My Dad at the end of the war.
My father had a very good eye. He was not an Army photographer; he served with an Engineer Battalion building bridges and railroads from France through Belgium and into Germany, serving until the end of the European campaigns.
Whaterver camera equipment he had was simple, because it had to fit into his rucksack. He had no flash, and I doubt he had detachable lenses or meters. He had his eye and his instinct, and he was very good. Scanning old prints has degraded the original sharpness somewhat, but that couldn't be helped. I think Dad would understand.
The images have a couple of hand printed words on the border, sometimes just the name of a city, a town or a name made famous by a battle. There are no dates or times on them, and I could only guess at the approximate order. I was seeing each of them for the first time. It was as if I was meeting Dad again, but as a man who is much younger in the pictures than I am now. It is a strange feeling knowing that the boys and young men in these pictures hae left us. I hope they lived long and happy lives.
Berthing on the Victory Ship that brought them home.
I uploaded the scanned images and am sharing them through the following link. They are too good to be left in a box in a closet.