Flying Officer Daniel D. Platana

I began these reflections on November 11, 1997, Remembrance Day, a day which has always been of particular significance to me, and never more so than this year. The past significance has always been the reminder of the father I never knew, a 21-year old RCAF Air Gunner who lost his life over France on July 14th, 1944 while serving with 156 Squadron RAF Pathfinder Group. He is buried along with four of his crew of Lancaster PA984 in the communal cemetery in the small French community of Ancerville.

I had been waiting for some time to write this story and could never find the right way to begin. I thought I might begin by talking about how when my grandmother died, I received her collection of letters; every one my father had written from the time he had enlisted in 1941 to his death in 1944. I thought about beginning with his letters home to his parents telling them about the wonderful young WRAF he had met. Then I thought I might begin by the entry in his well-worn small pocket diary with the entry on December 12, 1943 "Met Sadie Sharpe. A swell kid. Bags of fun.", or the entry on June 5, 1944, "Got married in Felling. Happiest man in the world." I looked through his log books and thought of beginning with the last entry on July 14, 1944, "Operations over Revigny. Failed to return". I thought also of beginning with the all too familiar letters to my mother and my grandparents advising them that my father was missing. I thought of beginning with the search I started in 1980 trying to find someone who might have known him during the years he served with 425 Alouette Squadron in Italy, North Africa, and Dishforth in England, or for someone who might have had any contact with him during the time he served with Pathfinder Force as part of 156 Squadron RAF. There seemed to be so many ways to start this story that I just kept putting it off waiting for just the right way and time. Remembrance Day reminded that there is rarely, if ever, just the right way or time for some things.

Following the War, my mother and I came to Regina, Saskatchewan, to live with my father's family. From my arrival here as an 11 month old in February 1946 and our becoming part of a new family, Remembrance Day became a regular and anticipated part of my life each year. I remember the early years, watching my grandfather proudly marching in the Parade of Veterans, displaying the medals he had earned in the First World War. I remember the services at the cenotaph in Victoria Park which we always attended whether the temperature was like late fall or early winter. I remember the days spent at the special Remembrance Day and veterans events at the Legion in Regina. I remember the first time my grandmother, proudly but apprehensively, laid her wreath as the Silver Cross mother. The newspaper in a story just prior to that Remembrance Day reported the following:

July 15, 1944 was a sunny day in Regina - a day Mrs. M.M. Platana will never forget. That Sunday afternoon, Mrs. Platana was visited by her priest and told her son was missing and presumed dead in action overseas. Flying Officer Daniel D. Platana was almost 22 years old when his Lancaster bomber, part of the Pathfinder squadron, went down in eastern France. The young tail-gunner wasn't supposed to be on the mission which proved to be his last - he was filling in for another airman. Daniel was supposed to be preparing for the trip home promised every airman after completing an operations tour with the squadron. It wasn't until March 1945 that the Platanas received confirmation of their son's death. They had waited for eight months for the letter which was delivered by a Regina policeman - the telegram delivery boys had long since refused to carry that type of message. Mothers and wives all over Canada have faced Mrs. Platana's wait to receive the same news.

The article went on to describe the significance of the Silver Cross and then concluded with something I think of each year as I watch the Silver Cross representative laying the wreath.

Mrs. Platana stressed she will act in honour of all next-of-kin when she lays the wreath on Remembrance Day - for mothers, wives, fathers, brothers and sisters - for all recipients of the Silver Cross.

Each year on November 11th, when I watch the news on television, I see new and unfamiliar faces, and yet, at the same time, they are faces I have seen before. I see the aged faces of the veterans proudly standing and marching by, but I see the face of my grandfather, who died in 1969 having served in two World Wars. I see the faces of the Silver Cross mothers, but I see the face of my grandmother, dead seven years but still very much a part of my memories. I see the faces of young Officer Cadets from the military colleges and I am reminded that my father and his crewmates were their age when they died. I am reminded of my days standing as an Air Cadet at the National War Memorial in Ottawa.

