Forgive But Never Forget - Personal Narrative

Forgive But Never Forget - Personal Narrative

There he was standing in the doorway of our house, a stranger to my

mother and I, his shadow looming over me. His face, distraught and

lonely, faced my mother who sat there crying on her chair as she had

done for many nights for many years. In his right hand a black worn

suitcase with a 'RAF' badge on it, in his other a briefcase. A black

hat was trapped beneath his armpit. He was a well-dressed man with a

pitch-black suit without one crease in it, a matching tie and a pearl

white shirt underneath. A tear now ran down his face too. I looked

from behind my bedroom door, I had opened it just enough to see him,

but not enough for him to notice me. I had been expecting this day for

quite some time.

Ten years ago.

I was six years old and living in an old house cottage hidden away in

the countryside, I can remember each day as if it were yesterday;

everyday seemed to be a bright summer morning, with a golden haze

surrounding my house and a lovely scent of the surrounding trees

filling it. My mother and father both happily married, my mother was

twenty-three and my father twenty-five. We were the perfect family.

The only thing seemed imperfect in our lives, was the rising power of

a new German dictatorship, led by an unknown politician called Adolph

Hitler. But I was much too young to have realised who or what this

politician was.

I only remember two significant incidents that year…

"Mama, what are you doing?"

"Shhhh," she whispered, "Listen!"

She turned the volume of the radio up and listened intensely,

"I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street....

... middle of paper ...

...chair and told me

about my father, how he didn't go off with another girl but just went

off to serve his country. This came as a bit of a shock to me

"Is he dead?"

"I don't know, but he hasn't sent me a letter in two years."

"Haven't you tried to find out where he was stationed?"

"No one would tell me. They said it would compromise his safety!"

"The war is over now. You can find him, oh please try mum!" She looked

at me and then smiled. The next day she went down to the nearest army

station to find out where he was, they handed her an address for her

to be able to send a letter to him, and that's what she did. She sent

him a plead to come home."

Present day.

So there he was standing in the doorway of our house, a stranger to my

mother and me. He was a long forgotten memory of what life used to be.