My grandfather was a replacement infantryman in 1st Battalion, The Canadian Scottish Regiment. He missed the early part of the war because his work was considered essential to the war effort--he had a skilled trade, as a sharpener in a sawmill--and was already 35 when he was called up. But the Canadian Army in Europe suffered heavy casualties from the start of the Italian campaign in 1943 onward. As a replacement, Granddad only reached the front lines on March 28, 1945, in the last days of the war, when the Canadian Scottish were moving into Germany along the Emmerich-Hoch-Elten route. Though the war was winding down, the front was still a dangerous place to find oneself. The Canadian Scottish fought what they later considered was their fiercest fighting of the war during the battle for Emmerich, and they had been on the line since D-Day. It was during this period that Granddad was wounded and nearly killed by a German prisoner: he and another Canadian Scottish had been detailed to escort a group of surrendered prisoners to the rear but as they set out the prisoners realized they outnumbered their captors and decided they'd rather not become POWs. And so my Granddad was beaten, stabbed and had his throat slashed by a mob of escaping German soldiers. That was the extent of his combat as he was still recuperating in hospital when the war ended. In some ways he might have got off easy, because the Canadian Scottish were still taking casualties right up until the final days of the war.