大象传媒

I was always fascinated to hear my dad's wartime exploits. At the time, we lived in the Rhondda Valley, South Wales. Nearly every Sunday as a child, in that limbo time after childrens' hour and Sunday Night at the London Palladium, when the religios programs were on, I'd march with my dad through the desert of North Africa, me, dad and Monty. Some nights, he'd bring out his leather wallet full of treasures from North Africa, and we'd sit down and mull through them together.
Sadly, he died in 1998. The leather wallet was passed on to me.
I used the material from the wallet to create some learing materials for my school children. (I teach 10 year olds). Deep down in the wallet, I found a newspaper clipping. It told the story of my dad's next door neighbour, William Eric Killey and how he was lost at sea. I added the clipping to the material because it showed that war isn't a Boy's Own Adventure, but something that is sad and serious.

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Last Summer, my wife and I took a trip to the Scilly Islands. What a wonderful holiday destination. Why would anybody want to go to Spain. Anyway, on the last day of the holiday, we walked over to Old Town and looked around the graveyard to find Harold Wilson's grave. It took some finding, but eventually we found his resting place. Then , on the way out, something really strange happened. I tripped and stumbled. My hand reached out to a gravestone to steady myself. Then I noticed the name on the grave:- William Eric Killey. HMS Warwick.
Strange coincidence? Or di he want to be found?

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