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A Buffalo Soldier In Italy

WW2 Pod: We Have Ways of Making You Talk

Mon May 11 2026

Summary

WW2 Pod: We Have Ways of Making You Talk
Episode: A Buffalo Soldier In Italy
Date: May 11, 2026
Hosts: Al Murray & James Holland

Episode Overview

This special Family Stories episode of We Have Ways of Making You Talk brings together a diverse set of personal accounts from listeners across Britain, Canada, Ireland, Italy, and the USA. The episode’s main theme is the powerful impact of World War II on families: untold acts of bravery, the quirks of military life, quiet heroism amid tragedy, and the sometimes-overlooked role of minorities and immigrants in the conflict. Among the stories: the saga of an African American Buffalo Soldier in Italy, the fate of Italian internees in Britain, a family’s survival through the war’s naval battles, and a Canadian’s legacy in accident and honour.

Key Discussion Points and Story Summaries

1. The Cobbler's Secret (Simon Pennington)

[01:56 – 06:59]

Frederick Irvin Pennington’s Conscription: Joined up in 1939, a cobbler by trade, originally placed with the RAOC as a signaller due to his experience with Morse code.
Unusual Assignment: Selected for a mysterious assignment in the North African desert involving making swastika armbands under strict secrecy.
Impact & Mystery: Never learned why; swore to secrecy by an intelligence officer. Upon his return, the ordeal had clearly taken an emotional toll.
Personal Reflection: At Pennington’s 90th birthday, he shared a moving anecdote about his middle name (Irvin)—named after a neighbour killed in WWI, underlining the continuity of memory and loss across generations.
Quote:

"He reminds me every day how lucky I am to have been to war and come back to enjoy such a wonderful and long life when he did not.” — Frederick Irvin Pennington at his 90th birthday speech [approx. 06:45]

2. The Italian-British Internment Experience (Chris)

[06:59 – 11:10]

Luciano Venai’s Journey: Born in Italy, emigrated to England in 1919, family from marble-quarrying region of Carrara.
Internment on the Isle of Man: As Italians in Britain during the war, he and his brothers were interned after Italy entered the war in 1940. Notable contemporary, Sir Charles Forte, also interned.
Near Disaster: Uncle Chaz narrowly missed deportation on the Arandora Star, sunk by a U-boat, which led to a shift in public opinion about internment.
Legacy & Bittersweet Service: Luciano was later drafted into the British Army but never achieved citizenship, refusing to pay for it in principle after years of service.
Quote:

“What I still find remarkable is that right up until his death, he was never granted British citizenship, despite living here since 1919 and even serving in the British Army.” — Chris [10:31]

3. Irish Neutrality and Royal Navy Service (Jim R.)

[11:10 – 23:18]

Sheila and Paddy’s Story: Both from West Cork; Paddy, an IRA veteran, later joined the Royal Navy as a stoker.
Naval War Odyssey:
- Survived the sinking of HMS Curlew and Prince of Wales.
- Detailed accounts of naval actions—especially the loss of Prince of Wales to Japanese torpedo bombers and the harrowing escape from Singapore.
Homefront and Long-Distance Love: Sheila contributed to the war effort as a worker and fire watcher; their marriage survived frequent, protracted separations.
Post-War Life: Paddy becomes an instructor and finally a gas engineer, both parents impacting their local Scottish community.
Memorable Moment:

“I must be a bloody Jonah or something. That's two ships that are sunk under me. But thank God I've managed to get saved every time.” — Paddy in a letter to Sheila [20:58]

4. The Buffalo Soldier in Italy (Carrie)

[25:44 – 30:16]

Dr. Lawrence S. Lackey’s Service:
- Officer in the segregated 92nd Infantry (“Buffalo Soldiers”) in Italy.
- Awarded the Silver Star for setting up an aid station behind enemy lines; earned a Bronze Star and Purple Heart.
- Featured in the Black press for his heroism.
Enduring Racism and Resilience: Denied admission to University of Oklahoma’s medical school postwar due to race, nearly became an NAACP plaintiff, but attended Kansas instead.
Life of Service: Practiced medicine in Detroit; regarded his war experiences as a significant chapter of his life.
Humour Amid Danger: Told a story of waving at German gunners post-shelling—later met a German doctor who admitted he’d have “lobbed another shell” at him.
Quote:

