My Dad Northern Italy 1945 — he was in the RAF


2 min readMar 29


Mountains are faithful. They are old Gods, unchangeable. Stubborn.

My 20 yr. old dad stares at me from the Italian Alps in 1945.

“I was the only one in my company who didn’t get a Dear John letter,” he once confided in me in a rare opening up moment as we walked the Cairngorms.


was essential to dad, which was somewhat ironic, yet also sincere.

He told me he mapped out his life in the snow of the Dolomites.

Perhaps, at that moment, the origins of my spirit hatched into pre-existence?

Howling at my father’s mind from the wilderness.


So, I joined a writing group called the 555 Story Challenge March 2023 Link: The idea is to write 5, 100 word stories from Monday 27th to Friday 31st March.

I joined because I need a kickstart after a period of non-stop work (that's what happens when you work for the NHS). Anyway, I particularly like this challenge because it is nonfiction and based on memoir writing techniques.

This style of writing is somewhat new to me. I tend not to enjoy writing about myself too much. Not directly anyway. ‘Origin’s’ was Mondays attempt. I’ll post here as I believe this will also find its way to my FB page. I say ‘I believe’ because I’m absolutely useless at figuring that stuff out.

I will of course upload the other 100 word stories as the week progresses.




Local poet/writer. ‘There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.’ E. Hemingway. All ©️DMM