A beer with my dad's uncle

Yesterday I found the gravestone of my dad's uncle Ian (who my dad was named after). He died - apparently of dysentry - at the age of 26 while a Prisoner of War on the Burma railway. Or perhaps murdered would be a more apt way of putting it, after wandering through a few museums, which all too graphically display various forms of punishment and torture used against the prisoners.



I had SMSd my dad to find out if his uncle and father had been at Changi or the Burma railroad, and he told me that his uncle had died at the Burma railway, so I thought I'd see if I could find his grave, which I was able to do despite the 6000 odd graves.

I figured I should leave something and wandered back to the place we're staying hoping to come across a place that sold something apt - maybe a flag or a token of remembrance. But I couldn't find anything. But I had another idea and went into a Seven Eleven and bought a couple of beers. There weren't any Aussie beers available, so I grabbed some Heineken instead. Considering the number of Dutch graves (more than any other Allied group) he was probably mates with more than one.

So I went back to the cemetery and put a beer on his grave and drank the other one. A good place to reflect on the tremendous loss that must have bee felt by his own family, and the families of all the others killed needlessly.

I left him a note with his beer and headed off. No doubt one of the Thai gardeners will enjoy a Heineken tonight, which is fitting considering how well they look after the cemetery.