Prayers that there will never be a third war by Audrey Adsett (From Penarth Times)

Prayers that there will never be a third war by Audrey Adsett

THINKING over my memories of World War II jogged memories of World War I.

I clearly recall seeing a strange man in a soldier's uniform with a huge smile, coming around the doorway as my mother was bathing me (I must have been about three or four years old).

My mother rushed over into his arms with a huge sigh! He was my father home on leave, a stranger to me.

My mother had a shilling a day to live on, so she took a job as a housekeeper in the Vicarage in Rectory Road, where I had the time of my life playing in the grounds where an old bus was sited for children to play on.

Later on I recall being on a train with my mother when another soldier tried to amuse me by rolling his arms around, and I said: "Oh, my other Daddy used to do that."

I thought all men thus attired were my daddies!

Later on my father was stationed in Winchester and I recall reading a letter from him which said: "We are all waiting to be sent over to France any day now, where we hear our men are dying in their thousands."

Eventually my father came home for good.

He hated the army boots, with his tender feet (he was called up, not a volunteer - not really tough soldier material at all). He was a sensitive man who loved children, animals, home life and the great outdoors.

After a short while working for Avon's he started up his own business Weeks Bros, which is now Wasons.