“Although I know he saw some of the worst things a person could see in war, it seemed… like his experiences in World War II was the greatest adventure of his life.” — Carrie [29:24]
“He said he'd count the shell hits and knew that the Germans would only fire that exact number every day as well, no more, no less. After the shelling had ended one day, he climbed out and started waving his arms at the Germans, knowing that they wouldn't shoot another shell.” — On Uncle Lawrence [28:54]

5. Canadian Sacrifice: Stanley Dexter (Anne)

[30:16 – 34:53]

Early Enlistment: Stanley Dexter, emigrated as a child, quickly enlisted from Saskatchewan in 1939.
Frontline Defensive Duties: Stationed on the English coast, tasked with beach patrol and manning observation posts amid invasion fears.
Fatal Accident:
- Proposed to lay a phone wire to improve communication; while laying it, accidentally triggered a landmine and was killed instantly.
- Inquiry revealed a lack of clarity about mine locations; his initiative was meant to protect colleagues.
Legacy: Buried in England, honoured by military medals, and a lake in Saskatchewan named for him.
Quote:

“Stan Dexter was just trying to do his mates a favor, making their posting a little bit easier by installing a telephone line to save them the uncomfortable and dangerous walk between the OP and their billets. He didn’t think he was risking his life on the beach that Friday afternoon in Shoreham by Sea, and neither did his commanding officers.” — Anne [33:24]

Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

“Only the forgotten are truly dead.” — Epigraph engraved on Frederick Irvin Pennington’s grave; invoked by Simon [06:54]
“The tragedy [of the Arandora Star] changed public opinion about interning foreign citizens.” — Chris [09:03]
“He spluttered that he was a pioneer… but was told that he had to take the rum as medicine. That was the end of the pioneers.” — Jim R. [13:50], on dropping teetotalism to survive after shipwreck.
“If you have a family story you’d like to share with us… please email it to: wehaveways@goalhanger.com” — Al Murray [34:53]

Timestamps

01:56 Family Stories segment begins; story of Frederick Pennington
06:59 Chris shares story of Italian internment and the Arandora Star
11:10 Jim R.’s epic Irish-British naval odyssey
25:44 Carrie recounts her Buffalo Soldier uncle’s heroics in Italy
30:16 Anne details the accidental death & memorial of Stanley Dexter
34:53 Hosts reflect on the breadth of family testimony and invite further contributions

Overall Tone & Engagement

The episode balances poignant storytelling with the hosts’ trademark warmth and historical curiosity. It’s deeply human, grounded in the voices of ordinary people caught in extraordinary times—highlighting their humour, resolve, heartbreak, and hope.

For listeners new to the show, this episode is a testament to the power of family histories—and the ongoing importance of telling them.

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Transcript

Host of Family Stories Podcast (0:02)

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Host of Family Stories Podcast (1:56)

