My mum lost her first husband in Singapore. He was a dispatch rider and took a direct aircraft hit on 15th February 1942. This was the day Singapore fell. He was 20. My mum was 21 and pregnant with my brother. He was born in April 1942 and it wasn't until September 1944 that she received official confirmation that he was dead and not just 'missing'. She said that she had prayed every night of his 'missing' status that he was dead as she knew he would be going through the dreadful experience of being a Japanese POW if he was alive. She was allowed to write to him once a month while he was 'missing' and was also able to send him a photo of his son with each letter. These were returned to her, unopened, one sunny September morning, with no prior warning, by an army dispatch rider. They were contained in a cardboard box tied with string with Killed in Action written on the side. It was only then she realised that he had died without even knowing that he had a son. She never really talked about how she coped during this time just shrugging her shoulders and saying 'I was no different to anyone else' VJ day always brought mixed feelings too, as if he hadn't died, she wouldn't have married my dad and had me. My mum was a strong woman, loved my dad but I know the loss of her first husband shaped who she was and gave her tremendous resilience. He was twenty and she was twenty one years old and that seems so young nowadays to go through so much.
Taz x
