by Anna Dalfonso
My great uncle Richard Hill served in WW2 and was stationed with the 8th army infantry battalion in New Guinea.
The one story that stands out clearly in my mind goes something like this...
Fighting the Japanese in PNG he was involved in a large battle that lasted for hours with snipers picking off his mates one at a time. At some stage during the battle the order was given to advance and most of his brothers were mowed down before his eyes, he took one or two shots and somehow was buried underneath 3 or 4 of his dead mates.
He lay there for hours and hours not able to move from under the dead weight. When what could have been up to 14 hours later, friendlies arrived to remove the dead they found my uncle laying at the bottom of a ditch still alive, they could not believe their eyes and he was given medical attention and taken to the hospital.
I like to think God was looking after him that day, but i think secretly he wished he had died with his buddies, because the duration of his life was tormented by this and many other war memories.