Thursday, Sept 3. The 70th anniversary of the outbreak of war falls this week. Thoughts turn to the immense human sacrifice: military personnel lost in action on ground at sea, in the air; the millions who perished as part of Hitler's "final solution"; the vast numbers of non-combatants who were killed in their homes or public places as bombs fell.
There were more mundane losses, too. Some men and women serving in the Allied forces - forgive me for being more ambivalent about the enemy, though I do think of them as well - sometimes met cruel fates through accident.
Jeremy Robson informs me of one such incident, involving war, flying machines and France and, at the same time, reminds me of another.
Jeremy and I should know each other quite well, since for many years we stood within mutual grumbling distance as part of the same group of supporters at Sunderland's old stadium, Roker Park.
It's taken his exile to Canada and mine to Abu Dhabi and now, for a second spell, France to turn us into electronic penfriends, though he also has a home in France and this briefly led to hopes we might meet there this summer.
It wasn't possible in the end but Jeremy's holiday included a fascinating mission which some Salut! readers may find of interest.
Not too far from his Burgundy retreat, he sought out the resting place of some RAF men who died in a wartime crashlanding and for whom a commemorative service was due to be held Vandenesse.
The Lancaster bomber, with a British and Canadian crew, came down in the summer of 1943 near Rouvres-sur-Meilly. Two were killed and buried at the graveyard at Vandanesse, location of the commemoration, and others were rescued by the Maquis and hidden for five months before they ended up back in the UK.
One of the survivors was identified in a local paper, Le Bien Public, as Harold Nielsen. He is from the North East, too, and is now 89 years old. Jeremy has resolved to discover more about the affair, not least because to strong similarities with what happened to his own father, wounded and parachuted out over Germany and was a POW during the war.
His interest in the matter recalled, for me, a pleasant weekend spent in the Alps when I worked for The Daily Telegraph. Philip Howells, a regular at this site, will remember it too since he was making a film about the subject and was there at the same time.
This is what I wrote back in Oct 2004:
In a chilly Alpine graveyard, 200 people gathered to honour a Royal Air Force commander in the one place on earth where he is the better known of two brothers who died on mountains 20 years apart.
Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory was killed 60 years ago with his wife and eight airmen when the Avro York aircraft flying him to a new post in Ceylon crashed in a blizzard 6,300ft above sea level.
Yesterday's ceremonies, held as sleet fell on Le Rivier d'Allemont in the French Alps, brought together relatives of the dead, people who recall hearing the impact, villagers born years afterwards and an impressive group of military and civil dignitaries.
Local children placed flowers on the victims' graves, a shivering guard of honour from France's 93rd Regiment of Mountain Artillery stood to attention and a bugler sounded Last Post.
Sir Trafford helped to devise the controversial "Big Wing" tactic during the Battle of Britain. He commanded thousands of British and American aircraft involved in the Normandy landings and, at the time of his death, was on his way to take charge of Allied air operations in the Pacific.
The crash, on a ridge between the Belledonne and Seven Lakes mountains towering above the village of Le Rivier d'Allemont, 30 miles from Grenobles, claimed the life of the most senior British serviceman to be killed during the war.
But for most of his adult life, Sir Trafford lived in the shadow of his elder brother, George, an intrepid adventurer who died in a fall while climbing Everest in 1924.
George Leigh Mallory - he preferred the unhyphenated version - is forever remembered for his response when asked why he wanted to conquer the mountain: "Because it is there."
In 1999 the climber again trumped his brother when his remains were finally found, once more attracting attention. But yesterday belonged to the air chief marshal, Lady Doris and the crewmen who died with them. All are buried in the cemetery of Le Rivier d'Allemont, tucked into the hillside beneath the spot where the aircraft crashed; beside them lies Séraphin Matthieu, a villager who found the wreckage and broken bodies seven months after the crash.
British, French and American worshippers, including several relatives of the dead, squeezed into the tiny chapel of Ste Marguerite for a commemorative service conducted jointly by the Rev Stephen Coffin, from the Anglican church in Grenoble, and the local Roman Catholic priest, Fr Luc Mazaré.
Bill Newton Dunn, the Liberal Democrat MEP for the East Midlands and the biographer and great-nephew of Sir Trafford, said in his address: "It is one of the injustices of history that if you survive war as a commander, you become very famous, like Eisenhower and Montgomery. But if you are killed before the end, like Adml Bertram Ramsay and Trafford Leigh-Mallory, your memories are forgotten."
The aircraft crashed on Nov 14 1944 but the 60th anniversary ceremonies were brought forward to avoid even more wintry weather expected in the Alps next month.
George Leigh Mallory's son, John, 84, who travelled from his home in South Africa for the event, paid warm tribute to the villagers' eagerness to remember "these complete strangers" who died in their hills. My uncle should have had more recognition," he said. "Yet he was largely forgotten, while even 80 years on, as I found when visiting England this year, people still talk about my father and Everest.
"What the French have done here is wonderful. My doctor advised me against coming but I was determined to be part of it even if it killed me."
The extent of the "duty of remembrance" paid in the Alps yesterday owes much to the efforts of Jean-Pierre Garnier, a teacher of English in nearby Briançon, and Brenda Price, the daughter of another of the victims, Sir Trafford's personal steward, Sgt Harold Chandler.
Mr Garnier read about the accident while leading a school visit to England and organised an educational project for fifth-form technology pupils. At about the same time, he was shown a message Mrs Price had left in a local inn.
The pupils' work, and Mrs Price's success in tracing other relatives, led to the unveiling of a plaque at the crash site in 1996 and the creation of a small museum, officially opened yesterday at Le Rivier d'Allemont's old presbytery.
On Mr Garnier's earliest field trip with students to the site, pieces of undercarriage and engine, and personal belongings of the Leigh-Mallorys and the crew were found.
Even now the mountain yields reminders of the crash: Jean-François Durand, the director of tourism for the Vallée de l'Eau d'olle, retrieved fragments of Lady Doris's shoes and handbag a month ago.
Mrs Price died in 1998 but her husband, Basil, 67, from Bath, was present yesterday. "Brenda would have loved this," he said. "She was only four when her father was killed but had lots of memories, including having her head patted by Eisenhower at the wedding of Sir Trafford's daughter."
I think the fact in each case speak for themselves. I did promise Jeremy that I woild make a couple of inquiries while back in the North East last week in the hope of tracing Harold Nielsen.
Feelers have duly gone out and I shall report back if any clues emerge.
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