We’ve just celebrated Father’s Day and, not long ago, Mother’s Day. Because of COVID-19, many of us had to celebrate with our loved ones from a distance but that is the “new” normal for now. Next year – who knows?
For those of us whose parents have already passed away, these celebrations make us feel a bit left out, sad and even lonely. My dad passed away in 2013 and my mum five years ago. But both of them left me something special – family tales.
As an only child, I spent a great deal of time with grownups and, being someone who loved stories, I heard plenty of them. Some I shouldn’t have heard perhaps, but I was quiet and sometimes they forgot I was in the room. My cousin and I sometimes hid under the table when our mothers were talking. We learned some interesting things until they caught on and decided to speak in Flemish when they got together. – Neither of us spoke Flemish but we did learn some interesting swear words.
All my life I heard my mother’s tales about escaping from Belgium during World War Two, what life was like living in London during the Blitz and the story of how she met my father and fell in love.
My dad did not tell as many tales. He spent the war years in the medical corps overseas and felt some things should just be forgotten. But he and I often went for long walks and he’d talk about growing up with his twin brother and six sisters in Scotland. One story I remember was about the twins raiding a local farm for potatoes and then cooking them over an open fire in the woods. He did talk about Jerusalem where he spent a good part of his service (I still have photos and postcards he saved). But he never discussed what he saw and experienced as his medical unit followed the Allied push into Europe following D-Day. He told me a lot of interesting things about hospital and lab work though and taught me first aid. My poor cat suffered through bandaging and slings as I practised on him. Luckily, he was a very affable cat who also did not mind wearing doll’s clothes.
But my dad to me will always be the person who would tuck me in every night and tell me the same, convoluted and mixed-up version of “Peter Rabbit” with extra characters every night until I became a teenager. He also told that story to my children when they were small.
All this to say that, no wonder I became a writer. I was surrounded by stories, memories and, yes, memorabilia. I became a journalist and then went into corporate communications. But I always wrote stories in my spare time. Today I write poetry, mystery books, children’s books and short stories.
All I can say is “Thanks mum and dad for all the wonderful family tales.”
Very interesting Anne. Still do the same thing and use German when we don’t want the kids to understand. Flemish however I would have understood and your mum would have been out of luck. Learned my French from a Flemish speaking lady. Hannelore and I also spent some time in England after the war and had our host family here with us in Montreal 45 years later.