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Donald Kennedy
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Donald Kennedy, my grandfather, was a very wise old chap. He spoke little about the war. I do recall, however, he had fond memories of a cat he had rescued which he cared for in the trenches until it touched a hot shell fragment and bolted away.

When we would stay at his house, we would be woken in the night by the sounds of his recurring nightmares. Vera, my grandmother would then gently remind him he was home in NZ and the war was over. These nightmares continued till he died.

I began to understand the nightmares when I read the account of the battle he had been in which led to his being awarded the DSO and one of his Sergeants the VC. I have visited the site of the battle and its nearby cemetery with its fern leaf headstones. His companions lie there so far from home.