By Refraction

NEUSTAETER: Lest we forget — my grandpa’s stories

Nov 11, 2018 | 4:00 AM

I COME FROM A LONG LINE of storytellers.

For better or for worse, every person in my family has a whole catalogue of stories that are passed along throughout our lives, eventually becoming the narrative by which we are immortally known.

My grandpa on my dad’s side, Albert (Al), passed away much too young and just before I was born, so my memories of him are all second-hand, but my dad always said that when the family would ask my grandpa about his time in the army he could usually only shake his head say, “It was terrible.”

When he passed away he still wasn’t ready to talk very much about serving in the Second World War, and maybe he never would have been, but I’m grateful that his family did have a few stories to pass along about my grandpa’s life in the military.

I tell these stories to my own kids every Remembrance Day so that they too can remember the great grandpa they never knew through the stories of his idiosyncrasies, dedication to honour and incredible bravery — lest we forget.

Stay Ahead of the Curve with Kamloops' Trusted Property Manager - Rohit Kumar

May 20, 2025

Sound Off

SOUND OFF: Should Kamloops drivers get a hybrid or go fully electric?

3h ago

Looped In

LOOPED IN WITH NIKKI OMEN: June 12, 2025

21h ago

Dishwater

My grandpa always ate faster than a hot knife cuts through butter. When his kids asked why, he told them this:

In the army hundreds of men would eat together in the mess hall, but only those who finished their meals first would have clean water to wash their dishes since it was never replaced. Finish last and you’d be elbow-deep in other men’s food scraps, scrubbing your plate in a bucket of liquid grime.

Most of the men in my family are pretty fastidious and apparently they got that from Al, who couldn’t tolerate the idea of putting his hands into — let alone scrubbing his dishes in — that filthy water. So he learned to eat fast.

Really fast.

He was 6’2” and every inch of his frame was farm boy-strong, but while it took a lot of fuel to power that large body he could wolf it down like nobody’s business and (according to my Grannybird, his wife) without even appearing to chew.

No matter how long it had been since he was discharged, my grandpa never broke the habit of eating at lightning speed because of that dirty dishwater.

Sniper

What is a man to do when he feels compelled to answer the call of duty to both country and cause, but cannot bear the thought of killing another person?

My grandparents both grew up on farms and the stories of their legendary marksmanship when hunting and protecting livestock will be passed on for generations. It therefore follows that when the Canadian Army held a major shooting competition to find the best of the best, my grandpa was a top contender for the sniper of his 100 man regiment.

While he agonized over the implications of winning, he was nobly determined to give the war efforts everything he could; what would be would be.

Round after round men were eliminated from the competition until it came down to just two men with one bullet each, but on that final shot my grandpa’s mark was just outside of his competitor’s. He had lost.

Knowing that he had given his very best but was relieved not to be a sniper, my grandpa’s commanding officer said to him, “I know you’re an honourable man, Krueger, you tried your best and wouldn’t miss on purpose. You tell me the job you want and that’s what you’ll do for the rest of the war.”

Al spent the rest of his time in the army as a stretcher bearer: carrying the wounded, comforting the dying and feeling blessed to never have to take a life.

D-Day

On D-Day as his ship sailed toward the legendary beaches where the tides of history were turned (in great part due to young, heroic, Canadian men), my grandpa stood on the deck overlooking the ocean and became overwhelmed by the impending horrors before him.

He cried out to God, pleading that his life be spared.

I don’t know if it was audible, but however the knowledge came, Al heard God ask him in reply, “Why should you live when so many others will die today?”

He answered, “Because I want a future with a wife and children and I want to raise them to love you.”

God’s clear reply came, “That’s a good enough reason for me.”

I’ve always thought that those were such interesting words to receive in a moment when the ocean was roiling under his unsteady feet, surrounded by men who would not survive the day with his own life hanging in the balance.

And yet, there they were; “That’s a good enough reason for me.”

If my grandpa ever gave more details about that terrible day on the shores of Normandy I never heard them, but I know that he must have held the hands of dying men, carried lifeless bodies of boys who were in their prime only moments before, lost friends and witnessed the incomprehensible.

But then he went home, married the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and raised his family to love God until the day he died, just as he had promised.

Today, in whatever detail you know it, tell the stories of the men and women who fought for and won our freedom; in this way we honour their bravery, while remaining vigilant and properly humble, ensuring that their gift of their sacrifice is never squandered or taken for granted.

While we tell those stories, let’s picture the poppies, the larks, the crosses row on row.

Brave heroes who fell on the sands of Normandy, lay in Flanders Field, stood on the decks of ships destined war and those who came home.

We remember and tell their stories with deepest gratitude, lest we forget.