I remember when we were young our Sunday dinners (at lunch time) were always special. We all sat at the table observing the rules: sitting up nicely and no elbows on the table. Mum enjoyed feeding her family and she would present a full roast dinner complete with Yorkshire Puddings and yummy gravy. This would be followed by a wonderful dessert: rice pudding, trifle, or maybe steamed syrup sponge pudding with custard. Thinking back now, I have no idea where I put it all!
Sometimes, after the dishes had been taken away from the table, mum and dad would reminisce about 'the war' (WWII). Mum would describe the horror of the blitz and what it was like to live in London at that time. She could never forget the frightening sound of the air raid warning sirens when everyone would rush to air raid shelters or to the underground stations for safety. There everyone would stay, tucked up and safe until the 'all clear' sounded.
Dad would tell of his experiences on the battlefront where he was a Royal Engineer. He told us about searching for mines, building Bailey Bridges, and lots more but I can’t remember. And this is why I write. I wish I could go back and listen to his stories all over again.
It wasn't until I was working as a temp in Perth and spent a few weeks on the reception at the Vietnam Veterans’ Counselling Service that I realised why my dad was telling us his stories at the dinner table.
After the war he didn't have a counselling service to go to. He was demobbed, given some 'civvies' (a suit) and left to 'get on with it'. Very fortunately for him he had my mum to come home to. They had been pen friends during the war years and were married in 1946. I am sure if it weren't for my mum he would not have 'recovered' as well as he did. But I still don’t think he ‘unloaded’ any of the horror of the war to mum or to anyone.
So I ask myself now, what was going on inside his head? I shudder to think. And now I wish I'd listened more carefully to what he said at that dinner table. But I was only young and had no understanding of what I was actually listening to.
I have just watched a documentary about The Battle of Monte Casino. It was described as one of the most dreadful battles of WWII. And that is the dinner table story I remember most clearly. I can see my dad's face now as he described the war scene, using the condiments as Tommy, Jerry, and the monastery! But not once did he tell of the horror, the blood and gore, the thought that he may die. No, that was all kept inside. He told us of the heroics, the guns, the camaraderie and the winning! That was his way of dealing with those memories. Probably not enough though.
I understand now dad.
About Me
- Helen
- I was born in the UK but have lived in Australia for 30 years. I love people and I love life.
3 comments:
Oh Helen,
This is such an evocative post. Your Pa would have been so proud of your insight.
Helen
When you're a kid, you tend to think of the bad things (in your eyes) that parents appear to do.
It's only now as adults that we realise what stresses and strains our parents have gone through before us (your father, like many others in that period) and how that can affect them.
A beautiful post
Helen, I often wonder how many returning soldiers were under stress for the rest of their lives because they could or would not ever reveal the true horror of their wartime experiences. And how many marriages were put under stress too, as a result. My husband couldn't join the forces as he had TB of the spine as a teenager, and was declared unfit, so I have no direct experience of such things.
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