Hello and welcome to our series of Family Stories, the podcast written by you, the listeners. Today we're doing a special Family Stories episode with a range of very different family experiences from Britain, Canada, Ireland, Italy and the USA that you have shared with us. And thanks for sharing these with us. They're fantastic. This week we're starting with a story from Simon My father, Frederick Irvin Pennington was born in Castleford in the West Riding of Yorkshire and joined up in September 1939. He was by trade a cobbler and also specialised in leather support items such as surgical boots. By typical army logic they put him in the RAOC as a signaller, having been forced to learn Morse code in the scouts. He had a healthy abhorrence for anything to do with the dots and dashes, as he called it, and requested transfer to the infantry. It's difficult from his army war record to make out clearly where and with whom he was subsequently posted. At times, my father only reluctantly shared stories about the war and this one is one of them. I'd asked him once, rather naively, when did they ever get to rest from fighting? I'd always imagined it was pretty non stop, like the commando comics I'd read as a young boy. Dad told me that actually a lot of the war was spent sitting around waiting for something to happen, and in the North African desert this was particularly trying. But one morning he was approached by an NCO told to follow him. He was marched in front of an officer who asked him the rather strange question. Your record says you're a cobbler. Yes, my father answered in the affirmative, and the officer then said, so you know how to handle a sewing machine? Of course he did. All cobblers were trained to do so. He was told to speak to no one, go pack his gear and report back in 20 minutes. He did as he was told and found himself loaded onto a truck with about half a dozen others and off they drove into the desert. Later that day, they arrived at a place my father didn't recognise. When they asked where they were, the NCO in the truck told them to shut up and do as you're told. They were marched into a pretty dilapidated building, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The roof was missing, but covered with camouflage scrim netting. Inside was a number of tables with sewing machines, many bolts of cloth and a corporal, who, it turned out, was a master tailor. They were told they were going to produce swastikas and that they weren't to ask why. The master tailor instructed them how to mark out and cut the different pieces of cloth to make a swastika and then how to stitch it all together. They were there for a week. It was bloody hot during the day. Chatter was discouraged whilst working, but they got water on request and fantastic rations at night when the work stopped once the sun went down. They slept in the same room as they worked in, often using the bolts of cloth as extra blankets, and were woken at first light to carry on the task. They were only allowed out to use a latrine, but a guard went with them. At the end of the week, it being deemed enough swastikas had been produced, an intelligence officer appeared who proceeded to give them a lecture, which basically was, mention this to anyone and you will be shot. The officer then said they were to explain their absence if asked, as being put at a work party to help recover damaged tanks. There were plenty of them strewn all about the desert. Dad was then put on the truck back to where he'd originally come from. The state my father was in when he got back was enough to convince his fellow soldiers that he hadn't been on the holiday. And as soldiers were often picked up for laborious laboring tasks, no one thought it was unusual. My father never knew what the swastikas were used for. Hopefully one day someone might dig the reason out. But it didn't sound like the sort of thing entered into a regimental war diary. My father died in 2007 at the age of 92. Two years before, at his 90th birthday party, he was asked to give a speech to all the family and friends attending. He was a good speaker, having been a local and county Labour councillor for many years after the war, and he knew how to hold a room. It wasn't a long speech and at first was a bit baffling. In a steady voice, he related how, when he was born in 1915, he was given a middle name that he had never liked. His parents were very good friends with their neighbours, and the same day he was born, the neighbors received a telegram telling them that their only son and child, who was just 17, had been killed on the Western Front. His name was Irvin, and my grandparents gave it to my father as his middle name in memory of the boy from next door who entered the war and never came back. By now the room was utterly silent and my father, his voice croaking a little, said, I never cared for the name itself, but I've never forgotten that boy from next door, though I never knew him. He reminds me every day how lucky I am to have been to war and come back to enjoy such a wonderful and long life when he did not. Two years later, on his gravestone, we had the words used by the mayor of Bayeux to finish a commemoration speech for the 40th anniversary of D Day, which my father attended, engraved, only the forgotten are truly dead. We did it not just for him, but also for Ervin. We will never forget them both. And that story was from Simon and

Family Stories Contributor (Chris and Anne) (6:59)

