Descendants of Heroes
A chance encounter between the descendants of World War Two servicemen
August 2018, a military surplus shop in West Edmonton Mall on a warm sunny afternoon.
Currently the 23rd largest mall in the world and 2nd most visited mall in Canada, the West Edmonton Mall would astound even those who despise shopping (as I certainly did at the time). But there was simply no way to feel complete about visiting Edmonton without seeing the shopping mall containing a full-sized tall sailing ship and indoor water park.
It was my first solo international vacation (I’d gone internationally with family every time prior) and I intended to make the most of my week in Edmonton. After being laid off and provided with a generous severance that included the laptop I’m currently using to type this blog, I decided to take some time for myself and explore Canada, a country I’d always dreamed of visiting. After a few days of staying in a remote log cabin with no running water and electricity halfway between Edmonton and Jasper National Park, I was back to civilization. My first shower back revealed just how run-down I’d become during my wilderness stay; the water running off my head was black from campfire soot and dirt.
My first foray into the city was to see the West Edmonton Mall, half due to necessity (I needed clean clothes badly) and half out of curiosity. My eyes widened at the sight of the sail ship and water park, but the most significant experience came about when I noticed the military surplus shop inside the mall.
Before I get into the story of my half hour spent in the store, I must say that all my life, I’ve been absolutely fascinated by military history. Like many of the young men growing up in my community, we spent countless hours reading about the history of war, the tactics used, and the evolution of machinery and equipment over time. Since I’d first discovered military surplus stores, I’d become an amateur expert at identifying the country of origin, field use, and operation of various types of equipment. I now have a growing collection of surplus items that continue to serve me well in the outdoors and take up plenty of space.
Amongst the rows of military fatigues, bags, boots, and combat weapons, something caught my eye. I recognized it as a reproduction of a military “blood chit” from World War Two. American pilots in the Pacific Theater of the war often had these blood chits sewn on the inside or outside of their bomber jackets. Showing either Chinese or American flags top, these patches contained messages written in the language of wherever pilots flew stating anything along the lines of: “I am an American airman. My plane is destroyed. I cannot speak your language. I am an enemy of the Japanese. Please give me food and take me to the nearest Allied military post.You will be rewarded.”
Example of a blood chit
Likely used by an airman operating across different countries in the Pacific Theater, this blood chit contains the same message written in languages including French, Thai, Vietnamese, Korean, and Chinese.
In spite of my gravitation towards the blood chits, I decided against buying one. However, I noticed a related item next to it, the China-Burma-India Theater patch worn by American forces serving in East Asia. I asked a lady behind the desk if she could help me grab one. I bet neither of us had any idea where this conversation was about to lead. As she helped me, she seemed suddenly interested at what I’d chosen.
“Do you know about this patch? The people who wore these?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s the CBI (China-Burma-India) Theater patch if I’m correct,” I answered, “My grandfather was actually a brigadier general in the Nationalist Army during the war. He probably ran into and worked alongside the units of the CBI.”
The lady shared that her father, who’d grown up American but moved to Canada in later years, had been stationed in Taiwan at the time. Fascinated and excited, I asked her more about where he was stationed. She stated that he was based out of Songshan, now one of a few international airports operating in Taiwan.
I told her that my grandfather was in involved in getting the Nationalist forces and populace relocated to Taiwan from the mainland. A quartermaster general in charge of logistics, he was personally tasked by Chiang Kai-Shek (the founder of modern Taiwan and a blood relative) in a top-secret mission to oversee a trainload of Chinese and Japanese gold to be sent to Taiwan. He- armed with only a handgun- and two enlisted soldiers each armed with bolt-action rifles, were to accompany the gold on its journey to the mainland coast where it’d be carried by boat to Taiwan. A thousand things could’ve gone wrong if the soldiers either decided to desert with the riches, or worse, if they were Communist spies.
But that was a story for another time. The lady’s interest was equally piqued as she went silent and her eyes widened hearing my story. Knowing that Songshan was a major center of operations for post-war military air transports, I told her my father’s stories of growing up in the area. As the child of a military general, my father was afforded the privilege of flying aboard American Douglas C-47 transport planes to travel around the island. He can still remember the clattering sounds of the airplanes he was certain would come apart mid-flight. The lady’s eyes widened even more.
Douglas C-47 Skytrain
Adapted from the civilian DC-3 transport plane, these C-47 Skytrains were used extensively in both the Pacific and European theaters of the war as transports for cargo as well as paratroopers. It would remain in service until the Vietnam War, when cannons were fitted to the sides to rain supporting fire down on enemy positions.
“You know, I can’t really believe this right now. My father was in charge of coordinating incoming and outgoing flights at Songshan. I know that his job was to manage C-47 cargo flights around the island. If your grandfather was a quartermaster brigadier general, it’s likely the two had met,” she gasped.
“Well, did your father talk in detail about those days? Maybe he remembers a family with a ton of children flying around the island often,” I chuckled.
“He did say that along with military equipment and supplies, there were military staff and their families aboard, too. He made it a point to chat and make small talk with the Chinese military he worked with.”
I stood there imagining this lady’s father waving at my father and handing him lollipops or something. My father had always spoken fondly of growing up in early Taiwan and coming across plenty of friendly American servicemen. It was quite an emotional little realization for me, standing here speaking with this lady whose father likely worked alongside my grandfather and showed kindness to my father and his siblings. The lady smiled at me warmly, the both of us sharing this quiet moment of understanding and in a sense, a shared past.
Time flew by, as I noticed I’d been leaning on the counter for over half and hour. I snapped myself out of my stupor and asked if I could purchase the patch. With a heartwarming smile, the lady offered to gift me the patch.
“Just take it, dear. This really was something quite special,” she smiled.
Touched, I asked to at least purchase another patch to go along with it. A velcro Canadian flag patch, nothing too fancy. As I left the shop, my head reeled with amazement at the coincidence I’d just experienced. Seldom do chance encounters like this occur in my life. I still keep the patch close by as it reminds me both of my grandfather’s experiences during and after the war as well as the special connection I made with the lady at the store.
The China-Burma-India Theater patch I received that day. It will always be amongst the most cherished pieces in my collection of militaria.
