For weary soldiers during the Second World War, The Salvation Army was a welcome reminder of home.My father was a military surgeon during the Second World War. In June 1944, he went ashore with one of the first waves of soldiers at Normandy. Often stationed right behind the front lines, he would perform emergency surgery for hours on end. Many men were able to return home alive because of his care.

As the victorious Allied armies crossed the German border, he received orders to return to England to serve at a military hospital there. Wearing dirty fatigues and a helmet with the white circle and red cross painted on, he boarded a troop train for the long, slow journey back to the English Channel.

“No Charge”
Dad threw his duffle bag on the overhead rack and sat down by a sergeant who was drinking what appeared to be a cup of real coffee.

“Hey, where did you get that?” Dad asked, pointing at the steaming cup.
“Next car up,” came the reply.
Dad immediately got to his feet and headed for the door.

In the next car, above a small counter, was the familiar red shield with the white letters spelling out “The Salvation Army.” Dad was met with a tired but friendly smile. He caught sight of the Salvation Army hostess in her blue uniform, the coffee and the platter of doughnuts. He hadn’t seen a doughnut since he left home.

“Uh, I just came from the front,” he began. As his mouth began to water, he searched his pockets but found nothing except his new orders. “We don’t carry money in combat. I can’t even afford a cup of coffee. I’m sorry.” He started to turn away when a gentle hand grabbed his arm.

“We’re The Salvation Army, soldier. There’s no charge. Would you like a doughnut as well?” She smiled again as he accepted the gift.

For Dad
Dad told us the story often, usually when he put a $5 bill in one of The Salvation Army’s red kettles. As time went on, the $5 contribution became $25, then $50 and then $100.

Dad is gone now. I like to think that the Lord gave him a free cup of coffee and a doughnut while he was waiting in line to get into Heaven. To honour his memory, I have created an endowment that will send $500 every year to our local Salvation Army. It’s my way of saying thanks—for my Dad and for that cup of coffee.

by Clifford A. Hendricks as told to Steve Garrington

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