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When my Dad came home from the war our anticipation, his to see his children after four years and ours to see this 'father' that I didn't remember as a living person, was great with high expectations.
The actual homecoming, as I have described elsewhere, fell somewhat flat but soon 'Dad' rallied and we gathered round the table while he emptied his kitbag. What treasure was displayed for innocent eyes. A clock from Germany for the kitchen, a bayonet which was hastily removed and hidden away, a helmet with dents which excited questions about bullets and fighting and a little handkerchief which was tenderly unwrapped and displayed. I couldn't believe it because there was the little hanky that I had made grubby and grey when hemming the edges and decorating the stitches with my embroidery.It was white and pressed and there. 'I sent that to my Dad in Germany,' I told the man in front of me.'Yes' said my Dad 'and I showed it to everyone. It was a wonderful gift.'
Maybe that moment helped me to accept him just a little bit more!

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