256713 L/Cpl Arthur Graydon British Army 2nd Btn King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry from:Halifax, West Yorkshire  My dad, the late Lance Corporal Arthur Graydon, was a regular soldier who joined up as a 17-year-old lad in 1938. He was a very proud K.O.Y.L.I and, as a member of Slim's forgotten 14th Army, made his contribution to King and country at Kohima, Imphal, Dimapur and Chittagong.
He was very proud to serve alongside the formidable Ghurkhas and was exceptionally fond of the local people for whom he had great respect. He valued the opportunity to learn and use Hindi and developed expert bargaining skills that he enjoyed using on trips to Singapore and Bali upon his retirement.
During the four years he served in India, he carried a photograph of my mother: a photograph I still have. He wrote to her as often as he could while she too was making her contribution as Private Kathleen Smith [ATS] back home in Bradford, West Yorkshire.
Dad was a gentle man with a wonderful sense of humour and humility. While he rarely spoke of his wartime experiences, he told the most wonderfully evocative stories of how he would share broken pieces of tinned biscuits with elephants; and the genuine friendship he developed with the monkeys who shared their camp. One of the few stories he told involved his return from a mail run. He arrived back at camp to find a note on a table. It simply read: Jap broken through perimeter. A lasting and treasured memory of my father was witnessing the enormity of his sorrow upon visiting Kranji War Memorial during one of our many family trips to Singapore. As we wandered silently through the headstones he would stop occasionally to remember a fallen mate. Although he never said it, I wondered whether his burden was heavier because their fate could so easily have been his.
He returned home to West Yorkshire in August 1945. There was no welcome home parade, no thank you, no celebration, no support. Mum, now in her late 90s, recently revealed how dad struggled upon returning home. He experienced bouts of recurring malaria; and the terrors of what we now understand as PTSD. Yet he never complained. Right until the end, he remained a stoic, British soldier. I have the utmost respect and adoration for men like my father. While he may not have been part of the Invictus Generation, he shares their courage and determination and deserves to be remembered for the sacrifices he made in the service of his country.
He passed away in his beloved adopted home of Australia in 1987 after a short but courageous battle with cancer. He may not have been a decorated war hero, but he was my hero. May he and those with whom he served know that they will never be forgotten and forever rest in peace.   |