I grew up knowing that my father had a hero cousin, a doctor Lipmann Kessel who served in the Second World War. Called “Lippy” by those close to him, he’d been a surgeon in the army and in September 1944 he was responsible for saving hundreds of lives during the Battle of Arnhem in the Netherlands. When that operation failed, Lippy was taken prisoner by the Germans – a perilous situation for a Jewish soldier. Happily he escaped, survived and returned to the UK where, post war, he specialised in orthopaedics and invented the “Kessel Pin”, a special screw still used in surgery today.

He died in 1986 but even though he was gone, his autobiography, Surgeon at Arms, remained on my dad’s bookshelf, keeping the connection alive. Recently, however, something so extraordinary happened that I wondered whether loved ones might be pulling strings from above. Someone I’d never heard of called Sara Kessel reached out to me on Instagram, responding to a comment I’d made on one of her friend’s posts.

Lipmann Kessel.

“Might we be related?” she asked. Despite us both having the same name I was suspicious this might be some kind of hoax. But it turned out that, like me, she was a Londoner and we agreed to chat on the phone. During that conversation we quickly ascertained that both our families hailed from Siauliai in Lithuania – Shovel in Yiddish – formerly part of the Russian Empire.

“Who was your father?” I asked.

“Lippy,” she said.

My response was a very long, very shocked, very loud “Noooooooo”. I had no idea! I knew Lippy had two sons, Paul and David. But Lippy had a daughter too? She emailed me a picture of our family tree and, once I’d opened it up, an incredible six generations of Kessel’s pinged into view, many of them now spread across the globe. I was on it; my siblings were on it; Sara was on it and so was her sister Abigail.

An illustration of Lipmann's Kessel pin in an orthopedic textbook.

That meant there were two of them. Not just Sara, but Abi as well, a duo of girl cousins my brother, sister and I never knew existed… it felt like an episode of Long Lost Family. My parents are both deceased so other relatives had to fill me in as to why my father hadn’t mentioned these two sisters. In short the story I was told was that Lippy had remarried – Sara and Abi were born from this new union – and because some of the family hadn’t approved they’d distanced themselves. This meant that for years I’d lived round the corner from two Kessel’s of my generation without ever knowing. Wow. It was a lot to process.

They say that blood is thicker than water and we felt it when we met for the first time – an instant, invisible genetic connection. Soon enough we were discussing Arnhem, a history that had reigned large in Lippy’s life. His dying wish was to be buried alongside the men he couldn’t save and every year they visit his grave in this eastern Dutch town, which is ten miles from the German border. This year is a special anniversary, however, because September 17, 2024 marks 80 years since the start of the Battle of Arnhem, the largest airborne operation in military history, recounted in Sir Richard Attenborough’s war movie A Bridge Too Far.

Lippy with Abi and Sara as children.

Known by the allies as “Operation Market Garden”, the Battle of Arnhem took place a few months after the D-Day landings in Normandy. The plan was for paratroopers to drop into the region and gain control of three Dutch bridges over the River Rhine, one of which was in Arnhem. The Allies could then, according to the plan, march into the Ruhr and bring down the Third Reich. There were such high hopes that this battle would end the war, but instead what ensued was chaos. Communications systems failed; German resistance was too strong; thousands of soldiers and civilians were killed or taken prisoner. In the end it would take another eight months before the war was won.

In Attenborough’s retelling of this story stars such as Robert Redford and James Caan added Hollywood gloss. But Lippy’s experience was the gritty reality. Along with other red beret paratroopers, he parachuted in, made a beeline for the local hospital and set it up to receive and treat the wounded.

Sara and Abi were young when their father died, but they speak of him with such pride and love that it inspired my sister Karen and I to make a pilgrimage to the place which holds such significance to their family: Arnhem.

Lipmann Kessel's army jacket.

It’s August when we arrive – nearly a month before the 80th anniversary – but the town is already flying flags to commemorate the men who died for their freedom. The war saw Arnhem occupied by the Germans for five harsh years. It was here that hero surgeon Lippy saved hundreds of soldiers and civilians in the most extreme  circumstances. This all took place in the town’s St Elisabeth’s Hospital, but the British only managed to take charge of the infirmary for one day before the Germans regained control. At that point Lippy found his every move being watched over by SS guards, even in the operating theatre. As a Jewish serviceman this must have been terrifying, especially when he was finally transported to the Apeldoorn prisoner of war camp. Miraculously he managed to escape and spent the next three months underground, trying to return to the British lines.

Only a few of Arnhem’s buildings survived the war. The synagogue is one; St Elisabeth’s Hospital is another and this is where we head first. It might still be standing, but it’s no longer used as a hospital and was recently turned into apartments. When we arrive we find a resident gardening out front and once we’ve explained our connection, she offers to show us inside.

St. Elisabeth's Hospital in Arnhem.

The original tiles and stone staircases are still intact; ditto two backrooms Lippy would have used as operating theatres. As for the building’s internal paintwork, the colour’s been thoughtfully selected to honour the paratroopers who fought for their freedom with everything painted maroon to match their berets. As I circle to take it all in I can feel the roar of history thrumming through the hospital walls.

The next day brings more goose-bump moments. We head for the leafy suburb of Hartenstein where you’ll find the Airborne Museum in the same yellow villa that acted as British HQ during the battle. Its exhibits are fascinating, occasionally graphic and deeply moving. Some feature Lipmann. His war medals are there; his military jacket is on display; they’ve even got his surgical amputation saw!

Jo (left) with her sister Karen on the steps of the Airborne Museum at Hartenstein.

A half-hour walk from here is the military cemetery where we pay our respects to the fallen soldiers before heading to the civilian cemetery opposite. It’s here that Lippy is buried and eventually we find his gravestone. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation we hear a Dutch couple chatting in the row behind us and they mention the name “Kessel”. We turn and ask if they knew Lipmann.

“Oh yes,” says the man. “He was a hero.”

He comes closer to read Lippy’s inscription and once he learns we’re related he takes off his cap, presses it to his chest and bows his head. “It’s an honour to meet you,” he says.

Some of Lipmann's personal items on display at the Airborne Museum in Hartenstein.

The cemeteries are beautifully maintained and that’s all down to the locals who care deeply about honouring those who fell. Every year, on the anniversary of this famous battle, there’s a weekend of commemorations – this year’s 80th anniversary memorials started on September 20. There’s also an annual “Airborne Drop” when soldiers and veterans parachute jump together, landing in the exact same fields that the troops would have done in September 1944.

Arnhem may have been destroyed in the war, but its ancestors would be proud of the town’s new soul. There are canals, parks and at its heart is a labyrinth of narrow cobbled streets. And a Jewish memorial outside the church has this inscription: “Let’s not forget what happened to them.” We can’t leave without visiting the bridge. This too has been rebuilt and now stands strong over a shimmering Rhine. As we cross it we think about how Lippy would have arrived 80 years ago, how those paratroopers parachuted in 80 years ago and how thanks to them we have our freedom.

And I think about Instagram. Without it Sara would never have seen my name and I’d never have found my two fabulous cousins.

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For more information: Visit Arnhem and holland.com