Article on the children of the First World War......

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http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/nov/12/first-world-war-surviving-children
Donald Overall's father died of wounds near Arras, in 1917, leaving a widow and two young sons. Donald is 98.

I was five when my father came home on leave. He sat me on the instep of his foot, and I used to hold his hands and he would rock me up and down. He was in his army uniform and I could smell his khaki and tobacco because he smoked a pipe. I then remember him carrying me upstairs on his shoulder.

I remember the day we heard [about his death] very distinctly. Mother and I were downstairs in the hall when the doorbell rang. I was hiding behind her as she was handed an envelope. I remember she opened the letter immediately. I didn't know what it said but she screamed and collapsed on the floor. I didn't know what was wrong.

Mother stayed in her bedroom for about 10 days and then she turned on her side and said to me, "Your father's dead, he won't come back. Now you are the man of the house." And I said, "Me, Mum?" I was five years old. That changed my life – it had to.

I'd look after my brother and I'd look after my mother … I accepted it all. Obviously I lost my childhood but I never felt I had, because I had to look after my family and I felt 10 feet tall.

On 11 November 1920, I was with Mum and my brother at the Cenotaph when it was unveiled by the king. I remember that nobody dared move; nobody wanted to move. There was the Cenotaph resplendent, spotlessly clean. My mother stood there with her arms around us two kids and she cried, and I just stood there dumbfounded.

I can't forget that day. I was feeling for my mum and I'd never had to confront those feelings before.

In the second world war, I joined the RAF. On one occasion we came critically close to crashing. At that moment it flashed through my mind that my wife would have a sergeant's pension on which to live. Later, I was racked with the knowledge that I had come perilously close to leaving my sons, and at roughly the same age as when my father had died and left my brother and me.

At the end of the war, I wanted to stay on in the service. I came home to talk to my wife; I was telling her about this job. She never said anything until I'd finished. "Well, love," she said, "the two boys need their father." Now how could I answer that when I had never had a father? I couldn't sign on for another four years. I would have loved to, but the kids come first don't they?

Donald visited his father's grave in France in 2007 and said at the time: "I'm an old man, I am supposed to be tough. I thought I was hard, but I'm not. He's my dad. I miss him. I missed him as a boy and I miss him as an old man. It is very important that I have come back. I feel closer now than I have ever been. That time he carried me to bed was the last time and this is the next time."



This story made me quite :cry::cry:

Comments

  • [Deleted User][Deleted User] Posts: 1,880
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    Thank you so much for posting this, very moving, brought tears to my eyes. So glad Donald was able to visit his dad's grave.
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