Every year on remembrance day I take out my great uncle Sam Mullagan's and my great grand father John Stott's medals and look at them.
I have to say it is a very eerie feeling.
My uncle lied about his age and joined the Royal Irish Rifles when he was thirteen years old very early in world war two.
He survived the war but had shrapnel injuries and hearing loss. I met him when I was seven years old forty four years ago, he was a great person.
My uncle was awarded the Médaille Militaire the third highest award for bravery in France.
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My Great Uncle Sam receiving the Médaille Militaire on the battlefield in France.
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Sam's medals.
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My great Grandfather's medals from the Boer war and world war one.
My great grandfather died in the battle of Festubert on May 15 1915 and is buried there.

My great grandfather second from the left either going to or returning from the Boer war.
I also lost my grandfather Lewis Glover. He was in the police in Liverpool. During the German blitz aircraft would fly over the cities
and drop incendiary bombs to illuminate the area so the bombers would be able to see where to drop the bombs.
Every able bodied person was out throwing sand bags on the incendiary bombs. A incendiary bomb exploded and my grandfather was seriously injured.
He died a few hours later on the floor of a makeshift hospital on Christmas eve 1939.
These and so many others made the ultimate sacrifice for us It really saddens me that I see it slowly slipping away.
Terry