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I would appreciate comments on the following contribution. They are my memories of my parents, after the war, is this the type of story suitable for the WW2 People's War Team?

Les & Mary — a tribute
The moment I hear the unforgettable sounds of Glen Miller on the radio I am transported back in time to the 1950’s when I was growing up as a post war baby in Reading, Berkshire. My parents, both ex war serving personnel, would dance around the living room whilst my brother and sister would tuck our legs up on to the sofa to give them room to swing and twirl in their own musical world of Little Brown Jug, In the mood, Moonlight Serenade and Chattanoogachoochoo. It is an enjoyable memory that I still treasure.

Mary passed away suddenly in September 1978 and Les followed her, again as suddenly, two years later. It was as if they belonged together but it was difficult to lose both parents so quickly and so relatively young. They left behind a loving family and many grandchildren who would not grow up to know them with their humour and love of life.

Letters from the past:
In 1970, my eldest sister received a telephone call from an old family friend of my parents. This call came as a shock and surprise to hear that someone had been trying to contact my father Les Baston, via a Reading newspaper.
On further investigation it seemed that a regimental reunion was planned and Sgmn John Winch was trying to contact dad as one of the men who served in 40 Line Section, Royal Corps of Signals.

My sister and I contacted and met up with John. It was a very moving experience for both of us, and we were taken aback when John produced a set of letters that had been correspondence between himself and our father during the war years. John’s wife said he was a hoarder and kept everything! I have dad’s letters in my possession and when I read them I see my father as a young man, experiencing life as a soldier in a war, that although horrific also gave him the camaraderie of belonging to an elite group of men. On reading through the later letters he obviously missed this friendship in Civvy Street.

Through my father’s letters, WW2 became more than history to me. In his letters I see a young man struggling to come to terms with a changing world. I see him as a wounded patient being shipped home on HMHS Amarapoora in March 1943. In his papers I have his letter of discharge together with a black and white photograph of the Red Cross Ship on its way home from Tunisia. Since reading his letters I now look at the old black and white, grainy photographs, and I see a person in his own right, not just my ‘father’.
Postings seem to have been as varied as Tunisia, Orkney and SHAEF, FPO, BLA. References are made in the letters of being near to the action but as the censors obviously would not allow places to be named they are just described by bad weather, extreme cold and mud; and never once did he use any offensive words. Letters from one soldier to another contained at the most ‘b………’ I find this quite extraordinary and surprising when compared to the explicit language that is in common use today.

In his last letter dated March 1944 to John, he mentions that he is travelling to Scotland to visit ‘Scotty’, his pet name for my mother. They were due to be married within the week. The war had brought them together and even though I understand the families were not happy about this liaison, they married in a Registry Office, bringing in two Canadian soldiers off the street to be their witnesses.

2004 - my thoughts:
I often wonder how my mother really felt when she found herself, after playing a responsible and important role in what was historically a ‘man’s world’, being relegated to the home and full time mother. She came from a Catholic background in Scotland, left home to join the WRENs, met and married an English man, Church of England to boot. This was more distasteful than Hitler at this point in time. I remember how unacceptable this was to my Scottish grandmother. It seems ridiculous now in 2004 but back in the 1940’s, life was very different for women and I always remember my mother as a non-conformist, so what she was like as a young independent woman I can only imagine!

One poignant memory comes to mind regarding my father. This incident happened after his death. My brother Ian has lived in the backwoods of Maine, USA for over 30 years. He received a potentially fatal wound to his leg whilst using a chain saw. He says he remembers losing blood heavily and knew that if he didn’t receive medical treatment as soon as possible he would die. He somehow managed to drag himself onto his horse and arrived at the local hospital where they were going to amputate his leg. Through his pain he said he kept hearing dad’s voice in his head saying that if in trouble he should always go to the top man.
Ian said he drew on strengths that he felt were coming from my father. He refused treatment at the local community hospital and insisted he be taken to the general hospital in the neighbouring town where as luck would have it, they had one of the top consultants in the county. Ian was more than lucky. The consultant saved his leg from amputation and my brother still insists that it was dad that really saved his leg.

Finally:
I often look back at the history of both world wars and as I delve more and more into my family history background realise that my own life has not only been shaped by these world shattering events but that two unique people would probably never have met and in turn, shape the lives of so many members of their family.

The rest is history as they say. Les and Mary went on to have five children, many grandchildren, and great grandchildren. The older grandchildren were fortunate to know and remember their grandparents before their untimely deaths.

Oh yes, and Glen Miller still makes me smile!

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