This is my grandfather's (Raymond Perry) army photo that he gave to my grandmother (Ellen) in return for her sweetheart picture (on the right) that he carried with him throughout his years serving in North Africa.
He wrote letters home nearly every day, but could never say exactly where he was stationed.
Until the day the letters stopped coming.
Ellen lived in Gower Street where the residents had been bombed out. So she went to live with her mother-in-law. They received the news from the army that he was missing in action and presumed dead.
Some months later, their neighbour was at New Street Station when amidst the chaos of troops and civilians, somebody tapped him on the shoulder. It was Ray, fighting fit and with just a few minutes before his train departed taking him back into the fray, he scribbled a note for his girl on the back of a ticket, pushed it into his hand and then he was gone again, into the crowds and steam as the locomotive's wheels screeched, gradually fading into the distance.
He rushed back and immediately delivered the longed for news that he was safe.
Eventually, they were reunited after Europe was once again safe and our lads made their way back home.
He proudly wore his medals at every parade in honour of those men who weren't as fortunate and didn't make it home safely.
We are forever in their debt.