I think of the emotions I have experienced over the years as I wait, in anticipation and at the same time with great sadness welling up inside, for the trumpeter to begin the Last Post and then Reveille. I think of the time each year when my heart begins to beat faster as I hear the words "We will remember them". And I think of the time I dread, and yet love the most, when I simply cannot avoid the tears as the music begins "Abide with Me."

Remembrance Day over the past fifty-two years of my life has brought me some of my most painful memories, and at the same time memories of immense gratitude and appreciation for those who gave so much. Remembrance Day 1997, more than any in the past, was a day of memories for me. It was a day not so much of memories long ago, but of very recent memories of August 20th, 1997, the day we buried my mother's ashes in my father's plot in Ancerville., France.

My special story, of my memories of this past Remembrance Day, is tied to March 1996, when my mother died. In her last years, my mother suffered from Alzheimer's disease and had little short term memory, but she did have some wonderful memories of her younger years, and in particular, of the brief time while married to my father. She spoke more than ever of the father I had never known and who had never even known that she was pregnant.

There are far too many of her memories to write about here but I was reminded watching the Remembrance Day veterans of the many times my mother told me of her feelings after the war. She was so much afraid about making the decision to leave England and go to a country so strange to her where her only contact had been the family of the husband now gone. She had only a brother and an aunt left in England, but at least she knew them. She spoke to me of her memories of crossing the Atlantic and our arrival in Halifax February 14th 1946. She spoke of the long train ride from there to Regina, wondering who and what was awaiting her, worried because I had a terrible cough and she was afraid they would ask us to get off the train so I wouldn't infect the others. Most particularly, she spoke of arriving at the station in Regina, standing on the platform, and finding no one there. She said she waited for a long time - which I now know was less than a minute - feeling totally bewildered and alone, holding an eleven month old baby in her arms. Her next memory is one which she carried with her all her life. As she described it, "All of a sudden someone grabbed my baby out of my arms. I began screaming ‘My baby, my baby, someone took my baby' and then I heard a soft voice which I later learned to love, ‘it's all right my dear, you're with us now' ". That was my mother's introduction to my grandfather and to her new Canadian family. My grandparents and my aunt and uncles were there, waiting for the young woman and child they would recognize only by the coat, hat and scarf they had sent over for me to wear. She described that moment as one of the most frightening and yet the happiest she had ever experienced.

In her later years, as she realized she was becoming less aware of things, she spoke of her wishes that upon her death she would be cremated and her ashes taken to France. Our family initially had some hesitation. However, we ultimately decided that it was important to respect her wishes. After her death, I contacted the Commonwealth War Graves Commission in Ottawa. They were extremely helpful and, after getting the necessary approvals from the Government of France, we made plans to travel to Ancerville and to bury her ashes in the same plot as my father.

So began my journey with my wife Madeleine to Ancerville, France in August 1997. My grandmother had for years before her death been corresponding with a distant cousin in France, Suzanne Chanal. My aunt had continued the relationship after my grandmother's death and had told Suzanne in a letter of our intentions. Very shortly after that I received a letter from Madame Chanal asking if she could be of any help in arranging for the burial. After an exchange of letters and phone calls, my wife and I left for France anticipating attending a small memorial Mass followed by the interment of the ashes.

I must make some small, but necessary digressions here. The story of the involvement of Suzanne and Pierre Chanal is really a story in itself. In correspondence with my grandmother years ago, she had learned that my father was buried in France, coincidentally near to where she and her husband, Pierre, a retired officer in the French Army, lived. However, they had forgotten the exact name of the village, remembering only that it ended in "ville", which, in France, led to many possibilities. One day, while returning from a trip to Germany to their home in Troyes, France, on the road they had taken many times before, they passed through Ancerville. Purely on the spur of the moment, they went into the town and found the cemetery. They found an elderly couple in the cemetery and asked them if they knew if there were any Allied airmen buried there. It turned out that the couple in the cemetery was among the first on the scene the night the plane had crashed in July 1944. That couple immediately took them to the military plot where the five are buried. (The crew that night consisted of eight: five from the RAF, one from the RAAF, one from Belgium, and my father from the RCAF. Two survived and escaped. The remaining crewman was not found until March 1945. He was then buried in Ancerville but later the body was exhumed and returned to Belgium for burial.) In speaking with the elderly couple at the cemetery, the Chanals learned that there had been a special ceremony just two weeks previous in the adjoining district honouring airmen shot down during the War and that there had been a newspaper article about that event.

