This is my granddad's war record.
I never met him, but through my mothers stories he was good farmer, who worked the land well and was friendly with Local Iwi. A soldier and a gentleman. A good husband, and father. He was the best of men.
|A soldier with his best mate before Passchendale|
We read about the war, but we do not really know. We watch films and documentaries, but we cannot really know.
I travelled to Gallipoli, and waited until dawn with my mates. As the sun slowly rose it revealed the gradient on those hills by the Turkish beach. As the slopes grew light, my heart grew heavy as I realised how hard it would have been to make any head way up those hills even now, let alone during a battle. But you can only really imagine.
Private George Clow spent two years in Europe fighting with his mates. He left home a British citizen and came home a Kiwi.
I am exceptionally proud of my granddad and what he went through. But I am also proud of the man he was despite what he went through.
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them."
I dedicate this post to my mum.