In memory of the ‘D-day dodgers’

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/dec/11/memory-of-the-d-day-dodgers

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Geoffrey Wheatcroft (The myth of the good war, 9 December) argues that a distorted and sanitised view of the second world war has created a cult of the noble cause justifying 21st-century foreign adventures. However, it goes deeper than that. The mythologised view of that war and our role in it is deeply corrosive, culturally and politically. All our wars in the current and last century have become noble causes, while our numerous, brutal colonial conflicts are airbrushed despite some of the worst occurring since the second world war. It sustains not only disastrous foreign wars but also an oversized military, a parasitic weapons industry and a fragile national egotism that looks forever backwards.Chris DonnisonSheffield

• Geoffrey Wheatcroft’s differentiation between a “good” war and a “necessary” war was revealing but, from a personal perspective, his mentioning of the Italian campaign (most notably Anzio and Salerno – and the comparison with the Somme) resonated, and was unusual in that Italy is very rarely mentioned in any context at all.

My father, and many others, endured two opposed landings on those beaches, and I’m reminded of Lady Astor’s comments when she implied that the troops in Italy were “D-day dodgers”. I wonder what they must have thought of her as she pontificated in the Lords, all those hundreds of miles away. I have a good idea because, after my father died, in his papers, I came across a well-worn typewritten copy of a song to the tune of Lili Marleen. It seems to be a humorous riposte of about seven verses, but with a devastating ending. 

It starts off: We are the “D-day dodgers out in Italy, Always drinking vino, always on the spree, and continues in that humorous vein for five more verses. But the final verse is: Look around the mountains through the mud and rain, You’ll find battered crosses, some which bear no name. Heartbreak and toil and suffering gone, The boys beneath them slumber on. They were the “D-day dodgers”, the lads that D-day dodged.

I’m not sure if my father, or any of them, thought that much about Lady Astor, or the intricacies of whether war was justified, or good or necessary. But I do know one thing: he was very glad to get home.John FinniganOrmskirk, Lancashire