My Father William C. Groff Jr., was born to Wm.C Groff Sr. and Jane Brown Groff in St. Louis Mo.

He graduated from Beaumont High School.According to the yearbook and newspaper articles my Father was a gifted athlete. He was a left handed baseball pitcher. Dad was down in the minor leagues when called to duty by the U.S.Army.

He was inducted into the Army at Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis Mo. Later he was stationed at Portreath A.F. Base in England and then Honnington A.F. Base, also in England. He became a T/SGT during that time.

During that time he also met my mother who is British and was in the R.A.F. Mother had missed her ride back to Portreath and was walking back to base when my Father and a truckload of G.I.s pulled up and offered her a ride. Mother was a little nervous about joining them and my Father told her to ride up front with him. My Father asked her name and when she replied Kathleen he said "Ok,its Kay then."

My Father's job, according to military accounts, was to move trucks and artillary throughout Germany, including June 6th -- D Day. He often went to where he was moving the artillary as well as maping out routes on paper.

Both my mother and my Father had requested leave June 1st through June 4th, 1944. They requested and were granted this leave well in advance since it took 6 month's to get the paper work through as my mother is British. Their leave was not cancelled as not to raise any suspician about June 6th, D Day. They were married in a beautiful ceremony on June 2nd, 1944. My mother in a beautiful borrowed wedding dress and my Father in uniform. My mother's family and family friends gave up their ration cards to make this a beautiful day for them both. My Father and his buddies were immediately called back to base as was my mother, due to the upcoming D Day.

I really have no information about that time other than the fact that my Father was at Normandy on D Day plus 3. My mother's brother, a British soldier, gave his life on Juno Beach.

Time continued on. My grandparents home had been partially bombed and they were very heavily rationed. One day my Father sent a U.S. Army truck with food to my Grandparents home. They were overwhelmed and shared with all of the neighbors.

I was born on June 16,1945 and my Father was still in England with my mother. My Father stayed as long as he could and then the inevitable happened and he was one of the last shipped back to the U.S., leaving us behind. My British Grandparents had noticed that my Father seemed quite ill. He was coughing constantly and loosing weight. My Father was 6'3" and only weighed 139 lbs.

When my Father returned to the U.S. he was admitted to Jefferson Barracks Hospital. Where it was confirmed that he had T.B. He was far to ill to be cared for at Jefferson Barracks and was sent to a Veterans hospital in Excelsior Springs, close to Kansas City Mo. My mother and I came to the U.S. with other English warbrides and children on the Queen Mary to New York.

From there we took the train to Union Station in St. Louis. There we were met by my American Grandparents and my Father's 3 sisters and 1 brother. They had to tell my mother the awful truth about how ill my Father was. We went to live with them.

My mother was truly heartbroken and went to see my Father as soon as possible. When she saw him she could clearly see that he was dying. She begged the doctors to give my Father the new vaccine and cure for T.B., but they told her it was far to late. Maybe if He had come some sooner, there may have been a chance. The day my Father died he refused to take communion, knowing that it meant iminent death. My mother gently persuaded him to do so.

Later that evening the doctors and nurses insisted that my mother go back to the home where she was staying, and get some rest. They promised to call her and mom was staying within walking distance. Everyone made a mistake, and in a few hours the hospital called my mother and told her that my Father had passed away. My mother ran out in the dark and a terriable rainstorm to the hospital. She was met by an orderly who simply said "your Husband is dead". My mother was 23 years old. She so wanted the orderly to be wrong. She begged to see my Father. The orderly walked her down the hall to a room and pulled a sheet off my Father's dead body. He had fought hard to live and it was a terriable shock for my mother to see him that way.

My mother brought my Father back to St.Louis by train. The casket was draped with an American flag. For the 5 hour train trip my mother sat by the casket with her hand and head resting gently upon it. When my mother and Father returned to St. Louis,2 of my Father's sisters had removed and burned all of my Father's things. Stating to my mother that "those things " would only upset her.

After the funeral, my Father was buried in a private cemetery and my mother did not receive the flag from his casket. My Father received several letters of commendation from his commanding officers, which my mother had taken to the hospital. So I now have them. I hope that someday my aunt, my Father's sister will give me his medals.

Right before my Father passed away, the V.A. offered to grant him one last wish. His wish was to see me, his daughter. So the V.A. sent some people to my Grandparents home to make a 2-minute movie of me waving goodbye to my Father. In that 2 minutes, I showed my huge stuffed animal that was a lamb, as I was his "little lamb." I also showed him some dolls and a big silver airplane that I could peddle around. Then I waved my last goodbye.

My husband, Don, had that movie made into a video. It's very sad to watch. I also have my Father's Bulova watch, that my mother was wearing when my Father died. The watch band has been made into a bracelet for me to pass on to my daughter. I had the watch refurbished and had my husband's initials engraved right below my Father's, leaving room for my son's initials when it is passed on to him.

I thank every Veteran and their families for allowing me to have such a good life. I Honor my Father's memory every day.