You hardly notice them standing slightly apart from the uniformed, silver haired Second World War veterans on Remembrance Day. But they’re veterans who remember their own war during the two minutes of silence.

They remember a hot and humid climate in a far away jungle in southeast Asia that had its own thick scent.

And they share dark memories too. Horrors of war witnessed in their youth that they still carry in their 60s.

The men are veterans of the Vietnam War – a conflict that until recently was little remembered and little understood.

The Vietnam War was fought between U.S.-backed South and the Communist-backed North Vietnam between 1959-1975.

Local resident RJ (Roy) Wall is a Vietnam veteran. He doesn’t attend the Remembrance Day service at Greenwood cemetery anymore, preferring instead to mark the day privately. “I’ve been to the Field of Honour, and I visit the Vietnam veteran’s grave,” he says.

Wall, 62, is retired from his job with the city, and has lived in the Valley since 1971. He lives quietly with his wife and a son from a previous marriage.

That quiet contrasts with an 18-year-old Wall, then a combat demolition specialist in Vietnam’s Mekong Delta.

Wall remembers the chatter of gunfire, the pop and glare of flares at night and the whump of 55 mm Howitzer tank fire.

A sturdy 5’8”, Wall has a weathered complexion and a steady gaze. With a thick hand he points to places on a map of Vietnam where he fought: Lan Bin, Tan An and Tan Tru.

Originally from Port Alberni, Wall moved to Brewster, Wash. at age 10 after his parents were killed in a plane crash.

He attended school until Grade 11 then at age 17 joined the U.S. army. He was shipped to Vietnam after finishing basic training at Fort Riley in Kansas, and spent the next 13 months in Vietnam.

Wall’s daily routine almost never varied: slog through the jungle during muggy days or forebodingly dark nights where if you got lost you died; participating in ambushes or getting ambushed, and setting explosives in enemy bunkers and tunnels.

Wall pauses for several seconds when asked what memories stand out; “I don’t… want to get too deep into that,” he says quietly.

His unit was ambushed as they walked past a village, and a fierce fire fight erupted. “We leveled it (village), I don’t know if anyone lived,” he recalls.

And a friend and fellow demolition man had his arm blown off after the two placed a charge in a bunker and his friend wasn’t quick enough in retracting his arm.

Wall returned home from the Vietnam war, but not to a ticker tape parade. Instead, he found a country seemingly at war with itself as anti-war protests raged and the country tore itself apart.

Forsaken, Vietnam veterans were treated indifferently, thought of as all guilty of atrocities, or losers of a war after the fall of Saigon.

After his 13 months of service were over, Wall returned home and worked a series of jobs, but the protests prompted him to think about a quiet life in Canada, or moreover Port Alberni.

Although no longer in combat, Wall still struggled with post combat stress, wanting to sleep on the floor, unable to stand in groups and fighting the urge to hit the dirt at loud noises.

After a long struggle, though, he’s starting to let old memories rest. He’ll have thoughts on Remembrance Day. “I think about the boys I went over with, and about the ones who never came back,” he says, clearing his throat.

Not every Vietnam veteran saw action in the jungles, yet being subjected to protests upon return profoundly affected them.

Local resident Arlie “Skip” Grover, 63, is originally from Ohio, but came to Port Alberni in 1972. He’s married to wife Shielean, and the two have one daughter – Stephanie.

Grover was a U.S. Marine from 1963-72, and served in Vietnam in a headquarters company in 1968-69.

He worked in transport supply then as a general driver. Later, he was stationed with a unit in the north DMZ.

Grover never saw a lot of action, he says, but there were moments, subtle and otherwise.

Helicopters he flew on into areas traveled in twos, but “one was empty in case the other got shot down,” he says.

As well, rocket and mortar attacks on certain unit elements were common, one of which killed a gunnery sergeant he knew. “You never knew when they were coming,” he said. “A siren would go off, you’d hear a whoosh overhead then a boom.”

Grover and his wife spent time in South Carolina until he left the Marines in 1972. They moved to the Valley shortly after. “My wife’s originally from here, and I like to hunt, fish and just like the outdoors so I loved it here,” he says. “It’s peaceful.”

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Not seeing action created a gulf between Grover and other vets, he says. “I guess I always felt awkward around them because of that, it’s hard to feel the kinship they do with each other,” he says.

Grover breaks out a photo album with old pictures from Vietnam. “That was 60 pounds ago,” the still slender Grover says.

Amid them is a news clipping of the Vietnam veterans’ moving wall when it was brought to Vancouver. It is inscribed with the names of dead Vietnam veterans.

In the picture, a veteran dressed neatly in a suit is shown kneeling and touching the names on the wall with his hands, his face contorted as he cries.

Pausing for several seconds after being asked what it means to him, Grover replies. “Your body may age, but your mind doesn’t,” he said. “You never forget.”

reporter@albernivalleynews.com