On the anniversary of VE Day Torcuil Crichton recounts the remarkable story of his late uncle, the late Alasdair Crichton who was an elder in our congregation, and his experiences at the end of WWll.
Last December, just as we approached the shortest day of the year, we buried our uncle Alasdair at the Braighe cemetery, a mile or two from the Isle of Lewis village where he was born.
At the age of 94, Alasdair Crichton, my father’s brother, was the last of the men in the WWII generation of veterans from Swordale.
My father used to tease him about how being a 1945 recruit he never actually made it to the war.
That was only partially true, as I discovered when I went to visit my uncle in the summer of 2011, fresh from Westminster’s political battlefields.
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