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For as long as I can remember, I have seen my father Jim Salter overcome with grief on Armistice Sunday. Sixty years on, Jim still misses his brother, Albert, and can never forget the last time he saw him back in 1942. He always used to say of Albert, "My luck never did him any good." It was as if Jim blamed himself.

East-enders

The Salters were from Bethnal Green, East London. In 1941, at 19 years of age, Jim received his call-up papers and was ordered to attend a medical in Edgware. At that time he had four older brothers fighting in the Army: Georgie had been the first abroad, sailing round the Cape, stopping off at South Africa on his way to Egypt because the convoys couldn’t pass through the Suez Canal. Their eldest brother, Alfie, who had started off in the Fire Brigrade in the National Fire Service, quickly followed Georgie into the Army because he thought it was safer than the Blitz. He eventually joined the Royal Corps of Signals. Georgie, and later Tommy, were both in the Royal Service Corps.

Essex Regiment, then Queen's Own Royal West Kents

Next to join was Albert, who started off in the Essex Regiment and then was transferred to the Queen’s Own Royal West Kents. When finally it was Jim’s turn, he opted to join the Navy as an ordinary seaman. His ship was the HMS 'Ganges' at Shotley in Suffolk, while his main barracks were at Chatham in Kent.

Jim stayed in Kent for a few months before being drafted to Scotland in the Coastal Forces continuing his training for Motor Torpedo Boats (MTBs) at Fort William.

His training was completed by early 1942, and he was taken out of General Service and placed into the Coastal Forces down at Gosport in Devon. It was while he was at Devon that the news of Alberts’s Embarkation leave came through. Jim had just come off Fire Picket duty and was able to put in a request to see the skipper for 24 hours leave.

Final meeting

The two brothers met up for just one last day together. Jim arrived at Waterloo in the morning, then Albert saw him off at the station in the evening.

Twelve years ago this month I came back to my parents’ house to live with them again after my marriage failed. I had my two small children in tow. As it was close to Remembrance Sunday I was reminded of Dad’s feelings about the war: he still lived in his time warp, and every book he read and every film he watched was about the war. But it was the sight of my children holding his hands, one either side of him, trying to understand him fighting with his emotions as he watched the old veterans filing passed the Cenotaph that I felt moved to first write about him.

And final words

I remembered how he had always treasured the last letter he sent to his brother, returned to him with the words, 'We regret that this letter could not be delivered as the addressee is reported deceased.'

He also kept Albert’s Army belt along side a photograph of his grave in Italy (Albert was killed in October, 1944).

In the end it was a children’s picture book that I wrote and illustrated. In the story my children meet Uncle Albert, who helps them to understand the sacrifice that had been made for them and why he died so that we could live in a better world. The book was called 'Remembering the Story of a Soldier' and was published in 1996.

All the luck in the world

It was only when my father saw the finished book that he finally told us what happened all those years ago. As Albert saw him off at Waterloo his last words to Jim had been, "Jimmy, aren’t you going to wish me luck?" and Jim had replied, "Albert, I wish you all the luck in the world."

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