the wounds to our world. 

With love to each of you.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. February 22, 2015.

Eunice Jay
Richard Foster

Flying Officer, Richard N Foster
Rest in Peace, Guidel Communal Cemetery
Morbihan, France
Picture taken by: Alain Octavie

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Love and Molecules - Lest We Forget


Eunice Audrey Jay, circa 1943
My Mother
RIP
RIP, Flying Officer (Pilot) Richard Norman Foster
No. 183 Squadron RAF - 149358
Hawker Typhoon 
Shot down 31 January 1944
by flak near Guidel
on attack on Kerlin-Bastarde Aerodrome
circa 1943
My Mother's Love
RIP

Mom, circa 1943

Imagine, my mom was driving a Velocette motorcycle around England in 1943. She was 19 then. She had a boyfriend who was a pilot. They used to read poetry to each other at Harrow on the Hill by Byron's tomb. They were in love. My mom was stationed at Biggin Hill fighter station. Her boyfriend, Richard, was stationed at another airfield flying Typhoons. They lived fast and true to their hearts. There was no time to waste by not feeling, blocking and worrying if it was right. Life was so tenuous - up for the lottery every moment as planes fell from the sky, bombs fell from the sky and buildings crumbled around people daily. The world was at war and nothing was forever. There was only the moment in which their truth existed. Richard was shot down over France on January 31, 1944. He was killed. His grave is in Guidel Communal Cemetery in the Bretagne region.


Richard's Grave site,
Bretagne, France
Photo -  Courtesy of Alain Octavie / Pierre Vandervelden **

In 1948, my mother married my father at Harrow Church. They had four kids, moved to Canada from England twice, started their own business, and divorced in 1975. My mother continued to work to support the two children she still had at home. She created a new career for herself and kept my brother and I in school, in good clothes, with enough food to eat and the occasional vacation and special treat. She did well by us although I believe she was always a bit sad - she had lost a part of her self in the process of all this.

At 58 years old, she died of ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease); robbed of her retirement and her chance to go to Europe and explore the arts of the countries she had spoken of so passionately over the years. I don't know if she knew Richard's grave was in Bretagne - there was no internet in her lifetime. It is one of my goals to visit his grave and honour him - the life he gave for his country and the love he shared with my mother.

Her wish was to have her ashes taken to Byron's tomb to be spread in the place where she remembered her passion, her love and her truth. This was done. I hope that my mom and Rich's molecules are dancing together still.

Live; love; be brave.

Below is a stanza from a poem by William Morris, The Message of the March Wind  that Richard wrote out for my mom. No wonder he only used the one romantic stanza for his love, as the poem is largely about socialism which probably wouldn't have been popular among his fellow Brits during the war! I found it glued to the inside cover of a book he had given her about the Cotswold Country in Gloucestershire  - the area where Richard's family lived on a beautiful dairy farm in a stone house with a thatched roof. I visited there with my mother and my brothers when we were young teens. Richard's dad, Bill Foster, taught me how to milk the cows and collect eggs from the chickens. They were lovely, warm people. I suppose they may have looked on us as the grandchildren they never had. Anyway, more on this story another day. Here is the poem: 



To Celebrate a Day in May, 1943

From The Message of the March Wind
By
William Morris

"Now, sweet, sweet it is through this land to be straying
'Mid the birds and the blossoms and the beasts of the field;
Love mingles with love, and no evil is weighing
On thy heart or mine, where all sorrow is healed."

(?) and Richard Foster (Brothers) and Edward Smith (my uncle)
circa 1943.

Through the Gate at Harrow Church
Photo by Brian Francis Cornwall, my father.
Circa 1948.


**Special thanks to Pierre Vandervelden and Alain Octavie for their assistance with photos and information and the incredible work they do at: http://www.inmemories.com/index.htm 


For more information on FO Richard Norman Foster, visit, the Lost Aircraft site 
and:
Aircrew Remembered: http://aircrewremembered.com/foster-richard.html
(Post revised this year) by Gillian Cornwall, November 10, 2013.