It was 1945 and I was only five years old
My mother was not at home when the stranger arrived. We were not sure what time he would be coming so she had gone to work at the nearby greengrocer’s shop, leaving me to greet him. It was 1945 and the war had ended I was only five years old and extremely shy, so the task was quite daunting, but I had been well rehearsed.
I was playing with my cousin and our pals in the street as a canvas covered lorry pulled up. A uniformed figure carrying a kitbag jumped off. My dad had arrived.
I escorted dad to our three roomed first floor flat. As instructed I informed him that the radio was not working as the accumulator was in Jingles, a local shop, being charged.
I have no memories of my dad before that day. He had been a serving soldier since the very beginning of the war and although I know he had been home, how many times and exactly when I simply have not the slightest recollection.
I have tried to find dad’s army records; so far without success. I know that he served a period in the army pre second WW. On my own birth certificate (1940) it says that he was a lance corporal in The Kings Own Royal Regiment. I have a piece of embroidery which illustrates the badge of the Royal Artillery East Lancashire with Egypt on the inscription. I know that he served in several places including India, South Africa, France (he told me about the retreat from France and his three harrowing days on the beach at Dunkirk) and apparently, Egypt. Looking at the history of The Kings Own, the places served suggests he was in the 4th Battalion. See Wiki http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King%27s_Ow…