Throughout my entire childhood, I have been reminded of World War II. When you’re a child, you tend to think that these wars happened a lot longer ago than they did. In my mind, World War II has always been a lifetime ago. The soldiers that died in that war didn’t have any weight in my mind until recently. I was, for the longest time, under the impression that war no longer existed anywhere near my life. I didn’t realize that soldiers death’s affected me at all. I understood the weight of the holocaust long before I understood the weight of our own soldiers. I never thought about how in the time of wars past, putting your life on the line was often something that was expected of you, not a personal choice. War affects me, and it affects all of us. Every single soldier’s life or death shapes our country, and it shapes our world. I never thought about it. I think about it now as we enter a state of unrest, all across the globe. It’s easy to think  you are safe, and you are in a bubble that cannot be touched. Now, we are all forced to think about the realities of war, and how it was possible and real. And people before us bravely experienced it. I am aware that at least two of my great-grandfathers were in the second world war. If one of them were to have died in combat instead of the thousands of men and women who did, I could have never been born. I am affected by every soldier, and so is every single one of us. With that being said, I want to recognize that the soldier I cover in this post, I hold to the upmost respect. I do not mean to put words in the mouth of a soldier, but use this assignment as educational experience where I do my best to understand life in those times.

With that out of the way, I am going to tell you about Norman Andrews Ash.

Norman was born in Edmonton, Alberta on June 2nd, 1922. At the time of his enlistment, he was 18 years old and living in Peace River, Alberta. He had two younger brothers, and one older sister. He had just graduated from high school. He was an athlete, doing exceptionally well in hockey and skiing, but had tried nearly every sport under the sun. He was a leader at his local church. Norman was highly regarded by the figures of authority in his life, saying he had “initiative and an unusual ability in leadership”. He got good grades in school, and enjoyed photography. He also loved model airplanes, which is perhaps what got him interested in becoming a pilot in the war.

In the forces, he was well liked by his peers. Norman was said to be “very popular with everyone on the squadron”. Although some reports called him “slightly irresponsible”, his superiors seemed to like him as well. I’d like to think that was linked to how young he was. By the time he would die in a night flying practicing incident in England, he was 20 years old. In his personal affects sent back home, included was a camera, photo album, and book of poems. He was said to be confident, likeable, and from what I can see pretty well-rounded.

I’ve tried my best to bring Norman to light in the fake letter I have written to his family from him. This is Norman Ash, from my perspective.

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Dear Father,

Thank you for your last letter. It’s good to know that everyone is doing well. I wish I could be home to see Sidney Jr. graduate from school. I am so happy to hear that he is going off the university. I am sure whatever he decides to do, he will do it well. He has always been smarter than I am, even though I am two years older than him.

Learning to fly is just as exciting as I thought it would be. I always imagined flying an airplane, and here I am, really doing it! I feel like a bird up in the air, like nobody can stop me. I must admit that I am but an average pilot, though I am doing quite well. My superiors seem to like me, and are surprisingly patient when I make a mistake. Which isn’t very often, don’t worry about that.

I am getting along well with my entire squadron. Everyone seem stop like me here. I wasn’t sure if anyone was going to take me seriously, though there are lots of guys my age out here. I was especially worried about the older men, but they seem to all respect us for enlisting in the first place. I didn’t expect things to go so well for me, but I feel confident and at ease. I’m sure if I keep that demeanour I will come back home without a scratch.

In this letter, I am enclosed one of the photographs I have taken with my bullet camera of some men doing repair work on some planes. Please give everyone my regards.

Your son,

Norman

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