VIEW POINT
Forgotten soldiers Joe Schultz (Boscombe) draws a parallel between a forgotten soldier from the Second World War and those we tend to forget today
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N 1945 two events changed the course of history. The first was VE Day (8 May), which brought an end to hostilities in Europe. The second was VJ Day (15 August), which marked the end of the war. On 2 September, after two weeks of deliberations, the peace treaty was signed on board the USS Missouri at anchor in Tokyo Bay. Some soldiers, however, were unaware of the signing of the peace treaty – men who had been posted to Pacific islands to keep the invading American forces out, with clear instructions that there would be no surrender. For some reason or other they never got the message that a peace treaty was agreed. They were a forgotten army of faithful, loyal men. In 1974 a Japanese second lieutenant, who had not realised the war was over, surrendered his sword after 29 years. Hiroo Onoda had been posted to Lubang
Island in the Philippines. Soon after the war he found leaflets dropped from the air announcing that the war had ended, but he believed that they were an enemy trick. Throughout those long years, he went out at night to forage for nuts and roots and to fish in the sea. Each morning he went back to his cave in the forest. Two fishermen discovered him fishing in the sea, but he was still not convinced that there had been a surrender. The Japanese authorities decided to send his ageing former commanding officer to release him of his responsibilities. Only then did he surrender and return home. This reminded me of another army of forgotten soldiers – people who once proudly marched behind the yellow, red and blue flag. Up and down this green and pleasant land of ours – in every town and city – there are forgotten people,
who were once part of our Army and, for whatever reason, have become lost to our corps. They may still be Salvationists at heart and remain loyal to their faith, believing that the spiritual battle goes on. One Sunday night, in the early days of The Christian Mission, William Booth and his 12-year-old son, Bramwell, were returning home from a meeting. William opened the door of a drinking saloon so that his son could see inside, where there were dishevelled and drunken men and women, and said, ‘These are our people.’ There is no doubt that the lost and the outcast need our love and acceptance. That remains the Army’s mission. But let’s not forget the people out there who still live by what the yellow, red and blue stands for. They also need our love and acceptance. In the words of the Founder, ‘These are our people.’
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Salvationist 22 May 2021
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