James and I went to the "V for Victory" exhibit--its last day--at the Atlanta History Center today. It was a small exhibit, but had a nice variety of things from World War II homefront memorabilia to old uniforms and service-related items along with reminisces from Atlanta-area people. A radio played an endless series of period music and radio reports, and a History Channel documentary on the war played in alcoves. A separate gallery had some other photos and quotes set on the wall on either side of a heart-stopping photo of rows upon rows of white crosses somewhere in Normandy.

One always looks in sorrow at those old photos that pepper Civil War books of the boys who went to fight--and some of them were truly boys, twelve and thirteen year olds who went as drummers and boys a bit older who lied about their age to be able to join the fray. And one knows from reading books how many young men of eighteen (and more than a few younger who also lied about their age like their forebears) volunteered to serve after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

But maybe, just because my Dad was a World War II veteran and because I grew up on so many of those old war movies he loved, movies stocked with actors like John Wayne who were older than the average age of the men that served, my image of the average WWII soldier is of an older man.

Which explains why I was mesmerized by one simple photograph at the exhibit, a black and white shot of twin brothers standing to attention for inspection, with their kit between them. They were absurdly young, certainly just high school age, with smooth faces and wide eyes. Just boys, not rough-talking grizzled grimy men. Boys who would have certainly been happier going on to college or a job somewhere, who just wanted to grow up, find a nice girl, raise a family. And instead they were thrust in a hell of bullets and artillery, mud and filth, perhaps injuries or even death; they went to war to make sure other boys could grow up, find a nice girl, raise a family in a good place at a better time.

How can you ever adequately say thank you for that?

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 5:28:00 PM

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