Having experienced the hardships of World War 2, psychological hangovers were still being dealt with by Peter (who turned out to be my father). He joined the navy at 16 in 1937. Basic training turned out to be more about the skills of seamanship than the reality of war.
Sometimes, after a beer too many at the social club, overheard stories would emerge about picking up body parts of former friends from the deck of a ship after a well-placed German shell had done its damage. It seems these experiences shaped his capacity to engage with people at a deeper emotion level based on the fear or the pain of loss he experienced- hence he always seemed somewhat distant and inaccessible. Could this be transmitted genetically?
Ida, (who turned out to be my mother), was born and raised in Gosport– a suburb of Portsmouth – a naval port and the home for many sailors during World War 2. She was drafted as a ‘Wren’ (Women’s Royal Navy Service) at 18 when the war started and learned skills in commercial level cookery while avoiding being strafed by rogue Messerschmitt BF109 fighters looking for trouble.
As it was the end of days, one the few escapes from it all was a dance at a local hall. In nearby Eastbourne, to the muted tones of a Glenn Miller style band, they met, which led to the ages old age-old tradition of ‘courting‘ which in turn became a promise to marry after the war.
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