Otherwise, What Was it All For?

My father returned from the war with ten quid in his pocket. He’d been flying Spitfires and Hurricanes over Europe and later in Burma. He was invalided out, worn out by what he’d seen and done. One dream had kept him going during the three years away from Australia—to marry his fiancée, settle down and become a farmer.

He arrived in Melbourne, with his faded RAAF uniform hanging off a lanky body scrawny from bouts of malaria and burnt near-black from the tropical sun. His aim was to buy a wedding ring, as the long-awaited event was planned for two days hence. My mother’s family was not about to allow time for any pre-marital hanky-panky!

This is a letter from Quadrant‘s May issue.
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Dad found a jeweller’s shop near Flinders Street station and went in to purchase a ring. The shop was run down and gloomy and the counters dusty. Buying jewellery had obviously not been a priority for Melburnians during the hard years of war. The elderly jeweller…