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Monday, 13 March 2017

Following my earlier piece on my Dad and WW2, Here is a short story from Marjory Lacy with a very similar theme.

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My Dad, the R.A.F., and his homecoming.

(Timeline - 1939-1947.)

My dad spent so much time with me during my first year, he was then conscripted into the Royal Air Force’ and went away to Netheravon Camp on Salisbury Plain, he trained to be a Parachute Packer. It was so far from Leeds, West Yorkshire, he could not get home on a weekend pass. He only came back to Yorkshire on a couple of weeks leave in any year. Because of this, he became a shadowy figure in the distance. It was my mum, Auntie Madge and my grandma who were my world.

We did send letters and photographs to ‘Daddy’; he did send letters and spare Ration Coupons for me to buy sweets. Mum told me about times before I was born, how she and daddy ‘lived in’ with her sister Phyllis, while they saved enough money to buy their house. About how they had gone on holidays to Blackpool. About them going dancing in a big crowd of friends.

Because Daddy was away, Mum and me did have to go visit my dad’s mother, my ‘Big Grandma’. We went to visit her every Friday afternoon, it was not a pleasant experience for me or my mother. As an ardent Catholic, Grandma would ask ‘Have you been to Church?’ We would reply, ‘Yes’. Then she would ask ‘Have you been to St. Patrick’s Church?’ Our reply would always be ‘We went to Ashley Road Methodists’. She would then ask ‘Have you been to Confession?’ We would say ‘No’. With each question’s answer, Grandma would dig me in the ribs with her beautiful black ebony cane with a big pearl in the handle. Grandma would tell me to ‘Go into the front room,’ where I found some books to read, I always went under the table to read, it was my ‘place'. Mum and Grandma had a cup of tea. I had to visit her every week until I was 15 years old and had started working. Every single week the same questions were asked.

Back to my dad, he was coming home on leave; I was so excited to see this person who was ‘my daddy’, the person I could not remember.. When he arrived in his Uniform, he was not as tall as my mum, but strangest to me; he looked like me!! We had a cup of tea; then mum said to me ‘Get your coat on’. I asked ‘where are we going’, thinking the three of us were going somewhere nice. Mum’s reply shocked, ‘You and I are going to Aunt Phyllis’s.’  ‘But what about my daddy?’
’ ‘Oh! He’s going to bed to have sleep’.

As we walked to Auntie Phyllis’s, I noticed mum was carrying a small case. Auntie Phyllis was a jolly, fat person with four sons. Derek and Peter were the older ones, Raymond and Kenneth were twins and four years older than me, I thought they were so grown up and knew everything, they were not impressed by me, they did nothing but tease and laugh at me. Their name for me was ‘Noisebox’. We all sat around the big table and had our tea; I loved been there, it was so different to my house. Then Auntie Phyllis said to mum, ‘You get off now, she’ll’ be all right,’ Mum got up, put her coat on and left. It was the twins that told me ‘I was sleeping with them - in the middle!!!’. The first night sleep was almost non-existent; they tickled me half the night. They told me scary stories, Raymond was the quieter one, he realised I was starting to get upset, he snuggled me in, and I went to sleep with my head on his shoulder.

I was there for a few nights before mum came to collect me and take me home. Daddy was still there. I ran to him and sat on his knee, he told me about the ‘girls’ he worked with and how important it was that the parachutes were looked after properly. If they were not folded and packed correctly, Airmen could get killed. He gave me some ribbons for my hair that the ‘girls’ had sent for me.

After we had some tea, I found out we were going out. Daddy had two brothers, we were going to the ‘Gardeners’, ‘Big Grandma’ and Grandad would be there and my four ‘Catholic cousins’ too. I did not realise it at the time, that it was the Concert Room of a Working Man’s Club called ‘The Free Gardeners’. I knew from the minute I went in, I did not like it. It was noisy, smoky and full of people. There was a singer on the stage, and then someone who told jokes. Mum and Daddy seemed to like it; I had never seen Daddy laugh before, his brother slapped him on the back. My cousins, who I did not see very often were unfriendly; I soon found out they were Big Grandma’s favourites, particularly my cousin Pauline who went to live with Big Grandma, after her mother had died following ‘botched abortion’,. I did not understand what that meant at the time.

I did my usual, slipping underneath the table, fishing a book out of my pocket to read, It did not take long for me to realise this was a bad idea, my Catholic Cousins, begun kicking me under the table, hands would reach down and pull my hair. I shouted and complained they were hurting me. I heard Big Grandma say to my mum ‘For God’s sake if she can’t behave, take her home’, My dad agreed with his mother, he repeated ‘Take her home’. My mum got hold of my hand and marched me out, without a word. She was so angry when we arrived home; she sent me to bed.