this story is from Chris. And Chris writes, my grandfather was Italian. He was born in 1912 and came to England in 1919, just after the First World War. His name was Luciano Venai Vote. To his English friends, he was simply known as Jim. He came from Carrara, a town in Tuscany you may have heard of. It's famous for its marble quarries, used since Roman times and still considered some of the finest marble in the world. It also happens to be the hometown of the legendary Italian goalkeeper Gianluigi Buffon. Like much of Italy at the time, the area where my granddad lived was extremely poor. His surname, Venai, is quite rare in Italy. I tried researching it and discovered that what I assume are distant relatives may still own a quarry there. Apparently, my great grandfather, Cesare Venay, was a sculptor who came to the UK alone first, hoping to earn enough money to send for his children later. Their mother had died and family legend says the children were essentially running wild back home. My granddad and his two older brothers, Cesare, known as Chaz and Bruno, were all living in Fulham when Italy declared war in Britain in 1940. They were subsequently interned on the Isle of Man. Two younger brothers, Mario and Tony, had been born in England and were therefore not interned. I've included a photograph of all the brothers, which an AI clothing search suggests dates from the late 1930s. This could be from an episode of the Godfather. My granddad always insisted he knew Sir Charles Forte. Growing up, we assumed this was one of his tall stories, given Forte's fame in the 1970s and 80s. But recently, I watched a documentary about Sir Charles Forte and discovered that he too had been interned on the Isle of Man. So perhaps they really did know each other after all. Family legend even claims my Uncle Bruno became quite close to Forte's son, Rocco. Another story in the family concerned Uncle Chaz nearly being transferred to Canada. Supposedly, he argued that his two brothers were being left behind and someone decided the three should remain together. So he stayed on the island. But we had been told that the ship he was supposed to be on was sunk. What a lucky escape for Uncle Chaz. By sheer coincidence, I later watched a documentary about the Arandora Star and realized this must have been the ship in question. Early on the morning of 2 July 1940, the SS Arandora Star was torpedoed by a German submarine off the coast of Ireland. More than 800 people were killed, most of whom were Italian civilians being deported to Canada. The tragedy changed public opinion about interning foreign citizens. Following the fall of France in May 1940, the possibility of deporting internees was discussed at the War Cabinet. The conversation turned to Italian citizens on 11 June, the day after Italy entered the Second World War. Prime Minister Winston Churchill told the War Cabinet he had instructed the Minister of Home Security to arrange for male Italians to be interned. 75 miles west of Ireland's Atlantic coast, the Arandora Star was attacked by U47, a German U boat led by the prolific submarine commander Gunther Preen. The ship sank and more than half those aboard lost their lives. This included 470 of the Italian internees, 143 of the Germans. It does say that half the 717 Italian internees who were going to be transferred were deemed Category A. I find that a bit hard to imagine for my Uncle Chaz, as he'd been in the UK since 1912. My granddad Luce, was released after a relatively short time and somehow ended up being drafted into the British Army. I've included a photograph which on the reverse has August 1941, 29 years old written on it. I don't know many details, but he was stationed at Ilfracombe, Devon, which he often talked about. What I still find remarkable is that right up until his death, he was never granted British citizenship, despite living here since 1919 and even serving in the British Army. He refused to apply later because he would have had to pay for it, which, to be fair, I can't entirely blame him for. I believe something similar happened to Spike Milligan. Anyway, please keep up the excellent work, gentlemen. Well, thank you, Chris. And that story was from Chris.

Host of Family Stories Podcast (11:10)