The newspaper story put Suzanne in touch with M. Jean-Marie Chirol. M. Chirol is the President of an Association in France called "Club Memoires 52." founded in 1991 to honour certain historical events in the Department of the Haute-Marne, which is immediately adjacent to Ancerville. Part of their historical research was about aircraft which had been shot down in that region during the War, which included Wellington X.3763 of 425 Alouette Squadron shot down on April 15, 1943. M. Chirol is a member of 425 Alouette Squadron Association.

These two digressions will put a perspective on what came next. My wife and I arrived in Zurich on Wednesday August 20th and immediately drove to Suzanne and Pierre's home in Troyes, France. That evening we began to appreciate the immense effort they had put into making the burial truly a memorable day for us. Suzanne had contacted my grandmother's cousin and his wife who travelled from Paris to Troyes to be at Ancerville the next day.

Thursday morning we travelled from Troyes to Ancerville for the memorial mass at 10:00 am. As we came very near to Ancerville, we saw a car parked at the side of the road with a man standing there holding a Canadian flag, and so we met M. Chirol.

We continued into Ancerville. At this point, my wife and I were still expecting a small mass followed by a quiet burial ceremony. We arrived at Ancerville and met Father Roland Adnot, the parish priest, whose hospitality was immediate and a forecast of what was to come. He gave us a tour of the magnificent old church built in the 1100's, and now declared an historical monument in France. After freshening up at the parish rectory, we went back to the church. I was very quickly stunned. M. Chirol had prepared a large poster which was hanging just above the altar in the church. On it was a large picture of my father, with badges of 425 Alouette Squadron, Pathfinder Group and two roundels with a maple leaf in the centre. Inscribed on the poster were the words (in French) "In your goodness Lord welcome Sarah into this ground of Ancerville, where her husband Daniel has been buried since July 1944." My heart stopped momentarily as I was not aware that anyone there had ever seen a picture of my father. I subsequently learned that my aunt had sent one over. I had brought my parents wedding picture from 1944 so that the people could see what my parents looked like. That picture was sitting on a small table at the front of the altar along with the urn containing my mother's ashes.

We were overwhelmed when we walked into the church where there was a large crowd of people present. Among them were M. Yvon Vannerot, the Mayor of Ancerville, and his wife Renee, representatives of French Veterans Associations, a choir, and three Officers from the French airbase situate at nearby St. Dizier, coincidentally the same base where the German night-fighter had taken off from the night it shot down my father's Lancaster. Suzanne had told Father Adnot that I am a Permanent Deacon in the Catholic Church and so he asked me if I would like to celebrate the mass with him. I knew that it was going to be a difficult time for me and really wanted to just sit there with Madeleine, so I declined. He asked me if I would simply wear vestments and read the Gospel at the appropriate time. It seemed to be important to him that I take part in some way and so I had my first experience as a Deacon reading the gospel in French. Just prior to the commencement of the mass, the Mayor's wife came to the front of the church and read a short announcement of the significance of the mass. I was very moved as she explained that we were there not only to celebrate the life and death of my mother, but also that of my father and his crewmates who had given their lives and were buried in Ancerville.

Father Adnot's words in the homily moved me deeply. Suzanne had earlier asked me to send some information about my mother which she had passed on to him. I cried as I heard him tell about the love shared so briefly between my parents, married six short weeks before she became a widow, not even then knowing that she was already pregnant with me. He spoke of the sacrifice made by my father, of those buried in their cemetery with him, and the sacrifice made by all those who had given their lives for the freedom and liberation of France.

