大象传媒

In 1945 I was 4 and my father had been serving in North Africa and Italy for most of my life. When my mother heard that he was to be demobbed, she set about making new dresses for us both. The fabric was pale blue silk with dark red spots. I was entranced by this outfit, which was completed with a wide blue sash tied into an enormous bow at the back. My mother's dress was in the same fabric, but I have no recollection of that at all. We lived only a couple of streets from a London Underground Station, and I clearly remember the urgency and excitement of putting on the beautiful dress, being told sharply to stand still while the bow was tied, and then climbing the hill to the station. I remember spotting my daddy amongst the milling grown-ups, and then the picture vanishes and I can remember nothing of the reunion moment. My mother told me that I slipped from her hand and she has no idea how I recognised my father in the sea of Khaki. I do know that I was very fortunate in that my parents made such strenuous efforts to keep Dad's identity clear in my mind. He wrote regularly to me, sent me gifts (including a coral necklace and a kirby grip with a sparkly star on the end) which I treasured, and there were frequent exchanges of photographs. One of these photos was taken by a professional photographer who desperately wanted me to hold a "dolly", while I, scowling as only a 3 year old can, insisted on cuddling my wooden jeep. Eventually a compromise was found and the jeep was placed at my feet, while I held the doll. As far as I know I never resented my father's return and to this day I applaud my parents for arranging that.
MARION CHUDLEY (nee McDermott)