And this story now is from Jim R. Both my parents were born in West Cork before Irish independence, when Ireland was part of the United Kingdom. The southwest of Ireland was an area of support for Irish independence following the Irish Civil War. West Cork remained strongly in favor of the Republican faction, the IRA and Anti Treaty. My mother, Sheila O', Callaghan, was born in Karrigafuka, west of Makroom, on 2 February 1917. For many years she signed herself as Sheila Bridget and it was only when she applied for a copy of her birth certificate in the 1960s that she learned she'd been registered as Julia Mary. I guessed that there would have been drinking involved before my grandfather's visit to the registry office. She became a domestic servant in the doctor's house at the bottom of the lane in Kilomet. While there, she got together with Paddy Roach, my father. Paddy was proud to have been in the old IRA and became the adjutant of the West Cork Battalion as a young teenager. The Royal Navy was seen as a way out in those days since they hadn't been involved against the ira. So he wangled a reference and joined up. Incredible. In 1937, Paddy joined the Royal Navy as a stoker for 12 years in Devonport. Perhaps not the wisest time to join the British armed forces from a neutral country. He was posted to Cornwall in November 1937 following her refit in 1938, Sheila moved from County Cork to London and found a job in Brentford working for Trico making windscreen wipers for military vehicles. I have a photograph of Paddy from 17th April with HMS Cornwall on his cap tally. Sheila lived in Diggs at Parkwood Road, Hounslow, and was earning 21 shillings a week at Trico. Britain declared war on Germany on September 3rd and on the 15th of September, Paddy and Sheila were married at St Vincent de Paul, Isleworth, Middlesex, with Father Basil Parton PP officiating. It seems that the normal rules about extended spiritual preparation and formation before Catholic weddings were speeded up in times of war. In the wedding picture, Sheila looks very glamorous and Paddy had Cornwall on his cap telly. Although he had been posted to HMS Curlew on 31 August. Sheila remembered being married on a Friday and Paddy went off to sea on Sunday. A very short honeymoon at this stage. Sheila started to collect the War Illustrated month by month, carrying the volumes around as she travelled between lodgings. Paddy travelled north to HMS Curlew in Scapa Flow. His action station was as an ammunition handler for one of the anti aircraft guns. She escorted several convoys to Norway, providing radar cover over the Autumn and Winter. HMS Curlew was sunk on Sunday 26th March. As she was going down, Paddy dropped out of his hammock and found himself up to his chest in Arctic water, in darkness. When he was pulled from the sea, he was forced to drink rum to revive him. He spluttered that he was a pioneer, a Catholic group committed to total abstinence from alcohol, but was told that he had to take the rum as medicine. That was the end of the pioneers. The news of the sinking of curlew on 26 March had been made public. Sheila kept a press cutting and it must have been very stressful for family members until news was received. Paddy had sent a field service postcard on 27 March to Sheila to say he had survived. And Sheila remembered that Paddy got six weeks survivors leave. As well as working at Trico, Sheila was a fire watcher at night. In the Blitz when the blackout was enforced, lots of people were sleeping in the Tube after the last train had gone. Sheila's landlady didn't like the Tube or the Anderson shelter and so they both hid under the table. During the Blitz, when Paddy was back on leave, the house was burgled. While Paddy and Sheila were in a shelter, his only civilian suit was stolen. So much for the Blitz spirit. Sheila moved to Devonport in July 1940 and again in October 1940 to Birkenhead so that she could be near Paddy. He had been sent to Kemmel Laird for the building of HMS Prince of Wales and he was probably nearby in August when a German bomb exploded next to the ship and damaged the hull and propeller shaft with deadly consequences in the future. HMS Prince of Wales was commissioned on 19 January 1941 and completed in Rosyth at the end of March the same year, Sheila found a new job with Bernard's naval tailors in Rosyth and really enjoyed the work. Later in her working life I can still remember her speed and skill at wrapping brown paper parcels in the local haberdashery and clothes shop. She kept a letter from one of the directors thanking her for her service, noting the happy circumstances which occasioned her departure. The forthcoming birth of a son, me. This enclosed a check in recognition of her long time looking after the Rosyth branch. Those few months in Birkenhead and Rosyth were probably the longest they spent near each other until 1944. On 24 March 1941, Prince of Wales and the battlecruiser HMS Hood engaged the German battleship Bismarck and heavy cruiser Prince Eugen in an historic naval engagement in which Hood was sunk and Prince of Wales was damaged, but not before Prince of Wales struck Bismarck with three of her 14 inch shells. Prince of Wales returned to Rosyth for repair where an unexploded shell was found as the dry dock emptied. You've never seen dockyard mateys move so fast, my father told me. The young married couple must have had some time together in Rosyth and Dunfermline. Sheila was living in Rosyth and found great satisfaction in her work at Bernard's outfitting naval officers and others in support of the war effort. Next time you see a wartime photograph of a brave naval chap in his uniform, remember Sheila and all of the others who helped to make him look smart. In the early afternoon of October 25, 1941, Prince of Wales, in company with the destroyers Electra Express and Hesperus, left Greenock Naval Base destined for the Far East. Paddy and Sheila could only stay in contact through letter writing and these were intermittent because of delivery and time at sea and matter how regularly they wrote to one another. Sheila kept only two