The Day my Dad got Drunk

September 3rd 1939. I became aware of quiet, probably for the first time in my young life. I remember being just outside our back door all alone. The quiet was so unusual for a Sunday morning. Everything seemed strange, no wind, no birds, nothing moved, or made any sound what-so-ever. My sister and brother had disappeared, my dad, always to be seen digging in the garden on a Sunday morning and shouting to my mam, “Will this be enough spuds? How about a cabbage to go with the beans?, my carrots look good too”. My mam shouted back, “yes fine, I’ll have all you have got please Will”. I usually groaned at this, those words meant fry up on the next day when mam did the washing and the kitchen was full of steam.

There was no sign of dad here this morning. “Mam, where’s dad?”. No answer came, instead I heard a man’s voice coming from our wireless, sad and serious, and then my mam was crying. I ran in. “Mam, mam, what’s the matter?” “We are at war with Germany again” she answered. With tears in her eyes, she gave me a hug and a kiss, “now go out and play, there’s a good girl”. I did as I was told for once, without arguing, but not to play, just to sit down as I felt very unhappy as I knew something bad was going to happen. What was war? I asked myself. I had no answer, I sat there for what seemed a very long time.

I saw my dad, together with some neighbours, Mr Parry, Mr Williams and Mr Wembridge coming home across the field. “Mam! Mam! here’s dad, but there’s something wrong!, they’re are all walking funny”. My dad entered our house, at over six foot tall, well built and not an ounce of fat on him, he was an impressive sight. Unsteady on his feet, he made for our sofa, which was placed in the middle of the room; he swung one leg over the back of the sofa and tried to follow it with the other leg, but failed. After several attempts at this, with my mother and I watching in amusement, I asked “what’s dad trying to do?” my mother then went to help him lie down on the sofa, tucking him up like a baby and placing a pillow under his head. “Leave him be, he’s drunk”. I think she was glad to have someone to talk to. “You know that old jacket of your dads, the one he wears for gardening, the one you all laugh at, the kaki coloured one with the shiny brass buttons, well soon a lot of men will be wearing uniforms like that and they will have to go away to fight this war. Yes, I expect Mr Parry, Mr Wembridge and Mr Williams will be among them, some will not be coming back”. “Will my dad have to go, please not my dad?” I asked. “No, your dad won’t have to go, he’s to old now, he did his bit in the last war. The kaki jacket that dad wears sometimes, the one the kiddies laugh at, that was part of his uniform. He won’t get rid of it, wearing it, he feels he keeps faith with the mates that died in the war”.

The kaki jacket with the brass buttons took on a whole new meaning and I did not laugh at it any more.

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