´óÏó´«Ã½

I never knew Tommy’s surname; to me he was just Uncle Tommy. I’d had several uncles during the year, but Tommy was the best. He was a young airman, billeted with us at the end of the war. Airfields surrounded York, and accommodating the airmen must have been a difficult task. My Dad told me many years later that Tommy had come with a bad reputation. They had been warned by the billeting officer, then shortly after Tommy arrived a lady had knocked on the door one night. She told my Mam that Tommy had been billeted with her, he was a no good, and a troublemaker and my Mam should get rid of him. The lady left hurriedly having heard Mam’s opinion that she judged people as she found them and didn’t listen to gossip.

To me Uncle Tommy will always be Big Chief Sitting Bull. With a couple of blankets and a clotheshorse he could turn our dining room into an Indian village of Wigwams. Uncle Tommy was the Great Chief and our Ian (who was seven) and me (four) were the braves, except during air-raids when we were all scared and hid in the Anderson shelter in the garden.

We had such a lot of fun during the weeks Uncle Tommy was with us, and we were not the only ones. Once a week, after we had gone to bed, Tommy had his friends round. The lads clubbed together to pay for my Mam to go to the pictures at the Regent in Acomb. They would help her on with her coat and set her on her way whilst Dad got out the darts board with its large back board to protect the distempered walls. From upstairs I could hear the fun as they played darts and swapped tales. I would have been asleep long before someone was sent to collect Mam from the cinema.

I remember Uncle Tommy so well, even after sixty years, but find it so hard to bring the other Uncles’ names to mind. I’m glad Mam sent that woman packing.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.