of Paddy's letters from the war. One was a special one page letter to send Christmas greetings before the Prince of Wales sailed. The other was from Ceylon following her sinking. The first, dated 5th December. He describes the heat and the sweat dripping onto the page. Since I started this letter, I've Drunk about two or three pints of water. That's in about an hour. He also writes, my God, Sheila, I wish I could come along with this. Fancy walking in and surprising you on Christmas Eve. Yes, there's no harm in fancying, is there? He was 23, Sheila, 25. On 10 December 1941, in the South China Sea, the Japanese attacked with an unexpected force of torpedo bombers. Men on the upper deck watched in horror as the tracks of the torpedoes closed in. Within seconds, the Prince of Wales took on a list of 11 degrees. Her speed fell to 15 knots. With both her steering gear and main electrical systems fatally damaged, she could no longer maneuver with any degree of control. His station for abandoned ship was to man the scrambling nets near the bow in the famous photograph and to release them before the ship went down so as to avoid them floating out and entangling swimming sailors. He misjudged this and became entangled in the wire cables. After diving in, he was pulled down and described the warm tropical water becoming very cold and completely black. Just before he was forced to breathe out, he struggled free of the scrambling net and swam up the surface. Paddy was rescued by one of the destroyer escorts and with the other survivors returned to Singapore. In his letter to Sheila, he doesn't mention these dangers. He writes, I must be a bloody Jonah or something. That's two ships that are sunk under me. But thank God I've managed to get saved every time. I'm lucky in that sense anyway. Paddy continues, when the ship went down I had to jump and swim for it. I had my life belt on and a damn good job too. I swallowed some more oil fuel, but I think it was a good thing there was oil in the water as it helped keep the sharks away. After fumbling about for a bit of the water, I managed to get onto one of our boats that was floating about. We couldn't get the engine going anyway, I didn't have the energy to try and after a spell one of our destroyers picked us up and rushed us to Singapore from there. Well, we've got some clothes and shoes, big eats and rum. Rum I mention, especially as it's great stuff in a time like that. Few sailors escaped the fall of Singapore in February 1942. Paddy was lucky. In 1937 he had learned how to handle the equipment for an old fashioned coal boiler to annoy his CPO in Devonport. When the call went out, are there any stokers who know how to serve a coal fired ship? He was able to say yes and left on one of the last old steamers as it left Singapore with civilian and military evacuees before the surrender. I have a series of tickets and receipts tracking his progress through the Dutch East Indies. Sheila was living at 9 Alma street in Verkeithing and worked in Bernard's naval outfit as Rosyth. On 30 May she received a telegram from Australia. I asking please send me £8. Sheila witnessed a raid on Clydebank and on the 8th of August sent a telegram to Paddy. Have you received money? Many thanks for letter. Paddy's reply telegram was from Fremantle in Australia. In Australia, Paddy trained Australian Navy recruits and served on minesweepers. Paddy served as an instructor training the new volunteers for the Royal Australian Navy. He told me he would advise the officers, that isn't how we do things in the Royal Navy, sir. Paddy was ordered back to the UK and travelled home on the Blue Funnel Line ship SS Nesta. On 7th October 1942, Sheila received a telegram leaving shortly home soon. On returning to the uk, Paddy expected to be posted to a ship or landing craft assigned to the long expected landing in France, which everyone knew was coming. Both Sheila and he were relieved when he was posted to a training ship, HMS Diomede. Paddy much preferred training new recruits to becoming involved in D Day. HMS Diomede left Forsyth each week and returned for the weekends. She was known as the bef. Back every Friday, Sheila and Paddy were together again living at 6 Dunlop Terrace in Verkeithing. Paddy did not fancy getting more involved in even more fighting and took a primary German course, aiming at becoming a guard at a prison of war camp, an even safer job than Diomede. It was not to be and he was posted to lst3009 which was destined to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. A landing ship tank could carry 18 Shermans and more than a company of infantry. Paddy was one of the most experienced sailors aboard. Sheila recalled the excitement of EE Day on 7 May, but she couldn't fully join in the gaiety because her Paddy was still in the Pacific. Anticipating fighting against the Japanese, the LSTs were to land on the Malay coast expecting an opposed landing. Fortunately, the Japanese surrendered. However, the landing went ahead as planned. The ship ran out of momentum as she ran up the beach but then hit a palm tree which stopped the bow doors opening. Because of the full loaded tanks, she could not pull back on the Kedj anchor. Had the landing been opposed, LST3009 would have been a very large target. Under fire and unable to move and I wouldn't be here. VJ Day was announced on 14 August and Sheila could celebrate it last. Sheila and Paddy went to the paying off dance for LST3009 in Govan on 23rd August 1946. All the time. Sheila continued working for Bernard's in Rosyth in the 1950s after serving in the Royal Navy, Paddy found it hard to leave the sea and worked in a hopper dredger in the Firth of Forth. Later Paddy studied at night school to become a gas engineer and both he and Sheila worked for the gas port in Dunfermline. She was a specialist demonstrating the benefits of cooking using gas. Sheila died in 1991, surviving Paddy by 20 years. They had two sons and now have three grandchildren and three great grandchildren. And that story is from Jim R. And thank you so much for that, Jim. What an amazing family story. Foreign.