I thought as we approached the end of the mass that I had experienced all that I could. I was feeling gratitude beyond belief for these people. I was definitely not prepared for what happened next! As the people in the church filed out at the end of the mass, each person in turn came to the small table which had the ashes on it and blessed the urn with holy water. The last to do so were the three French Air Force officers, who, after blessing the ashes, turned to me and came to attention. I was very moved by that! I felt deeply honoured, yet at the same time very humble. I appreciated the gesture and yet I knew that it was not for me, but for my father and his comrades, and for my mother and those like her, who had given so very much.

I spoke briefly after the mass explaining to the people how the name "Ancerville" had always had such special significance for our family and how we had always felt a special connection to their town. Whenever it was spoken in our family, particularly by my grandmother, we somehow felt that a part of France was made a part of us. It had always been spoken with a kind of reverence for it reminded all of us that there was a part of our family that was no longer with us. I tried to explain to them that for me the name would hereafter have an even greater significance, knowing that both my parents would now have a place in their community.

On leaving the church, Father Adnot asked us to fall in behind the same flag-bearer who had stood beside the altar in the church. A small procession just seemed to form. I followed the flag, carrying the urn, and all the people who had been at the church followed after. As we walked through the town square and the few blocks to the cemetery, people came out of their stores and homes and stood in their doorways. Madeleine told me later that as she was walking with Fr. Adnot she was saying how we were so very grateful for what they were doing for us and how people had not forgotten after fifty-three years. He looked at her and said, "It is we who are grateful. If it had not been for men like these I would not be here today."

We approached the entrance to the cemetery where, on the stone wall surrounding the cemetery, I immediately noticed the small sign which I had not seen before, "Commonwealth War Graves." On arrival at the cemetery, I had another intense moment. I had been to Ancerville to visit the cemetery three times previously and had seen my father's grave. I was not, however, prepared to see the hole which had been dug at the foot of the grave to permit the urn containing my mother's ashes to be placed in the same plot. Everyone from the church gathered around the small beautifully kept plot containing the graves of the five airmen. The Mayor read a statement. His words were so deeply moving to me that I translate and reproduce them in full here:

I respectfully welcome the ashes of Mrs. Platana and also the members of her family present here today in our cemetery.

Flying Officer Daniel Platana was a member of the crew of a Lancaster III PA984 of the Royal Air Force which, while taking part in a raid on the train station in Revigny sur Ornain the night of July 14/15th, 1944 was attacked by a German fighter over Ancerville and crashed in the forest of Valtiermont.

By July 15, 1944, the Allied troops had only landed in Normandy 40 days earlier and the battle was still raging. The Germans, surprised by the Allied initiative which they had not been expecting in that region, needed reinforcements of men, materials, ammunition and fuel. It was important for the Allies, helped by the French resistance, to slow down those reinforcements by whatever means. The bombing of supply lines, staging points and bridges was one of these means. The sabotage of roads and the harassment by the resistance was another.

156 Squadron of the RAF took off from its base at Upwood at 2155 hours with its mission to illuminate the target which consisted of the marshaling yards of Revigny by dropping their marker bombs in preparation for the bombing itself. At 0153 the aircraft had its last communication with the mission chief. At about 2:00 in the morning, the residents of Ancerville heard an aircraft in distress circling lower and lower just outside the village, as though it was looking for a place to land. There was a loud explosion, then nothing.

The Mayor and Councillors, the police, the foresters, and the firemen, surrounded by a detachment of German soldiers, left in the night towards the location of the crash, which was in the vicinity of the branch of the Beau Chene between Ancerville and Sommelonne. Among the debris of the aircraft, which was scattered over a vast perimeter, they discovered the bodies of five Allied airmen.

In spite of the presence of the occupying forces who asked for simple funerals, the whole village accompanied the bodies to the church, then to the cemetery, in a long contemplative procession, in a silent, contemplative manifestation of impressive patriotism, and of dignity, under the watchful eyes of their masters of the moment. The risk was great, because at that time the Germans were harsh and they seemed to enjoy making appalling examples with the goal of terrorizing the population and, so they thought, of paralyzing the French Resistance.

