VROOM! It was the deafening sound of an automobile engine that alerted me to the fact that there was three large army trucks and land rover parked on the cobbled street outside my house. I could see at least 100 grown men in immaculate army uniforms being helped into the back of the first two trucks and other men putting their luggage into the third truck some of the men I recognised either from men that my father spoke to when he took to the park on a Saturday afternoon or some of my friends dads that I had met at school
I recognised the local butcher and his son, the two men who work in bakery, the postman and the paperboy who I was sure was underage and the owner of the sweetshop who was also my best friend Charlies dad.
My father was upstairs putting on his uniform which my mother spent most of the day before ironing and getting perfect for him to wear.
My mother was in the kitchen making my father his sandwiches and drink for the journey to the training camp in France. I could hear her whimper softly every so often and my father grunt and growl as he attempted to get his uniform perfect before he came downstairs into our living room which was covered in dust and dirt from the bombing raid the previous night.
That day was the last time actually ever saw my father because he never returned at the end of the war.
