Thursday 18 October 2007

Happy Birthday Bill


Well this blog is about anniversaries and my connection with them and my dad Wilfred Lythgoe was born on 18 October 1919. So today definitely qualifies for an entry. He would have been 88 if he was still with us. Mind you, according to his spiritualist leanings he may well be. He was a great one for the psychic powers, was Bill.

Wilfred was a postman for many years and was known to everybody in that organisation as Bill. In fact my own interview for a job with the Post Office went along the lines of 'How's Bill keeping these days? Make sure you give him our regards. You start next month.'

Wilf was born in Chorlton-on-Medlock in the heart of Manchester, owned his first pair of shoes when he got his first job as a messanger boy and arrived as Bill via service as a Quartermaster Sergeaqnt Major with the D-Day dodging Ghurkas in the second World War and a very brief stint as a coal miner. In order to avoid D-Day, the dodgers had to fight their way through North Africa and up from the Southern end of Italy to Venice. This took quite a long time and resulted in Wilf speaking good vernacular Italian and a smattering of Urdu.

On the way up the spine of Italy (or should that be up the shin of Italy?), Wilf met one of his greatest war-time friends. He was responsible for some prisoners of war who were German paratroopers. During an attempted escape one of the German officers saved the life of one of the men under Wilfred's command. As a reward Wilf and his men used to sneak the prisoner out and take him with them when they had the opportunity for some recreation. The two men became great friends. Unfortunately the prisoner ended up in East Germany after the war and they lost touch.

If Bill was right about the afterlife, maybe they are making up for lost time somewhere. One thing is certain, it is too late for a Court Martial now.