Remembrance - my father and mother

Although of course I remember all the fallen on this day, I also remember all the women 'left behind'. During the two minutes silence, I find myself dwelling on my father and mother. My mother was a 'war widow' left to raise three boys - 5, 2 and less than 1. She often did not know where the next meal was to come from, but it was always there.

She was our fellow tree climber, maker of all our clothes, cricketer/footballer/kite flyer, broken toy fixer, and in so many other ways father as well as mother. She was often ill, for which - although now making the realisation of what she achieved all the clearer - I can only be thankful as I necessarily gained, as the eldest sibling, many of the domestic skills and independence of spirit, for which I am so grateful today.

My grandmother was also 'left behind' in many ways; a single parent in days when that was not 'the done thing', she somehow through hard work built a wide circle of friends and great respect. Having lost her only son I became a substitute, which was often far from a good thing, but along with that she probably had more influence than anyone else in making me what I am today. It was she who took me to my first brass band performance, first symphony concert, first opera and ballet, and first 'long-distance' walk on the Yorkshire moors (l was 3 I understand - from Dick Hudsons to Ilkley for those who know my home area). She always took the same 'snack', which I continue to this day when walking alone: an apple, cheese (favourite Wensleydale) and bitter chocolate (always Terry's for her).

I saw my father, an Able Seaman who had joined up at 15 long before the war, very few times; of one I have only a vague recollection, one rather better when I was taken to see him in hospital, dying at 27 years old.

My mother survived to the good age of 91. My siblings and I put a memorial seat at the spot where she so often carried out her paternal duties, which included rock climbing close by. She did not discourage us with warnings of danger, she just did it with us.

I did not really appreciate what my mother did until I was well into my teens, when I first began to campaign against the discrimination against women which, now and then, I continue in a small way today. One of the things I really like about blipfoto is the number of female blippers.

The photo was taken, I'm pretty sure, in 1939. I was not yet breathing but I may I think have been something more than a glint in my father's eye.

Rest in peace. We will remember them.