大象传媒

I always enjoyed going on the ferry from Portsmouth to Gosport. In those days it was operated by a chain system, and the boat was hauled back and forth across the water.There was the added excitement of watching the "mudlarks", children who dived into the thick sludgy mud to retrieve the farthings and ha`pennies, and sometimes even whole pennies that waiting passengers threw down to them. How envious I was.
But on that particular day I was REALLY excited.
I was four in 1942 and they told me that Daddy had gone away on a big ship. So once we were settled on board for the quick trip across Portsmouth harbour, I said "Will Daddy be there to meet us?"
We`re not going to see Daddy" my pet, said Nan. "But he`s gone away on a boat", I sobbed. "Not this one" said my Mum, "Daddy has gone a long way away and we are only going to Gosport".
I started to cry in earnest. I had convinced myself that this was Daddy`s boat. People around us overheard the conversation and the word spread about the little girl who thought she was going to see her Daddy. "Poor little mite" "Bless her", I sensed the sympathy and howled all the louder. Someone prouced a sweetie which I accepted avidly, they were a rare treat in 1942. I allowed myself to be comforted.
I still think of that long ago day whenever I sail into Portsmouth harbour on the cross channel ferry. No mudlarks now. No shortage of sweeties either.
And yes, Daddy did come home safely at the end of the war.

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