My Dad, A Hero
Ordinary Hero story submitted by Ruth Ryan
My Dad was a hero. He must have been – he went to war to fight for king and country!
As kids we heard nothing about the war from Dad who arrived back when we were 5 and 3.
Mum shared her few stories but Dad’s time in the RNZAF as a navigator was never mentioned by him. We knew he had trained in Canada, with leave taken in New York, transferred to England and flown across Holland to drop food parcels. His plane was hit once so Dad was needed to help fly it home. I wonder what that entailed.
After Dad died Mum gave me a box of letters, written to her twice-weekly for all those years. They were not censored in any way and made heart wrenching reading. Dad hated every minute of his duty to the country. He wondered what made him volunteer to serve away from his young family in a situation which was either very boring for him when training, or very upsetting when on a sortie. Going across the English Channel to the target, as scheduled, was so awful for him that the time was spent sitting on the chemical toilet calling out figures to the pilot. Later he enjoyed going over to collect POWs and once took British Dignitaries to view the damage at which he could not bear to look.
I grew to hate Anzac Day. Dad would be very quiet for the days before, but would jump at any loud noise and became most agitated on the day. He would load us into the car and sit away from the service at the memorial, but within earshot, until the Last Post was played and the gun salute finished. Nothing would be said throughout. We would go home for lunch and sometimes Dad would explode over some minor thing that wasn’t right, storm off in the car, returning later as though nothing had happened.
I suspect Dad’s story is familiar to others.
My dad was a hero. He fought for king and country.
Published 8th Apr 2010
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