02/10/2024
Here is an excerpt from my father's memoir "My Gorbals Life: A World War Two Boyhood" Please do check it out on Amazon. Available in paperback and on Kindle.
Thanks so much.
I hardly knew my father before he returned from fighting in the war. Here is what I remember about his return.
Now that the war was over, we impatiently awaited the return home of Daddy, now stationed in Graz, Austria. Eventually in mid-1945 Mammy gave us the good news that Daddy was in transit from Austria to England, and that he would be home early on the following Thursday. We were very excited, with the exception of Alec, who had reached the age of three, without any contact with men. Even when the coalman came into the lobby to dump the coal in the bunker, Alec would scurry under the bed to hide, and not emerge until the coalman was long gone.
At last, the great day arrived, I doubt that any of us had slept
during the Wednesday night. By 7am, we were all up and dressed,
ready for the arrival of Daddy. Alec had already hidden under the
bed and refused to budge. We were also apprehensive, as we hadn’t seen Daddy for years, only remembering what he looked like from the framed photographs on the sideboard. I went down to the communal toilet on the stairhead. I was still in the toilet, when
I heard the sound of heavy tackety boots entering the close and
ascending the stairs.
I peered through the large keyhole, saw the back of a soldier,
dressed in a heavy greatcoat, and hu***ng a big pack, small pack, a kitbag over one shoulder, and a rifle over the other, clumping up the stairs to our single end door. Mammy flung open the door excitedly and tried to get her hands through the webbing and kit, to give him a big hug, which for our family was unheard of.
I followed him through the door, as he dropped his pile of kit
and struggled out of all the webbing. Eventually he managed to get his greatcoat and battledress jacket off, and collapsed into our only armchair, which Granny Cunningham had got for us at an auction sale just the week before. “My, ye’ve a’ shot up” he said, with tears of sheer happiness showing in his eyes. “An’ you, Sheena, ye’re still a right wee smasher.” Sheena was Daddy’s name of endearment for Mammy, claiming that it was the Gaelic equivalent of Jessie. Where he got this from I have no idea.
“Where’s wee Alec?” asked Daddy, as he swept his gaze around
the little room. “He’s hidin’ alow the bed, an’ wullnae come oot fur
naebody”, I said. Daddy had never seen Alec before, except in the
photographs that Mammy had included in her many letters. “Ah’m
sure that he’ll come oot fur me”, said he with confidence, “Ah’ll jist
lift the valence, an’ gie him a wee look at me first”. He lifted the valence and looked under the bed. Alec was curled up in a tight ball in the far corner, and refused to uncurl himself, never mind emerging from his favourite hidey hole. “Okay,” said Daddy,
“we’ll jist gie him a wee bit o’ time tae get used tae me afore ah try
again”. He turned to me and Bobby, ”Ye’se kin stey aff school the
day if ye’se want tae, it’s a long time since yer Daddy’s been hame”.
“Ah’d rather go to school as the teacher’s goat somethin’ special tae show us aboot big ships”, I said. “Me tae,” said Bobby.
We had, even though we were only six and seven years old,
decided the night before that Mammy and Daddy should get some
time to themselves, without us hanging around, and we knew that
Alec would not emerge from under the bed until he was forced out
by the need to go to the toilet. “Awright, aff ye go tae the school,
but afore ye go, ah’ve goat something fur ye’se in ma pack.” He
unbuckled his small pack and rummaged around in the contents.
“Here ye ur, hiv ye iver seen real aipples, perrs, an’ bananas”. He
held out three pieces of miniature wrinkled fruit, one pear, one
apple, and one banana.
We had never seen real fruit before, and thanked Daddy before we
stuck our precious fruit in our schoolbags and ran around the corner to school. I was so excited about the fruit that I couldn’t wait to show the teacher. She held the fruit up for the class to see. There were a lot of “ooh’s and ah’s” from the classroom, as they also had never seen real fruit before. I ate the fruit during morning playtime, relishing every bite, whilst the other kids looked on drooling at the mouth.
My Gorbals Life: A World War Two Boyhood eBook : McLachlan, Allan Gilfillan: Amazon.com.au: Kindle Store
