We refugees were fated to be together
PICTURE the scene: two mothers, one English with a two-year-old girl in tow; one Irish with a seven-year-old boy, fleeing war-torn Malaysia in February 1942, as the Japanese Army poured into Singapore.
My mother and I had one suitcase between us. We thought we were heading for England but in fact were transported safely to Perth, Australia. The Irish boy, Brian, and his mother were taken in by a family in Melbourne and, for a time, I went into a children’s home.
Our fathers were both interned in the Far East: mine ended up working on the Siam-Burma ‘Death Railway’ and Brian’s father was held in the notorious Changi PoW camp. After the war in Europe had ended, in August 1945 we and our mothers left Melbourne on the only ship available, a passenger liner converted to carry troops, the Dominion Monarch, bound for Tilbury. It was a long voyage but, being in cabins on different decks, we didn’t meet. At Tilbury, my mother and I headed for London and Brian returned with his mother to Dublin.
Fast forward to 1962. I was then a petite 19-year-old, working as an assistant at Southern Television in Victoria, London, and was rather annoyed to find I would be answering to a new advertising manager, who had just joined us from the Daily Mail. I soon got chatting to the handsome new arrival, though, and discussing our past lives, we found we had an astonishing amount in common — it was Brian. Our families were almost disbelieving when we told them.
We married in Sunbury-on-Thames, where we made our home, in 1964. We still live there in the same house and at 83 and 88, battling age and infirmity, are devoted parents of two and grandparents of three boys. Some say we were unambitious never to move but we reckon our future together was fated. It certainly seems like more than coincidence.
Jill West, sunbury-on-thames, surrey.