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This story was submitted to the People's War site by Vinod Ghadiali of Leicestershire Library Services on behalf of Mary Baker and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

MY FLASHBACK MEMORY OF WHEN 'DADDY' CAME HOME FROM THE SECOND WORLD WAR AND WE MEET FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME.

My name is Mary Baker. I was born February 4th 1944 at 8am in the morning. Like many other children of that time, I was known as a War baby.

I am now age 61 but unfortunately I have retrograde amnesia for most years of my life. I only have Irelands of memories and vivid flashbacks to relate to, for my memories were erased during illness. It happened like this. In 1988, at the age of 44, I was suffering and still recovering from a serious illness, during this time I experienced many flashback memories, which continued for many years afterwards. Through the years I wrote these flashbacks down, and I am very pleased that I did, for these flashbacks have enabled me to piece together some of my past.

WHAT IS A FLASHBACK
I do not know how other people ‘experience’ their flashbacks, but this is how I experience mine. Everything around me suddenly fades away and is replaced by a scene of yester-year. Where I am suddenly transported back in time to relive that childhood or adult memory all over again. And all the emotions that I felt, all those years ago are mine to experience again. My flashbacks are similar to a ‘twin’ like experience, for as I observe the scene of myself, we both feel the same emotions during the flashback, the child and the adult.

AT AGE 44, MY FLASHBACK MEMORY OF MEETING ‘DADDY’ WHEN HE CAME HOME FROM THE WAR.
I hear a noise, and somehow there is an excitement in the air. I can feel it! The excitement tingles through me. It is as though someone has just rushed up the stairs at great speed and is about to enter the bedroom. It is a man. I am in my cot, which is to the right of the bedroom. I am 19 months old.

The man is in the room, and he is standing on the other side, to the left, near the door. We are facing each other. He cannot move. His green eyes look into my green eyes. He just stands there with his arms hanging loose down by his side. He looks strange. It is as though he cannot speak. And then I see large tears are falling down his cheeks. He is so full of emotion he cannot move or speak. I instantly recognise this man even though we have never met. I feel deliriously happy and so excited, I am quickly pulling myself up in my cot and stretching my arms out to the man over the rails of the cot, I shout, Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Flashback fades.

ARE MY FLASHBACKS REAL MEMORIES OF WHAT HAPPENED?
Having so many flashbacks and wondering if they were a true account of my past, I always asked my mother. She confirmed, yes. She said your father was amazed that you recognised him, she then went on to explain about the ‘photograph’ and ‘why’ I recognised my daddy. She also explained to me, that father had gone to war. He was first stationed somewhere in the UK, to undergo training as a soldier. Father then came home for a short spell of leave, during which time I was conceived, he then went abroad to Africa and then on to Italy. Mother said, all through the War, when father and her were writing many letters, (mother wrote to him every other day) father expressed his deep concern, that when he returned home he would be a total stranger to his daughter, for she would not recognise him or even know him. This worried him greatly.

THE SPECIAL PHOTOGRAPH OF ‘DADDY’
And so, every night and during the day, when ‘daddy’ was away, my Mother, being ever resourceful, would show me the same photograph of daddy every day. The photograph of ‘daddy’ became a big part of my life by repetition, with Mother saying to me, this is your Daddy. He loves you very much. And one day he will come home. And with hearing this, I would kiss the photograph all over, making a real sticky mess of it. Eventually I would say to the photograph, in-between wet kisses, Daddy. Daddy. My daddy. Mother said she had to wash the glass fronted photograph every day, for I kissed it messily several times every day.

THE PHOTOGRAPH OF ‘DADDY’ TODAY IN 2005
Amazingly the photograph of my father survived the daily onslaught of wet childhood kisses, and now has pride of place on my Mothers dressing table. Mother will be 93 this September, but sadly my lovely father died in 1998. Although father received a letter from the King and was mentioned in dispatches for his bravery under fire, he never spoke about the War, in fact Mother had to drag information from him. But father kept the information sparse, he would not or could not talk about the War in detail. But Father did have a definite ‘loathing’ of flies when he returned home from the War, which he explained to Mother as, ‘hundreds of flies quickly settled as the food was being served in to the billy cans, unless you put the lid on quickly’. The heat of Africa must have been a perfect breeding ground for swarms of flies and disease.

POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER, A FLASHBACK OF THE WAR
In his latter years Father had a flashback memory of the trauma of War. It happened when we were on holiday. We were sitting on the beach when an aeroplane flew overhead. The dull sounding drone of the aeroplane as it flew low over the sea really upset father, he became agitated, confused and was very near to tears. He was experiencing the trauma of the war all over again, for he ducked his head to get away from the enemy. There is no doubt in my mind that father must have suffered from Post traumatic Stress Disorder all through the post War years, for I could never get him to open up or even to persuade him, even by using my daughterly wiles on him, to tell me anything about the War.

A SHORTAGE OF FOOD DURING THE WAR AND AFTERWARDS
Mother told me, that just before father went to War, he dug up half the lawn so that mother could grow her own vegetables, for he thought there would be a shortage of fresh food for a very long time to come.

A FLASHBACK OF ME STUDIOUSLY WATCHING ANTS ON THE LAWN
I see a very young child spread-eagled on the grass, with her head and nose pointed downwards. It is a lovely sight, and a very calming experience. The child is not conscious of anything around them, be it world War two or lunchtime. All she is aware of are the tiny black ants emerging from out of the hole in the ground, and the other ants going into the hole. Some ants are carrying white, round objects that are as big as the ants themselves. It is amazing! These white objects must be very heavy. How do they manage to carry something their own size? And here they are climbing on a blade of grass? Well, blow me. I wonder if there are any more ants on the blades of grass around me? The child moves back to take in the scene. And there, on the soil, in a wobbly line, are many ants marching. Well, what a funny sight. This is amazing! They are thumping the ground with their legs as they march. Are they marching to War? Flashback fades.

And so, these are my happy childhood memories and my childish thoughts during world War two.

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