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One morning in the autumn of 1945, a letter was pushed under the door, and mother dived on to it like a ton of bricks. We didn't often get letters, especially in official-looking envelopes.
'Oh my God,' mum said, as she saw it was from the Air Ministry, 'It's for dad, what the hell do they want him for, surely they don't want him to join up now, the war is over. There can't be any other reason for them to write to him.
Although mother wore the pants in our house she knew she dare not open this letter, for it was official and it had 'private' on the envelope, but dad wouldn't be home from work until 6-30 PM at the earliest. Never mind its secret so it's dad's.
I remember her holding it up to the light in front of the window, turning it to the right and then to the left, hoping to get a glimpse of its contents. I think she even thought about trying to steam it open to relieve her curiosity, but no she would wait for him to come home, and satisfy herself with picking it up from time to time and feeling it, staring at the address and tapping it gently on her chin in deep thought, and then returning it to it's place on the mantle piece.
After a very long day, the latch went on the door, and in barged dad in his usual cheerful manner. 'Come on mum where's me tea.' These were always his first words. I must admit we were all ready for our tea by 6-30 as mum always insisted on us having our main meal of the day together.
'Never mind your tea, you have a letter and it's been driving me mad all day wondering what the hell the Air Ministry want with you.' Dad glanced at the envelope, which was still in mother's hand.
'After tea mum. I'm bloody hungry, so lets 'ave our tea and I'll open it when we've eaten'. Mum was not having that. 'I've waited all day for this and you are not getting anything until you open it.'
Dad knew he was beaten really, he would have a job to boil water without mum's help, so there was no way he would be able to serve up his own dinner. So he relented and opened it, read it and threw it on the table. 'Now where's me bloody tea'?
By this time mum was beyond herself, and she picked up the letter and started to read it out loud.
Sir. I am commanded by the Air Council to inform you that their attention has been drawn to the assistance you gave in rescuing a pilot who was trapped in the burning wreckage of his aircraft, which had crashed in a field adjoining Upperfold Farm on the 22 May 1945.
The council wish me to thank you for your share of the rescue.
I am sir you're obedient servant.
And was signed by the Permanent under secretary of state.
Mother was beside herself. 'What's all this about?' she asked.
'Well I told you at the time an aircraft had come down on the farm,' dad said.
'You said it had come down, you didn't say you had got the pilot out. Supposing you had been killed, then what would have happened?' Dad sniffed and said, 'Well, it was all something and nothing.'
Nothing much more was said about it. I think mum was quite proud of him though, proud enough she kept the letter, and I've got it now. I've heard since from the grandson of the man who owned Upperfold that the pilot in fact fell out of the plane on his own and it didn't burn. So any way perhaps dad wasn't such a hero after all. But I like to think he was.
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