Think that on June 10, 1944, a company of S.S. en route to the Normandy front had just massacred 642 inhabitants of Oradour sur Glane in the centre of France. Think also, that very close to us, in our region, these same troops were preparing to deport, on July 30, 1944 to be exact, 100 men of Clermont en Argonne of whom only 25 returned from concentration camps; and also to burn the villages of Robert-Espagne and Couvonges in the very near valley of Saulx and to shoot more than 80 men on August 29, 1944.

Among these five Allied heroes solemnly honoured by the entire population of Ancerville in July 1944 was Daniel Platana. At the beginning of June, he had married a young Englishwoman, Sarah, a clerk in the RAF. In March 1945, Terrence (Terry), son of Daniel and Sarah, was born. Today, at the age of 52, he is a Judge of the Ontario Court of Justice, and he is carrying out the wishes of his mother who wanted, after her death, to rejoin the husband she had known for such a short time.

I thank all those here who, by their presence, today render homage to the memory of the five Allied airmen fallen on our soil for our freedom, and to the remarkable faithfulness to one of them by Mrs. Platana.

We feel somewhat responsible for the misfortune which touched Mr. Terrence Platana, even before his birth. In the name of all the residents of Ancerville, I assure him, and the members of his family, of all our esteem and of our gratitude.

At the conclusion of his speech, he presented me with a brass bookend with the name and crest of Ancerville. I was told that these were produced in very limited numbers and given out only on very special occasions. I knew that I had just received something that I would treasure always. As I stood there still trying to comprehend the significance to me, the villagers began to walk by and offer their sympathies. One elderly couple walked by the gravesite. The old man had tears streaming down his face. He looked at me and simply said, "I was there. Thank you." My heart seemed to stop, and once again my tears started to flow freely. What I had in the beginning expected to be a small simple ceremony burying my mother had turned into what was a most difficult and yet incredible day for me. It was a day when I had somehow buried my mother, and yet, at the same time, I seemed to have also buried my father, killed fifty-three years earlier.

Following the burial, we were invited to a small reception at the rectory. There we had another incredible experience when I met two very significant people. One was M. Moreau, now retired, who was thirteen years old the night of the crash and who had been at the site the next day. He then was the altar server at the funeral mass for the five who were buried. He recalled how the priest who celebrated the mass had given him an orange. The other person was Mme. Claude, a lady now in her eighties. She had been the secretary to the Mayor and Council in July 1944. She had made notes of the night of the crash and surrounding events and it was she who had given much of the information to the Mayor which he had given at the cemetery.  She gave me a copy of the notes she had made. It was also she who made handkerchiefs from the parachutes found at the crash site and which I had been given by grandmother years ago and still has to this day. The Mayor gave me a copy of the official town records and Fr. Adnot gave me copies of the church records from July 1944. One of the most moving items I received was a picture of the funeral, taken July 17th, 1944.

Later in the afternoon, after lunch, Mayor Vannerot took us out into the forest, a short distance from Ancerville, and showed us the exact location in the forest where the plane had crashed. Madeleine remembers him saying that even though the forest had reclaimed itself, the people still knew where the exact place where my father and his crew ended the seventeenth operational mission of their tour, what for him was his second tour of operations. He and my mother had already been making plans to go to Canada and for her to meet his family. I could not help but think of the other members of the crew, and I wondered what their family story had been! I wondered also how many other sons and daughters of those killed had stood at their graves, or at the places where they had lost their lives. The forest seemed so peaceful that it was difficult to imagine what the early morning hours of July 15th, 1944 were like, nor did I really want to! I said a prayer for my father and his crew, and for their families. It almost seemed impossible that anything like the Mayor had described could ever have taken place, but I very much knew that it had!

