He died before I was born, on 6th June 1945. He was 23, I think. From what I understand, he was part of a diversionary operation and probably lived for no more than minutes after he parachuted into France. He was my uncle.
My middle name is Gordon. Until very recently I had no idea that his first name was Thomas. I hope to visit his grave before I die.
Praying for the dead is a Catholic tradition, one for which I am grateful.
The Lord bless you and keep you.
The Lord make his face to shine upon you,
and be gracious unto you.
The Lord lift up the light of his
countenance upon you and give you peace.
He left no offspring. His father's survival of the trenches did not lead to generations of brave Lonsdales.
There is not much more to say.
I hope his name will live on in my grandchildren.
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