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Mum was to get the all important news she had been waiting for for so very long, for on the 20th October 1945, we were to go down to Scarborough Railway Station for about 7.15pm, to meet the train in. I was not quite sure what this was all about, but we duly arrived and went on to the Station forecourt where the Leeds and London trains arrived. It was a cold, wet miserable night with the wind whistling through the arches, when with a hustle and puffing an engine shuffled into the Platform, hissing steam and smoke and with that wonderful acrid smell of the burning mixture of oil, steam, coal and water it struggled to a grinding halt. As it pulled to a halt the carriage doors were flung open along the length of the train and the Porter called out "Scarborough, this is Scarborough!" Then I suddenly saw a tall, gaunt figure descend from a carriage about half way along the train, he stopped and pulled a kit bag and other haversacks on to the platform. Mum stiffened and started to move forward in a kind of a stuttering step, she moved into a half trot and next minute was wrapped in the arms of this figure in an Army uniform, Muriel [my sister], hurried up and grabbed him by the hand, I went along with the general rush, not quite sure of who, or what to expect. This, then, was my Dad, and this was his homecoming. I had not seen him, nor he me, since I was eighteen months old, I was now eight. He stood for a moment, looking at me, and I moved to hide behind my Mum's skirts. He reached down and picked me up, he hugged me and I think I will always remember, he was shaking and there were tears in his eyes, he smelled of cigarette smoke and had really bristly whiskers on his chin, still he hugged me and I thought he would never put me down. Still now he was home and things would be different from now on. How very true! And how different they were to become! We travelled home in a taxi, driven by Mr Jefferson, [one of Grandma's cousins], who was waiting to see Dad as well, [for he would take the message of safe return down to Grandma and Grandad Nellis on his way back to his office]. When we got back to the Flat, Mum and Dad sat and cuddled each other for what seemed forever. Eventually we were sent off to bed, for tomorrow would be a very different day.
After the excitement of the previous night the start of the next day was a bit of an anti-climax, I was still totally unsure of what to make of this strange man who had entered into and was now disturbing our somewhat ordered life. Ordered in the sense that if you needed anything it was a simple "ask Mum". Suddenly it was "I don't know, you had better ask your dad". Well I took badly to this, for to me this 'man' who had entered into our life and who was taking so much of my mother's time, was more like an Uncle than a father. Still it was nice to start with, for Dad had a cloth bag which was a sort of a pink colour and it had a red cross on it. Now this bag was about eighteen inches long and about ten inches wide and Glory of Glories, it was jam pack full of CHOCOLATE! May be I should explain, during the war and for quite a while afterwards, sweets and chocolate in particular, was rationed, which meant that you had a Ration Book, which was full of Coupons, these you surrendered to the Shop-keeper in exchange for sweets, etc. when they would cut out a batch of coupons every time you made a visit, this allowed you to get a small amount of sweets every week. Mum used to save ours up and get us a treat about once a month, when suddenly here was more chocolate than I think I had ever seen in my life! Needless to say, I expected to be able to eat just as much as I possibly could, just as soon as I could. I could not have been more wrong! What I did not know or understand at this time, was the fact that for three and a half, very long years, Dad had been a Prisoner of War with the Japanese, where he had been treated abominably, and where he had not only seen, but had held and had to watch, men die for the want of a little substinance, such as a single square of chocolate, and here was I expecting to eat and gorge myself until I made myself sick. I was quickly to learn the worn "NO" and that it meant "NO" and could be backed up in no uncertain way by a swift slipper across my bum! Now I would not say that I was a disobedient or wilful child who never took "No" with ease, but Dad had a pair of plimsolls which were supposed to be his slippers, but I think he wore them out on my backside much quicker than he ever did wearing them out on his feet! My Dad was not a cruel man far from it, he was usually the most gentle of men, but my actions could rub him up the wrong way without me trying so very hard. I had a habit of not liking certain food, such as Stuffed Marrow, which was a fairly regular food item for dinner, for it was reasonably cheap to buy and made the mincemeat go so much further. [It is only in my later years that I suddenly realise what an effort it must have been for my Mother and Father to try to, not only keep us with a roof over our heads, but to feed and cloth us kids as well. There was little or no money coming in very often, for Dad was not fit enough either physically or mentally in these early days from his return from his War, so there was never anything left over for little luxuries for our parents, for we kids came first at all costs, and we, or at least I did not fully understand it all anyway. As children you never do, only that Mum or Dad will soon make it right for you. Oh! How little we know!]
I would balk at the food and Dad would go spare at me, no matter what Mum said, I would be made to sit in the corner and eat every last scrap of it. [Again I was throwing away food which Dad would have given his eye teeth for when he was a Prisoner.] I just did not understand. Nor did Dad understand the workings of a little boy, who still thought this man who had arrived in his house was more like an interfering Uncle than a Dad. Plus the more tanning's I got, the more I thought about Muriel's comments about, ‘Daddy won’t want you, he won’t remember you at all, he will only want Mummy and Me’, [sisterly love, had been a regular reminder all to often over the past few years.] [Mind I soon found out the difference. Uncle's did not smack bottoms, Dad's did!]. I was to develop a dislike for foods such as turnip and fatty lamb cuts and sago [frog spawn] pudding, which, when you have been made to sit and force it down, even when it was stone cold! Tends to stick in your memory a bit!

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