My Dad was a bricklayer by trade and was friends with a man, a giant of a man, a Scot by the name of John McKee.
John served in the British Eight Army , serving from Tobruk, El Ala-mien all the way though Sicily, to Cassino where he was wounded for a third time and taken out of the fight.
A roaring but gentle giant. To think what he went through to where his home land is today. Sad.
Very sad. We went to Scotland many years ago. While we were there we went to a mass in Glasgow. The Priest went on about how Scotland must open her arms and welcome all immigrants. Well look where they are. This was when John Paul was pope. I am just glad we saw it before the hordes moved in.