1982

The commemorations of the 25th anniversary of the Falklands invasion have sparked off some strong memories for me. My father died in the middle of the conflict - he'd been suffering poor health for several years but I've often wondered whether seeing ships full of sailors setting off, followed by the scenes of ships under fire and sinking might have been too much for him. He was a sailor during the war and was under fire many times. He was from a humble background yet travelled to places I can only dream about, Africa, the Far East, the Mediterranean, even Virginia in the US. He returned safely, but with his hearing permanently damaged by heavy gunfire. He was from a generation who never talked about their experiences - all they wanted to do after the war was try and return to normality as soon as possible, and as most of the servicemen and women were only in their twenties, what they wanted to do was get married, settle down, earn a living and start a family. As the economic situation improved, their whole focus was on the future. They had grown up in the Depression and as austerity began to fade and rationing eased, the war soon began to be something that belonged to the past. One of my most vivid memories of my father is Sunday lunch. We would sit round the table eating roast beef, or lamb, or pork, with all the trimmings, including vegetables he had grown himself on his allotment, and he'd say, with a sigh of deep pride and satisfaction, 'We're living off the fat of the land'. His own father had died in the 1920s, so he grew up in poverty, his mother struggling alone to bring up her children with no welfare benefits. He left school at 14 and was faced with a very uncertain future - life was very much hand to mouth, so sometimes he could hardly believe his good fortune. He returned from the war to full employment, managed to buy a house and saw his children go to grammar schools, so, for his generation, the war was a job well done, and who could disagree? They fought for a better life than the one they'd grown up with and achieved it. That was why the Labour government was voted in so resoundingly in 1945; memories of the 1930s were too vivid and the people felt they had fought hard, saved the country, and deserved better.
Memories of what they endured were, therefore, buried very deep. I don't know for sure, but I wonder whether the sight of young men setting off in ships to battle was too much for his health. I'll never know, but I see the Falklands commemorations as a memorial, not only to those who fought down there, but to my father and all the other WWII veterans who came home, scarred and ravaged, but full of hope for a better life.