Bill Newton

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The following is from Intergenerational Integrities 2021 Anthology. Intergenerational Integrities involves 18 like-minded, passionate secondary students of British Columbia and Alberta who share a common love for writing, history and learning. Their purpose is to connect youth and seniors, especially during the Covid-19 global pandemic, where many have been physically and socially isolated. For this initiative, each student has been paired with a veteran of the Korean War.

Seargent (Retired) Bill Newton first joined the Canadian Army in 1951. He trained for one year in Canada rising to the rank of Corporal before leaving for Korea to join the fighting in the Korean War in 1952. He served as a medic member of the Royal Canadian Army Medical Corps during the Korean War, first with the 37th Field Ambulance, later attached to the Princess Patricia Light Infantry (PPCLI) Company C. He rose to the rank of Sergeant, and ended his war-time duty as a medic attached to the PPCLI Third Battalion. After the Korean War, he stayed in the army serving as member of the 38th Field Ambulance. Bill was discharged from the army in 1954. As a civilian, Bill participated in the construction and logging industries. He retired in 1995.

Rasee is a high school student from British Columbia. She also enjoys reading and writing, and is an avid writer and poet. She spends most of her time reading and watching inspirational films and is always trying to explore new genres, styles and content. She became a part of Intergenerational Integrities to learn more about the Korean War and was honoured to have the opportunity to interview Veteran Bill Newton about his story and legacy.

They All Look the Same

Rasee Kachchakaduge

A melancholy drop of water hails from the falling sky.

In its desolation cries, as the field below

sobs, in sorrow,

in pain

of ceaseless past

and futile rage.

For the soldier,

routine is the barren sound

but with it, bolsters so much voice

the boundless weeps

and shouts

and screams

With it,

the precious calm of an eye

and the plain smile of a little family,

when healed from the sting.

That’s his job.

For the soldier, the drops collapse on his red,

sunken uniform of freedom.

Not a single

drop

of the grotesque crimson shed

was his own.

He stands amid gentle corpses spread out on the savage,

frozen floor, with a tranquil silence.

They all look the same.

He thinks,

in life,

they were trained to be enemies.

But in death,

they all look the same.

As the sky unbuttons itself completely

and falls upon the scene below,

washing away the crimson

and the memories

and the lives

He melts

under the same solitary sky

that hailed the single drop

drops of crystal tears

are indistinguishable

from each other

save the eye of the clouds,

from which they trail.

They all look the same.

But when the soldier returns home

after everything he had seen and felt,

everything looks different.