Not many of you would know that my first name is Maxwell because I prefer to be known by my second name, Winston, coz I was borne on that old British Bulldog’s birthday.
The story of how I came to get my first name, and why it is my first name for that matter, involves a bit of wrangling that occurred between my parents when I was borne. (And, no, they weren’t fighting coz neither of them wanted me!)
My Dad, who was a bit of annoying bugger at times, wanted me to be named after his brother, Maxwell known as Max, who had joined the RAAF at the outset of WW2 and become a wireless air gunner flying in Lancaster Bombers. Mum wanted Maxwell to be my second name being a Pom and thinking Winston Churchill was pretty good!
Dad won coz he registered my birth!
Of little interest really except Max was shot down over Austria in July 1944. The telegram my grandfather received is shown below, as is a photo of the cemetery… the scant memories we have of my Uncle Max.
Its why I pause and give thanks for my Uncle Max and the hundreds of thousands who perished serving their country every ANZAC Day although rarely a day doesn’t go by when I don’t think of him. Any time anyone asks me for my full name is a reminder.