Host of Family Stories Podcast (25:44)

available on Disney plus rated PG. This next story is from Carrie. Gentlemen, I'm a fairly recent subscriber to your podcast and I love it immensely. It's what we love to hear. I especially love when you guys break into your American accents, which are quite good by the way. Well, thank you very much. Can't disagree. I wanted to tell you the story about my uncle, Dr. Lawrence S. Lackey, who is an officer in the U.S. army Medical Corps attached to the segregated 92nd Infantry Division in Italy. The famed Buffalo Soldiers. They were called Buffalo Soldiers by the Native Americans who they fought against in post Civil War America in the so called Indian wars because the African American soldier's hair reminded the Native Americans of the hair of the Buffalo and also because the fighting spirit of the soldiers reminded them the strength and resilience of the Buffalo. Uncle Lawrence was born In Oklahoma in 1918, the eldest of six children born to my grandparents. My father was the youngest and he and my Uncle Lawrence bracketed four sisters. Uncle Lawrence graduated from Langston University, a historically black college or university HBCU in Oklahoma in 1938 after being voted Most Brilliant by his classmates. When World War II broke out, he was teaching in a segregated school in rural Oklahoma. Once he was inducted, the army realized he was a college graduate so they shipped him off to Officer Candidate school. He completed OCS and was assigned to the 92nd Infantry Division as a medical officer at their base in Fort Huachuca, Arizona as a second lieutenant. Eventually the 92nd got shipped off to Italy where they saw combat. Uncle Lawrence won a Silver Star for setting up an aid station behind German lines and crossing the line numerous times for medical supplies. He received a write up in the Black Press, specifically the Philadelphia Tribune, for this accomplishment. He was also awarded a Bronze Star for pulling a wounded soldier to safety while under fire. Lastly, he was wounded once and received the Purple Heart. My dad told me that he remembered when their mum, my grandmother, received the telegraph and she hurriedly packed my dad off with her to go to church and pray for her eldest son, Lawrence. After the war, Uncle Lawrence, who mustered out as a captain, wanted to go to medical school. He would have preferred to go to the University of Oklahoma's medical school in his home state, but. But he was denied from doing so solely because of his race. He was approached by the NAACP to be a plaintiff in a lawsuit to challenge the University of Oklahoma's admission policy, but elected not to, as he'd been accepted into the University of Kansas Medical School. After graduation from medical school, Uncle Lawrence went on to practice medicine in Detroit, Michigan for many years. My uncle was normally a quiet man and could be kind of taciturn. When I learned he'd been in the war, I asked him questions about it, and it seemed like he changed into a different person. He was very happy to discuss his experience, and his normally placid face would light up like a Christmas tree. Although I know he saw some of the worst things a person could see in war, it seemed to me like his experiences in World War II was the greatest adventure of his life. One of my favorite stories he told me was about how their base would be shelled by the Germans and who held the high ground every day at precisely the same tie. He said he'd count the shell hits and knew that the Germans would only fire that exact number every day as well, no more, no less. After the shelling had ended one day he climbed out of his bomb shelter and started waving his arms at the Germans, knowing that they could see him but that they wouldn't shoot another shell. Years after the war, Uncle Lawrence owned a medical office in Detroit, and the doctor, who was about his same age and had a German accent, rented an office from him. He asked the doctor if he'd been in the war, and it turns out that he had been. He was an artillery officer in the German army. My uncle relayed his story about jumping out of the shelter after a shelling and razzing the Germans and asked the doctor what he would have done if he'd been in the mountains overlooking the base. He said the German doctor got beat red in the face and said he'd have lobbed another shell at my uncle. My uncle said he laughed his head off after hearing the doctor's response. Sadly, my uncle passed away suddenly and unexpectedly in 1993. My father and he had planned a trip to Italy to visit my uncle's old battlefields. But it was not meant to be. Uncle Lawrence was a great man, a great doctor who cared about his patients, and I miss him dearly. Keep up the good work, gentlemen, and as you always say, cheerio.

