“Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech Thee, of Thy great goodness, to restrain these immoderate rains with which we have had to contend. Grant us fair weather for Battle. Graciously hearken to us as soldiers who call upon Thee that, armed with Thy power, we may advance from victory to victory, and crush the oppression and wickedness of our enemies and establish Thy justice among men and nations.”
I awoke to some light snow here in central Illinois this morning.
Time for my annual look at General Patton’s famous weather prayer!
The famous “weather prayer” of General Patton was written by a Catholic Chaplain, Colonel James H. O’Neill.
Seventy-six years ago at Christmas the American and German armies were fighting it out in the Battle of the Bulge, the last German offensive of the War.
Patton’s Third Army fought its way through to relieve the Americans desperately battling to defeat the attacking German forces. The weather was atrocious and Allied air power was useless. Patton had a prayer written for good weather. The skies cleared after Patton prayed the weather prayer, and Allied air power was unleashed on the attacking Germans.
Patton was an interesting mixture of contradictions in his spiritual life. Foul mouthed even by the standards of an army known for profanity, and much too fond of war for a Christian, he also read the Bible and prayed each day. A firm Episcopalian, yet he also firmly believed in reincarnation. While in command in Sicily he began attending mass, initially largely for political reasons to build a bridge to the Catholic population, but then found that he enjoyed worshiping at Mass. Throughout his life he always knew Who was in charge:
So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, but always me.
And I see not in my blindness
What the objects were I wrought,
But as God rules o’er our bickerings
It was through His will I fought.
So forever in the future,
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more.
George S. Patton, Jr.
In honor of Ralph James Parrish, now deceased, who was there. A farm boy who wore his old army jacket to the cowbarn until it wore out on returning home and who never spoke of the horrors he saw unless directly addressed, and then with reluctance.
Those who saw the most tended to say the least.
“Those who saw the most tended to say the least.”
Amen to that. A close friend of my family had been a Sherman tank commander under Patton during the drive from France into Germany, and participated in the relief of the 101st. The only thing he would ever say about his combat experiences was to explain why he never wore anything heavier than a wool suit coat, even in the NW Illinois winter: It was so cold in those tanks in the Ardennes Forest that nothing Illinois had to offer could compete.
David Niven the actor finished up his World War II service in the British Army as a Lieutenant Colonel. He had been on the front lines leading a secret signals unit that located enemy units, and kept in touch with Allied special forces behind enemy lines. He adamantly refused to say much about his war time experiences and one time he explained why:
I will, however, tell you just one thing about the war, my first story and my last. I was asked by some American friends to search out the grave of their son near Bastogne.
I found it where they told me I would, but it was among 27,000 others, and I told myself that here, Niven, were 27,000 reasons why you should keep your mouth shut after the war.
When the film Saving Private Ryan came out, I discovered that a man who had lived down the street from us for six years had been on that beach on D-Day. I knew he’d been born in 1924 so likely had WWii service, but his sons never said a thing about it in my hearing. Good natured man, nearly 50 years married, four children, nine grandchildren, ran a business that kept his family in style. One of my dearest friends saw combat in the Pacific theatre, including the Battle of Leyte. He had a couple of stories, one about something that happened to a platoon mate and one about guarding a collaborator in the Philippines. They weren’t involved stories.
I should append to that that my friend did have a more involved story, not about the war itself, but about arriving home. Ever seen the film The Subject Was Roses? The screenwriter could have constructed the outline from what happened the day he arrived in December 1945.