大象传媒

I think it must have been at the time when the whole Country was playing a bit of a waiting game, preparing for what finally became D-Day. At this time Dad was serving with the RASC, (Royal Army Service Corps) based "Somewhere In Norfolk".

I recall that I was sitting on the kitchen floor - probably engaged in what I remember as one of my main sources of amusement and pre-occupation, picking bits out from the frayed edge of the lino and building tanks and towers out of it (an early-day form of Lego?).

I became conscious of a soldier walking into the kitchen, stepping over me and towards my mother, who was up to her elbows with her back to the door, trying to beat the last vestiges of grime from the family's weekly wash with a wooden copper stick.
He embraced her from behind, startling her at first, but then causing great happiness when she realised who it was. He turned and came back towards me, lifted me up and carried me into the "Front Room" -and there it was, leaning against the wall.

Dad had managed to acquire a 48-hour pass and on his way home had stolen the tree from Thetford Forest, from where he had walked all the way home to Cambridge, carrying it on his shoulder.

What followed was the stuff of family legend: Mum took one look and said, "You daft bugger, we've got nothing to put on it!"

This turned out to be not quite true, because my two elder sisters, with a little "help" from me, spent a day cutting out, colouring and pasting (mainly newspaper, as I recall) until the tree stood proud and dressed, ready for Christmas.

It was the most handsome, beautifully decorated Christmas Tree I'd ever seen - or indeed have ever seen.

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