Remembrance Day passed without a hitch unlike the wars that it remembers. Seemingly endless columns of damaged people proudly walked, marched and wheeled in military procession turning their eyes, many sightless, to return the salute offered by the designated dignitary. The places vacated by the passing of the last of the Great War veterans have been filled, and more, by young blood. There is something so breathtakingly sad about Remembrance Day that I nearly forgot to remember a fine gentleman. My uncle and Godfather, Freddie Stowell, who was imprisoned by the Japanese after the fall of Singapore, was a fine example of the waste and damage of war. Although he survived and lived on to the ripe old age of 90, the damage only became evident in his last few days. The nightmares could no longer be held in and things, so dreadful that he had never spoken of them before, became a reality, for him, once again. Below are his possessions from his time in the camp. He also had his pipe. This is a drawing signed Rick, his nick name, which gives a stark impression of life,,,and death in the camps.