My grandad was one of them, sadly died when I was only two so never got to know him, only some of the tales my mum passed on. A devout Christian who gave up all belieef in god due to the hell he witnessed there, mates blown apart in front of his eyes, nursing dying pals, watching rats the size of cats and dogs eating rotting flesh, gave him nightmares till his dying days in 1971. Luckily only shot in the leg, so returned with a severe limp. This however blighted him for years, he used to struggle to walk and in the great depression of the 30's still walked from Dovecot to the docks every day in search of work, but always turned down by the gangmasters because of his age and limp, but still did this agonising walk every day in all weathers. Meant my mum grew up in grinding poverty and the tales she told me about brushing teeth with soot, cabbage soup twice a day, getting bones from the butchers for 'the dog' puts the shower of 'Jeremy Kyle' scrounging benefits culture to absolute shame. Thanks to him we are all blues in our family too!