Pilot of peace
Suddenly our telephone rang. I ran down the corridor to pick up the call but my dad was there already, he didn’t look happy, so when he ended the conversation, I asked him what happened, as always he refused to tell me.
“I need to have a conversation with mother for a second, Rachel,” he said
this had been going on for months, I can only imagine it’s bad news.
My name is Rachel Smith and I am eleven, my mum is called Caroline and my dad is called Spencer, we live in Leeds.
About two weeks after the phone call my dad sat me down, he said
“look Rachel, I don’t know how to say this but, you know I can fly a plane right, well Britain wants me to fly a glider down to a bridge called Pegasus bridge so we can have the bridge to transport heavy vehicles across and I might not be back so soon, I am sorry Rachel I love you”
I didn’t know what to say, I was trying to be strong but I couldn’t hold it in, wiping the tear off my face I leant in for a big hug.
“I am going on my way tomorrow Rachel, I will think of you”
yet again I was speechless
“take a photo of all of us with you” I said.
The next day when dad was packing he showed my mother and I the photo of us and put it in his bag we gave him a big hug and off he went.
It was a bit lonely with only mother and I in the house and we missed father, we knew soon the day will come the day that will change his life, if he survives or not, the day of d-day.