My father was nearly killed by a piece of shrapnel long before he landed on France’s beaches. The bomb landed next door, the shrapnel embedded itself in the wall, just above his head. Dad looked at that shrapnel as good luck and put it in his kit bag.
I grew up with that shrapnel in the living room. Dad had it mounted with the words “Close Call. Aldershot, England, 1942”. But until only a few years ago I didn’t know its story, so I asked him, and he told me.
Want your storyteller’s tales? Ask them about the letters, pictures, paintings, trophies… and listen as the stories rush out. Listen to our panelists stories.