Just prior to leaving Ancerville that day, our hosts took us back to the cemetery and considerately left us to visit the grave alone. It had again been closed. There were huge bouquets from my cousins and from the Mayor and citizens of Ancerville on the site. I had a momentary regret as I looked at the plot knowing that Commonwealth War Graves regulations do not allow any identification of my mother's burial to be placed on the grave, but I almost immediately began to think of the events of the day and how no manner of marking the grave could ever make that day any more significant for me. I was also extremely pleased because the Mayor's wife had earlier told us that every year since 1945, on May 8th and November 11th there is a special ceremony at the gravesite of these airmen, honouring and remembering them. The people place flowers on the graves and say prayers. As the Mayor's wife told us, they will now also be honouring and remembering my mother.

I must again digress for a moment. From the time of our arrival in France, we constantly kept experiencing the most wonderful, caring, remembering people. We had arrived at Ancerville having known Suzanne and Pierre Chanal less than twenty-four hours and already we felt like we were very old friends. Their hospitality, warmth, openness, and obvious genuine excitement at being able to arrange this magnificent ceremony for us had already touched us very deeply. Madeleine and I spoke on our way to Ancerville about how we realized we had truly met some very special people! Our cousins who had traveled from Paris kept me enthralled with stories of years ago when my grandparents had visited France. They recounted stories about a part of my family I had not known before.

M. Chirol was also someone who also made an immediate impression on us. It was almost like listening to history relive itself to hear him speak of the research he had done about his region of France and in particular of his involvement with Club Memoires and 425 Alouette Squadron. He obviously had an intense respect for history and for the memories of 1939-45 and the men who lost their lives liberating France.

Our memories of the people of Ancerville are probably best personified in the persons of Fr. Adnot and Mayor Vannerot and his wife Renee. Their involvement on behalf of the citizens of the town, and on their own behalf, gave us a lasting impression of the nature of those people. The welcome they gave us, the warmth with which they spoke, the pride in their town, and the compassion shown to us on a difficult day is something which we shall never forget. The Mayor's pride in his town and its history was so evident. The personal interest shown to us by the leader of this French community made me somehow feel much more at peace with the decision to bury my mother so far from Canada. It also made me feel in a sense proud knowing that my father and his crewmates were buried in a part of France which was so mindful and so thankful for the actions of those men.

We left Ancerville with an enormous sense of gratitude. We had experienced from the people something which we had never anticipated. The honour they gave us we knew was not because of us. Rather it was their way of expressing thanks and honouring those men and women who had given their lives so that the people of Ancerville and France might today celebrate being free and not living under oppression. One older man perhaps explained it best. I was saying to him that I could not understand nor could I ever thank the people for what they had done for us that day. He said to me, "Unless you have lived under oppression, you will never know what it is like to experience freedom. It is we who thank you." I knew he was not thanking me. He was rather thanking all those we remember and honour each Remembrance Day, the veterans walking in the parades throughout the country, themselves remembering friends and comrades of years gone by who are no longer here to walk with them. He was thanking those veterans who remember, and those whom they, and we, are remembering.

I recall watching the ceremonies marking the 50th anniversary of D-Day two years ago. I was struck by the reaction of the French people and how after all these years, they still seemed to remember and be so appreciative of what the service men of our country did in securing freedom for them. I could not fully understand then, and I still cannot. I do, however, know and understand that for my wife and I the memories of the people of Ancerville are indelibly engrained in our minds and hearts. They may have been present to thank and honour my parents. In fact, it is we who left with a deep sense of affection and gratitude for these people who helped me live through an experience which 53 years ago I could not; who for 53 years have watched over the graves of those who are now a permanent part of their land; who helped me to understand better that lives were not given in vain.

Remembrance Day has always been the most special day of the year for me and each year I watch the ceremonies at local cenotaphs or from the National War Memorial. God willing, I will one year soon miss celebrating this day in Canada as I have before, because I will be back in Ancerville honouring the memory of my parents and praying for lasting peace that no one anywhere in the world will ever have to honour anyone killed in the future by the horrors of war.

I will remember them!

Terry Platana (son)