My Hero

I had no chance against him. His heavy-duty aviator's boots offered him a firm grip on the wet grass. He was of course almost twice my height. I could run and run as much as I wanted, but six of my leaps equalled two, maybe two and a half leaps of his.

I couldn't stop laughing, which made matters worse. I gave up and stood with wobbly legs trying to catch my breath, until I finally collapsed backwards and landed on my bum.

'No, no, that's not fair! You must give me a head start daddy!' I cried out, half gasping for air and half laughing my head off, as my dad drew closer.

He slowed his pace in the knowledge that he already had me trapped. I tried to get up, but I slipped on my first attempt and landed again on my backside.

All it took was his long arm to grab me by the scruff of my neck, lifting me as if I were a rag doll, and then held me up in the air with both hands clutching my ribcage.

'So you little ruffian, I go on tour for four months, come back home and this is the welcome I get?' he said while carrying me under his arm, as if I were an oversized baguette. I was still laughing and giggling.

'But that's not fair,' I protested, 'you are much bigger and faster than me, so you're always going to catch me.'

'Well my boy, if you'd eat your dinner without leaving a scrap on your plate you would grow quicker, bigger, and stronger.'

I chose not to argue that. We walked - actually, he walked carrying me under his arm - towards our house, no hint of breathlessness in his voice.

'But I'm only eight and you're like a hundred!' I replied before bursting out with a giggle.

'What?' my dad looked at me, as he gripped me under his arm, 'a hundred? I'll bloody show you a hundred, you cheeky little ruffian!' He tickled me until I turned red and couldn't laugh or for that case, breathe any more.

Dad then gently dropped me on the ground and when I had caught my breath back, we continued our walk, side by side.

'Tell me daddy, did you kill lots of baddies?'

'No son,' he replied, his voice turning more solemn and grave, 'I just scared them off, and they ran away like scared mice.'

Dad would not elaborate any further. He never did. He would quickly change subject and mood when I asked those kinds of questions.

I simply stared at him as we walked. He looked really smart and important in his olive-green uniform. Everything looked well pressed and tidy, unlike me. My brown cord trousers were even browner with mud around my bum area, where I had fallen a few moments earlier. My jumper was not tucked in, and my tweed cardigan had a little run on my left elbow. My face was sticky with perspiration and my ruffled hair concealed under my cap.

Dad on the other hand showed no sign of untidiness in his uniform despite the chasing game we had just minutes ago. His army cap and his tie were impeccably well in place. I was thinking that very soon he would become a general. Then he would be wearing an even smarter uniform!

The son of a general! I thought. That would make me important as well.

It was mid-June 1942 and Britain was well into war with Germany and the Axis, the baddies as far as I was concerned. My dad had returned home after a four-month campaign in Belgium. Apparently, - this I found out from my mom many years later - he was lucky to have returned home after this sortie. Many fellow soldiers from his battalion had perished in fierce battles against the German army. Although the Allied managed to keep the Germans at bay and even forced them to retreat a few miles back, they had sustained heavy losses in battle.