Those of you who were born in the 1950-60s in Canada may recognize the title as a line from Romping Ronnie Hawkins's 1970 song "Home From the Forest", written by Gordon Lightfoot, about the death of a forgotten veteran.
I fall into that age group. I've been a militaria collector for 45+ years now. This Friday, I'm opening a year-long exhibition on Canadian Peacekeeping at the Oakville Ontario Museum. Apart for occasional presentations to Cub Packs for Remembrance Day, it's about the only
Joan, whom I have worked with for more years than I care to think of, is in hospital seriously ill with cancer and a heart attack. Your thoughts and prayers would be appreciated.
Over the years I have helped Joan research her family's military history. Her father was one of the Canadians who joined the R.A.F. in 1938. He ended up with 42 Squadron R.A.F. flying Beauforts, along with a compatriot Oliver Philpot. Both were shot down and both ended up in Stalag Luft III. Philpot was to escape
While researching a Metropolitan Police 1902 Coronation, I found and contacted the recipient's great-grand-daughter, who has her own blog on this man. I decided to offer to sell it back to the family, as I already have several of that medal. Her response was amusing:
Sometimes virtue is not its only reward.
I'm not much of a blogger, unless you count my "John and Marie" fiction on the Great War Forum. However, as I get older I feel the urge to muse in (semi) public, which is certainly better than wandering down the street talking to myself.
I've been collecting since 1973, and have gone from British Military longarms to badges, to uniforms, to medals. I've never been an "I never sell anything" collector (can't afford to), but nonetheless bits and pieces of each historical period remain (like th