In Loving Memory of Andrew Clement Gilmour

Andrew Clement Gilmour, aged 80, of San Marcos, California, peacefully passed away on July 21, 2023, surrounded by his loving family. Born on March 5, 1943, in Burnfoothill, East Ayrshire, Scotland, Andrew was the cherished son of John and Lily Gilmour (nee Taylor).

Andrew leaves behind a legacy of love and devotion to his family. He is survived by his beloved wife, Isabel, and their two children, Stephen and Jacqueline (Jackie), and their respective spouses, Jill and Miguel.Andrew was a doting grandfather to Angel, Jason, Melissa, and Alison, and a proud great-grandfather to Isabella (Bella), Andrew (Andy), and Ava. He also leaves behind his brother, Ian, and sisterin-law, Edith, as well as his nephews Garry and Douglas, and niece Lillian. Andrew was predeceased by his parents, John and Lily, his sister Lily, niece Hilary and his best friend from childhood, Jim Bryce.

Andrew’s life journey was filled with fond memories and milestones. He married his true love, Isabel, in 1966 at Prestwick South Church in Ayrshire, Scotland, where their beautiful life together began.

Andrew embarked on a remarkable career with British Airways in 1964, starting at Prestwick International Airport. Over 35 dedicated years, he achieved great success and was eventually transferred to London Gatwick Airport in 1982. In 1988, he embraced a new opportunity with British Airways at Los Angeles International Airport, which led him and his family to Southern California. He retired in 1999 after an accomplished career, but his work didn’t end there. Andrew and Isabel continued to work together and enjoyed their sunset career at Select California Auto Services until their joint retirement in 2007.

Family was at the heart of Andrew’s life, and he made it a priority to be present for every milestone his children and grandchildren achieved. He

Snow from page 3 and pointing to his chest with his good arm said, “My name is Bill. Call me Bill.”

“Kurt,” came the reply with an anxious smile as he dropped one arm to point in a similar fashion.”

“Put ‘em back up there, fella,” came a gruff remark from one of the soldiers.

‘Relax, guys. Look how he fixed up my arm,” Bill urged as he held up the wounded limb. “He must be a medic.” celebrated each high school and university graduation, beaming with pride as they embarked on their adult lives.

“Looks like a bunch of mud ‘n’ shit,” one of the soldiers said, squinting up close for a better look.

“It’s moss. It has medicinal value,” Bill said with an assuring voice.

“Let’s get you guys back to the platoon and the lieutenant. He’ll want a full report on this little chapter. We got a sergeant who speaks Gerry,” said the soldier who was doing most of the talking.

Kurt didn’t know what fate awaited him, but one thing was crystal clear in his mind – he now felt safer than any time in the past two years.

Indeed, now he was safe ... sort of. Kurt was, after all, the enemy in this American camp. He expected little, if any, friendliness or compassion. And, even though he saved one of their own, the G.I.s realized they had a deserter and turncoat in their midst. Most soldiers look upon such things with distain and disgust.

Kurt found himself in front of the American unit’s commanding officer. Capt. John Snyder was a grimlooking man with a deep-set dark eyes on a rather large head supported by a disproportionate body of a slight build. If he were standing he might reach 5’8” but little more. A .45 caliber pistol was slung over his shoulder, positioned so a quick draw could be accomplished if necessary. The pot helmet he wore was cocked on the back of his head. On most men, such a casual style would be disarming and look friendly, but on Snyder it made him seem foreboding.

Andrew was deeply proud of his Scottish heritage and his birthplace, Burnfoothill, which held a special place in his heart. The mining village and its neighboring twin, Lethanhill, were integral parts of his upbringing. He fondly remembered his school days at Lethanhill School and Dalmellington High School, and the memories of his childhood home remained etched in his heart.

In retirement, Andrew settled in San Marcos, California, where he embraced the joy of life and treasured precious moments spent with family.

Andrew Clement Gilmour will be dearly missed but forever remembered for his love, kindness, and unwavering dedication to family and friends. May his soul rest in eternal peace.

The captain listed intently to Lieutenant Oliver’s report telling of the Malmedy incident and how he and Kurt met each other. It was an almost unbelievable story. Captain Snyder was suspicious, thinking Kurt might be a phony deserter or worse, a spy? Though his English was limited, the German understood most of what was being said.

“Did you promise this guy anything?” Snyder asked Oliver, figuring Kurt wouldn’t understand the question.

“No sir, I only promised him he wouldn’t be hurt and would be treated fairly.” It wasn’t exactly true, but that’s a promise Oliver intended.

Snyder looked at Kurt, studying the enemy soldier before him from head to toe. The German corporal wore a long winter uniform coat. He had shed his helmet somewhere in Ardennes and was wearing his “slit” cap, which had been folded and carried in a pocket.

“Well, he’s G-2’s problem now,” the captain said, referring to the interrogators of Army Intelligence.

“Get him outta here,” he said, motioning to the two MPs standing on each side of the German.

Snyder looked at Private Oliver. “Go get that arm taken care of -and, for god’s sake, get that mud and shit cleaned off your arm.”

“Sir, that ‘mud and shit,’ as you call it, kept me from bleeding to death, thanks for my new-found Gerry friend.”

The captain grunted acknowledgment, then went back to studying a map on his desk.

As the two MPs walked Kurt out of the room, Bill Oliver was close behind, assuring his friend that ev-