大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Simon Harris and has been added to the website on behalf of Triena Henry with her permission and they fully understand the site's terms and conditions.

My mother, Brenda Keal and father, Harry Sharp met whilst my father was serving in the RAF in Lincolnshire.

My mother had fond memories of the times they used to have on dad's motorbike, when dad and 'Pete' could 'fiddle a drop of petrol.' Apparently one night they thought they had petrol but they had filled up with diesel. They were on their way to Brigg when the bike came to a halt and they had to empty all the fuel out. Mum never knew when she would see dad again because he would never say when or where he was going. She always knew by six in the evening whether he was going on a mission though, because the skies would fill with hundreds of Lancasters at different heights.

The sound of dad's motorbike was always good for mum as dad drove up early in an evening. My grandparents were less keen on the noise and always made him push the bike to the next avenue when he was late going back to camp because they were usually in bed.

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