My father falsified his age and joined the British Army when he was 14, serving in the Boer war as a Hussar until he was invalided out with an illness which left him with one leg shorter than the other.
Food was often so short that the soldiers were often very hungry and thirsty.
He was never affected by sea sickness and said he could often get an extra meal which one of his fellow soldiers could not eat because of they were too busy "feeding the fishes".
He then became a painter and decorator and once was required to paint the ceiling in the Royal Albert Hall.
Needless to say, he kept the flat emaculately decorated.
My mother had a quick temper and once threw a plate of food at him,missing him completely.
He had a good sense of humour and was very kind. As a joke he left the stain on the wall.
He was a keen supporter of the Liberal Party and used to read a now defunct newspaper, The News Chronicle.
At the end of his career, he worked as a senior porter at Guy's Hospital, London, with a fully heated free 5 bedroomed flat as part of his salary.
My mother supplemented the family income by providing a hearty full English breakfast to two of the hospital doctors.
One of the jobs of the hospital porters was to wheel the corpses into
the mortuary.
If there was a new recruit, the porters used to startle him by pressing the chest of the dead body , making it emit a blood chilling groan.
The new porter would run away like a scalded cat.
The perpetrator of this evil prank would then say "It is not the dead you need to be frightened of, but the living."
What are the memories of your parents?
Memories of my Dad. Walking in the woods with a couple of dogs. The bracken taller than me, but my Dad was over 6ft so no problem for him.
My Mum is still with us.
My dad was a gentleman who thought that women should be treated like (and act like) ladies. I confused him as I had no desire to have children and was happy with furry kiddies.
I wish that he had lived longer had had a chance to see his three grandchildren grow up (I am a proud auntie). I miss him.
My dad, who was a coal miner and loved to be out in the open when he could, used to take me on long walks on Sunday morning whilst Mum was preparing the dinner. When I moaned about my legs aching, he used to say 'To rest, is not to conquer.'
Then, we'd go to a pub and I would sit outside with my pop and crisps.