大象传媒

I was born in Coventry on 13th January 1941, eight weeks after the large air raid which destroyed the cathedral and seriously damaged the city centre and many factories. It was almost 4 years later before my father and I were to meet for the first time. I was three months old before he knew the baby was a daughter when a forces mail letter from my mother 'caught up' with him.

My father volunteered to serve, and enlisted on 24th February 1940 joining the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. He served in France from April to June 1940.

In November 1940 he received notice of overseas posting. My father, Bill Berrill (who died in May 2002 aged 86 years) cycled to Coventry from the Abingdon area and was allowed by an understanding policeman to go through the cordon ringing the city to discover if my mother Lily (who died in January 2004 aged 83 years) and the expected baby were safe (we were)

My father served in northern France after the 1940 evacuation of British troops from Dunkirk. With his friend, also in the RAOC they drove from Arras to St Nazaire destroying as much of the abandoned munitions as they could so they did not fall into German hands. At St Nazaire dock, father and his friend were parted, father directed onto the ship Princess Patricia, his friend to the ship Lancastria. Father witnessed the sinking of the Lancastria and his friend along with many other brave men died.

Father's war took him on 3rd January 1940 via Sierra Leone and Durban to Egypt. He had lifelong respect for Lord Montgomery of Alamein. His base was the port of Port Said where ammunition ships were docked and unloaded. In April 1943 he was with the 8th Army at the invasion of Sicily, and in June the invasion of Italy. He was a beach master at Salerno, and then seconded to General Mark Clark's USA staff as a munitions liaison officer. He witnessed the Battle for Monte Casino, and the liberation of Rome, and Florence. Once Italy was liberated and secured by the allied forces ammunition boxes started arriving at our home in Coventry. Their contents included a beautiful white organza dress with cherry pompoms for me, made expertly to the right size by a dressmaker in Florence just from looking at photographs, nylons for mother from his USA colleagues, and lots of boxes of nuts, especially almonds. Father came home in December 1944 just before Christmas. My mother used to look in the Daily Express to see which troop ships were due, and from where - she correctly worked out he would arrive in Liverpool. After a period of 3 weeks leave he served the remainder of the war in Scotland, near Perth, as a liaison officer with the Polish Forces. I have a vivid memory of a rail journey from Rugby to Scotland in the spring of 1945, the train packed with armed forces. To start with we had to sit on our cases in the corridor. At Crewe a soldier went to the buffet and brought mother and me cups of tea, we had oranges brought from Canada by my mother's brother who was a navigator in the Royal Air Force and we shared these with the servicemen and service women around us. The people with whom my father was billeted, a Mr and Mrs Nairn of Scone,had invited my mother and me to spend a week's holiday with them. I remember: black-painted submarines tied up at a dock and thinking in a childish way how unpleasant they looked, the Black Watch pipes as the men marched to church on Sundays, and the girl next door having a birthday party at which a Scottish 'black bun' was served. My father was discharged from armed service at Hereford in February 1946.

In later years my father was able to take my mother on holiday to Italy so that she could see many beautiful places for herself and understand where father had been whilst parted from her in the early years of their marriage.

In 1985 I took my parents on the first of four visits back to northern France. On the Brittany Ferry from Portsmouth to Caen, as an ex-serviceman who had served in France father was presented with a bottle of Calvados, a lovely respectful gesture. We retraced part of his 1940 journey from Arras westwards, and spent time in reflection at the Normandy beaches. During these visits my father said he felt more at peace being able to see the French communities once more going about their daily lives, up until that time his memories had been only of people fleeing their homes as the Germans advanced. In Normandy we were always greeted with great kindness by the French people.

We always felt humbled that father had survived when so many men and women around him died. Many adults of my age never knew their fathers who died in service, their messages in the remembrance books are very moving to read, as are the messages of widows and mothers who had been able to visit, some for the first and perhaps only time, their loved one's memorial resting place.

Unlike me, many of my generation after the war ended never had a father return to encourage them in later years and say "well done I am so proud of you". It is this aspect of WW2 that I have found hard to reconcile, and it doesn't get any easier as I get older. So on Remembrance Sunday I always spend a few minutes thinking of those of my generation unknown to me, who lost so much.

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