My Earliest Memory of my father
by Cynthia Clapton
I had heard of my father but could never remember seeing him, for he was a soldier.
One day, when I was old enough to go to the village alone, my mother sent me to get a few groceries from the village. They were heavy to carry in my arms so, halfway home, I sat on the pavement to rest with a bottle of milk and the goods beside me.
A stranger passed along and to make room for him I got up and stepped into the road, knocking over the bottle of milk with a crash.
As I burst into tears the stranger turned back, picked up the goods, bought another bottle of milk and accompanied me home.
Imagine my surprise when I realised that the stranger was my father.
This young girl is also busy shopping
Previously published in Oystermouth County Secondary School Magazine, Easter 1953
Libby’s Letters to the Forces: 1939 - 1945
Editor:
It is evident throughout the (almost) six years, that this series of letters were a true labour of love, of pride and patriotism and richly deserving of republication here.