Remembering Uncle Ernie

His name was Ernest Hooper and he was my great uncle.
Ernie's remembered as a kid who hid in the bushes to escape an abusive father. He's also remembered as a soldier killed in action 90 years ago today. 
"Nobody knows what happened to Ernie's body," my father said from the head of the family dinner table on Easter Sunday. 
"The family was told young Ernie was listed among the many dead at Vimy Ridge. His name is likely engraved on a monument in northern France."
Apparently, my grandfather loved his little brother.
"Dad was quite fond of Ernie. All the time I grew up, Dad spoke of him often and a picture of him sat on a table. It was taken just before he shipped out. Ernie was wearing his uniform."
Dad then explained why Ernie wasn't a Ransberry.
"Ernie was a half brother. He and Dad had the same mother but different fathers."
My grandmother's first husband was a Ransberry. He just up and disappeared one day. After a time, Gramma married this Hooper guy. He was a mean son-of-a-bitch. Grampa hated him and Ernie didn't like him either.
Historians may debate the technical significance of Canada's dramatic victory in France nine decades ago. But there's no doubt it's special place in the Canadian psyche.
On Easter Monday 1917, about 30,000 Canadian soldiers, including our Ernie, emerged from the safe shelter of tunnels and trenches and launched their assault on the maze of German trenches, barbed wire and machine gun positions on the famous hill. Four days later, with Vimy hill in Canadian hands, the price of the capture was 3,600 soldiers, including Ernie.
My grandfather never had any use for war.
Nor does my dad.
Nor do I.
Nor do my children.
It's a sentiment we pass from generation to generation.
War never goes away. It's stubborn. And it is forever with us.
While our family remembered Ernie and my mother's brother killed in action in Italy in 1944, six Canadians died in combat in Afghanistan yesterday. There will never be a shortage of war memories.
Like I said, war never goes away.