The next day my daddy went back to the Parachute Packing, his ‘girls’ and Salisbury Plain. It would be another year before I saw him again. Unfortunately, the same things happened - staying at Aunt Phillis’s, the evening visit to the ‘Gardeners’, then daddy going away again.

When the war ended in May 1945, most of the local men who had been away ‘at the War’, came home. There were parties, bonfires and dancing in the streets. My daddy did not come home with them. It was during the celebrations of Victory in Europe. Night, that in doing what I was told not to do, by running around the bonfire in a big circle with the other children, that I got burnt on the leg! That ended my party night. I still have the scar on my lower leg to remind me!!

Daddy did not come home immediately the war finished, because every parachute had to be returned to Netheravon, to be checked for damage, to be cleaned and repaired. Then packed to go into storage.

When daddy did come home, it was so strange; he started sitting in my chair! He said ‘it was his chair before the War and it was his chair now’. I had to sit on the settee. At least I could roll about on there and hang upside down with my legs dangling over the back. But, daddy did not like that either. He said ‘sit up straight like a lady, pull your dress down, and do not show your knickers’. That became a chant; dad was always saying ‘sit still, close your legs, do not show your knickers’. Another phrase I was to come to dread was ‘Children should be seen but not heard.’

It was all right for mum; she still had her chair, she just carried on knitting and reading. When daddy began listening to music, on the wireless, it was not happy music; it was Opera and Classical music. He said 'When he was listening to his music, mum and I had to ‘be quiet’. We began to look forward to daddy going to the Labour Club for a drink and to play Snooker.

Daddy coming home was all a big change, slowly it settled down. I learned a lot about music; I had a good memory, I could sing operatic arias from memory. ‘Your tiny hand is frozen,’ a particular favourite. When I was in bed, I used to practice my singing, neighbours walking past would shout up at my window ‘Shut up and go to sleep!!’. I could hum most major works by Beethoven or Mozart and lots of others. All this learned from the enforced listening to the Wireless. Daddy did let me listen to Children’s hour between 5.00 and 6.00 p.m. on weekdays, I loved that., ‘Uncle Mac’, who talked about books and animals, there were stories about Larry the Lamb.

Eventually, my daddy came to be my friend, when ‘English life’ came back to normal, and when I became a bit older, he would take me swimming on a Sunday Mornings, it was him that persuaded mum to let me have a pet, a little white mouse with red eyes.



If you have some writing you'd like to be seen by up to 5,000 people a day, globally or have a book to promote, then contact me on the form on this blog or e-mail me at neville.raper@gmail.com.


Marjorie's husband is also a writer....Roy Lacy.....




His new book "The DeLacy Chronicles" Is a non-fiction Odyssey, chronicling the 
stirring history of just one family through time. The de Lacy family. Warring 
Norsemen to Norman Lords. Onward to England, and 1066, Establishing 
Pontefract Castle as The Key to the North. Later other members of the family
including John de Lacy at the signing of the Magna Carta. Henry de Lacy the closest 
confidant of King Edward I. Walter de Lacy established on the medieval English/Welsh 
border The de Lacy family, became leading Welsh Marcher Lords. Better described 
as ‘War Lords'. Hugh de Lacy the first ‘Viscount of Ireland'. Fighting for the expansion 
of English rule in Ireland. Later the de Lacy family fought against the Crown. 
The de Lacy family now ‘living beyond the pale’. The de Lacy struggle until 
1691 and the fall of Limerick ‘The Flight of the Wild Geese". Over the next
 two centuries, the de Lacy family were at the forefront of most European wars.
 In America a de Lacy on both sides of the Civil War of 1861. One thousand years, 
of the de Lacy family, their triumphs, and tragedies.

Top Customer Reviews

A wonderfully presented book in plain English, written paragraphs sectioned for easy to read narrative
in clear precise print. Beautifully narrated by the author. The authors deep research into the 'de lacy' name
is interesting and he has captured interest in the 'de lacy descendants' as far away as America 
and Australia. Certainly a 'must read' for anyone with the Lacy surname and their link to the 
Medieval Kings and Earls and Barron's in the history of England particularly linked to Pontefract 
Castle in West Yorkshire.

A recommended read :-

The book is available on Amazon...
Here is the link :-

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Lacy-Chronicles-history-Family

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