Each year, on November 11, I have the opportunity to lay a wreath at the cenotaph in Cardston, Alberta, to honour my father, who was killed at the battle of Ortona, Italy, on February 13, 1944. I was only a year and ten months old when my mother received a telegram from the war department informing her that Sergeant Alvin MaxMillian Bunnage was killed in action.
Just four days later, she received a second telegram amending his status to “missing in action presumed killed.” It is painful to imagine what she must have gone through, hearing the news and then getting her hopes up again, only to be smashed later in 1945 when she received a letter from Lieutenant V.C. Moore, the platoon commander. He explained that he was with my dad after an explosion from a mortar bomb had hit him that fateful night. The letter stated, “Al and I were hit approximately at the same time. He was reported to me as killed. I ordered the platoon to withdraw, which they did, taking the wounded with them, including our first aid men…. My efforts to bring Al through failed - the chances from the first were not very good. I do not think he suffered too badly, as he had been knocked out by a blast from a mortar bomb and, on regaining consciousness, was still numbed in his body. He slipped away quietly, his hand in mine, as we lay there under the stars, no complaint, just, ‘I can’t go on, sir.' [1]
My mother’s sorrow knew no bounds
I have had many years to understand the depth of sorrow my mother must have experienced during those dark days. I have concluded that she would not have made it if not for the support and love of family, both immediate and extended, and the sanctifying influence of our Savior. I experienced many times the peace He promised to leave with us. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” [2] My mother counted on that support, and the Savior never disappointed.
Many times, as I grew into adulthood, I would hear the quiet sobs of my mom in the next room, hoping that one day the door would burst open and there would stand her beloved Al. Obviously, that never happened. I believe Mom could finally put it to rest when the two of us travelled to Europe to see my brother serving in the NATO command in Germany. He had a little, and I mean very little, Austin Healy Sprite car, and we crammed into it to visit my father’s grave marker at the Moro River cemetery in Ortona, Italy.
Comfort finally comes
As we stood over his grave marker, we read the inscription: “Sgt. AM Bunnage, Seaforth Highlanders of Canada, Died Feb 13, 1944, age 27, In loving memory to the husband of Fay and father to Barry and Blaine”. It had a profound impact on me, serving as a reality check that I truly did have a father, even though Mom had kept his memory very much alive as we grew up. Seeing that marker and standing beside her husband somehow allowed my mother to taste the Savior’s love, providing that healing peace He had promised. From that time on, I think Mom was able to let it go.
Following Dad’s death, Mom gathered her chicks and taught us the lessons of life and the gospel of Jesus Christ.
We attended church faithfully, and every night, she would be at our bedside, making sure we thanked our Father in Heaven for the great blessing of having a hero dad. As I grew older, I repeated that prayer, but I added sincere thanks for my hero mother as well. I have always been a faithful member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints primarily because Mom set the foundation by steering us in that direction.
A father’s faith has an eternal impact
My father’s influence was also felt as we had many letters from him. One I remember vividly came just before he was shipped from training in North Africa to the battlefields in Italy. He told my mom that he was carrying his scriptures into battle as they provided two-fold protection. The first was to provide reading during quiet times, allowing him to draw closer to his God. The second, having them in the top pocket of his tunic, provided bulky physical protection over his heart. What a powerful impact that had on this growing boy as I knew the gospel of Jesus Christ was foremost in his mind!
As my father was shipped from North Africa to Italy, his last letter home was very poignant: “Well, unless you hear from me or about me, know that I am safe.” [3] As it turned out, that safety would not be in our arms but with his Father in Heaven.
I am so grateful for a father who sacrificed his life so that his wife and sons might enjoy the blessings of a free land. I’m grateful for a mother who prepared a gospel-centered home for her two boys to thrive in. She taught us that the gospel of Jesus Christ and our family were the most important blessings we were given and to always honor his memory by holding sacred the very things he held dear to his heart.
An unexpected miracle
A postscript of note is that my brother Barry received an email from Veterans Affairs Canada in 2000, notifying him that they had received the personal effects from Great Britain for 28 Canadian soldiers killed in the battle of Ortona. One of those 28 was my dad, and they would send the items to Barry as the oldest surviving member of Sgt. Bunnage’s family. We anxiously awaited their arrival, and when they came, it included a service and pay book, his identification discs, a St. Christopher medal and his clothing book. Pasted on the front cover of the service book was a picture of my mother and taped in front of that picture were photos of my brother and me. These effects were discovered in a vault in Moscow, Russia and had been placed there 56 years prior. We thought at first that the Germans had taken them from my dad after his death and returned them to Berlin. When the Russians took Berlin, they took the effects back to Moscow. Later, we discovered that the Germans had not removed them from my dad’s body but had taken them from Lieutenant Moore when he was captured that same night. The latter part of his letter to my mom had explained, “What personal effects Sgt. Bunnage had with him, I took so I could forward them on to his family. Unfortunately, I had been wounded with the same mortar blast, and the Germans captured me, taking all his personal items.” [4]
Footnotes:
1 Roots and Branches Vol. 2 p. 63
3 Roots and Branches Vol. 2 p.64
4 Roots and Branches Vol. 2p. 225