Family Stories Contributor (Chris and Anne) (30:16)

And this story is from Anne and Anne. My great uncle. Stanley Dexter was only 28 when he died in England while serving his country in World War II. Although born in Barking, Essex, he grew up in Moosejaw, Saskatchewan, and was quick to enlist when Canada entered the war in September 1939. After a short training period, he was shipped to England in December that year and assigned to the 3rd Canadian Field Regiment, E Battery RCA in Aldershot as a lance bombardier. The early days of the war were not going well. By June 1940, France had fallen to the Nazis and the British forces had been evacuated from Dunkirk. The Germans were on the north coast of France and poised to invade England at any time. Britain was building its defences, particularly along the south coast. Stan's unit was transferred to Shoreham by sea in early October 1940 to patrol the beach and man an observation post. The observation post was about half a mile from an abandoned beach cottage that was used as the soldier's billet. Shifts in the OP were tedious. Every time you wanted a cup of tea or needed to report the sighting of a fishing ship or the appearance of a curious neighbour, you had to walk down the pebbly beach between the billet and the OP and back again. Shoreham by Sea was a typical English seaside village with a shingle beach that stretched from Brighton to Worthing. It offered fish and chip shops, a cinema and a pier with vaudeville, amusements, oh, and landmines. The beach had been cleared of most of the seaside cottages in order to have a better line of sight to the sea. Concrete walls and terraces had been built to trap the tanks and land mines planted strategically above the high tide mark. Danger wires and warning signs were installed, but the rains, the salty air and the winds, even in the warm days of September, stretched the wires out of position and faded the wooden signs. Storms and waves disturbed the gravel and shuffled the mines from their original locations. Stan thought the communication could be improved by laying a telephone wire from the billet to the beach to the OP. On Friday, October 25, 1940, Stan approached his battery leader, Lance Sergeant Ingleby, with his proposal and got his permission to figure out a route. Next, Stan located a spool of communication wire and said to his mate, Gunner Wilford, let's Go lay the wire. Stan dashed off and Wilford ran up to catch him. Stan walked on the stony beach while Wilford took the concrete terrace as far as he could before they turned inland towards the tank obstructions. Another soldier approached from them from the opposite direction and they exchanged greetings as they passed each other. Suddenly, a blast showered Wilford with pebbles. Stan had tripped to mine and was killed instantly. The other soldier exclaimed, I was just talking to him. I didn't think that would happen. Wilford scrambled to the OP and called HQ the OC 1977 Field Battery. Major Jones rushed to the site for the accident, as did the local police. Lieutenant Ware of the Royal Engineers arrived to make sure the area was safe and they recovered Stan's remains. They wasted no time and an official court of inquiry was quickly convened. A captain and two lieutenants of Stan's battery officiated. Major Jones, Lance Sergeant Ingleby and Gunner Wilford were questioned as witnesses. No one outside the chain of command was present at the proceedings. The inquiry focused on the state of knowledge about the locations of the landmines. It was understood that there were landmines that were signposted and were behind barbed wire. But the warnings seemed to be ignored. Soldiers routinely walked between the billet which was behind the warnings, and the shore. And there was even a canoe left on the beach that looked like it had been used recently. The Major and Lieutenant Sargeant admitted they knew there were mines in the area, possibly along the two paths to the beach, but not exactly where, and didn't think they were a risk to their soldiers. Stan Dexter was just trying to do his mates a favor, making their posting a little bit easier by installing a telephone line to save them the uncomfortable and dangerous walk between the OP and their billets. He didn't think he was risking his life on the beach that Friday afternoon in Shoreham by sea, and neither did his commanding officers. Stan Dexter's death was ruled an accident. He was awarded the War Cross, the Defence Medal and the Canadian Volunteer Service Medal with clasp, and his widow was paid a small pension for his brief service. He's buried in Brockwood Cemetery and the province of Saskatchewan named a lake in his honour. And that story was from Anne.