大象传媒

My father was 53 when I was born. Not many of my peers had an old soldier as a father.
As a child in the seventies, I would join my mother in the kitchen and she would say "What's up? Nothing on telly?". I'd reply: "Dad's on about the War again." We would exchange knowing glances and change the subject.
My father liked to relay his old stories, but was never one to dwell on sadness; I found out after he died that when they all lived at home with their mother, his brothers and sisters had relied on him to smile through bad times and bring them cheer. He was one of those people. I think that's why it took me a while to realise the enormity and importance of what he was saying.
As I grew, I became more aware of the enormous impact that war has on lives. I became more interested in what my father had to say in his own muted way about the poverty, fear, and desperate uncertainty that war brings to a family.
My father told me that throughout the war, his mother refused to lock the back door. Her children tried to persuade her that she should, but she refused, saying: "I'll never lock that door in case one of my boys comes home." For seven years it remained open. Dad's brother James never came home.
I was surprised at the bravery of the people affected, and their tremendous spirit and ability to keep smiling.
Dad was stationed at Woking, Surrey for a short period when he served with the RASC and managed to get away one day to visit home, a few miles away. He arrived in a Duck W (a sort of lorry-come-boat-on-wheels). My Nan exclaimed "Ooh whatever's that bloody great thing?" The local kids used it as a climbing frame while Dad had a cup of much missed, bromide-free tea.
My aunt Phillys got pregnant by a Canadian soldier. My Nan hit him with an umbrella when she found out and told him to stay away. He was only too pleased.
When I complained as a teenager about being overweight, Dad would tell me I should try rationing - there was no obesity during the war.
War became a way of life until things came to a head. Excitement grew that Gerry was weakening.
Dad landed on Juno beach on D-Day. They new nothing of the operation until hours before, but suspected something big was afoot when thousands of troops were gathered at bases on the South Coast.
Dad never spoke much about the actual landing. Maybe his happy nature suppressed any desire to dwell on the cold, hard images of that day.
Years later, at the British Legion after a few pints, a tear would strike the corner of his eye as the National Anthem played. I once asked him why he didn't sing the words. He said "I don't stand up for the Queen. I stand up for my old mates that died." He never forgot. I think he just realised that if he let it affect him, he'd crumble.
A popular tale was 'The Day He Shot The German'. At dad's funeral, as we waited for the hearse, someone mentioned this. It was one of his proudest moments. It was in France. The British Propaganda machine had done it's best on a simple, country lad who never had it in him to hurt a soul. It stirred enough hatred in him to make him actively want to kill a man. I think sheer fear made him glad the German was dead. The German had shot at Dad but the bullet ricoched off a wall and a piece of it hit him in the thigh. He saw the man at a window and took a snipe. The German fell out of the window to the ground, struck in the chest by my father's shot. Dad lay there hoping that his wound would get him a ticket to Blighty; the MO pulled it out with tweezers and told him to "get on with it".
Dad returned from the war to chaos. His mother had run up enormous 'tick' with every local retailer. Dad went round and paid them all.
Phillys, his sister with the baby, was 'helping mum at home', my Nan being too soft to insist she get a job. Dad's father left years before, leaving the family high and dry even without the strains of war.
When the war closed, men came home and lives returned to the normality few remembered. Others never returned, leaving wives and children with a gaping void and unanswered questions. Newsreels talked of children biting the skins on bananas, because they'd never seen one before. Evacuees returned to the parents they left and in many cases no longer knew.
The nation, lives and hearts began to heal.
GEORGE HEDGES 1921-2001 IN MEMORIUM

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