Mother's Day

My Dad is the main character in The Job To Be Done but I wish I had been able to tell more of my Mom’s story in the book, as she play an undoubtedly vital role in the story. My Dad’s love for her and his desire to return home safely to her and his young son Gary (my eldest brother) motivated some of the decisions he made (and attitudes he had) while he served overseas in 1943/44. I didn’t tell more of Mom’s life at that time simply because I don’t know a lot about it – to my discredit I never asked her while she was alive and now the history is sadly lost.
The bare basics of her story are similar to millions of other mothers during the Second World War – she carried on without her husband, doing whatever was necessary to provide for her son and keep “body and soul” together until he returned. If he returned, that is...she must have dreaded every day he was away that a telegram would arrive with the awful news that Dad was “missing – presumed killed”. With losses running at 50% in Bomber Command this was a very real possibility.
Mom lived in the small town of Provost Alberta and worked for a time at the local hotel, and rented a large house where she could sub-let rooms to other young women. She made do, scrimped and saved, did what was required without complaint and found time every month to send a care package to my Dad, filled with small gifts like Canadian cigarettes, hand-knit socks and chocolate, each item carefully and lovingly gift wrapped. This supportive lifeline from home was, I believe, influential in shaping my Dad’s time in Bomber Command. His attitude of serious attention to details and his professionalism might have been different if he had been a single man without a family to think about. His decision to join the Pathfinder Force meant getting home a year sooner than had he stayed in a regular squadron – he accepted the increased risk in return for that chance of getting back to Mom and Gary sooner.
Moms in Great Britain had it even tougher than those in North America, with acute shortages of everything from sugar to trousers. The watchwords for every British mother were “make do and mend!" (see cartoon above)  as British clothing factories were busy turning out uniforms and parachutes, not civilian clothing.
One story in particular comes to mind when I think of mothers taking charge and getting the job done while their husbands were far away. My friend Henry was a youngster during the Second World War and grew up in the small town of Rochdale, near Manchester. Henry’s Dad join the British Army in 1940 and served during the Fall of France when he was evacuated at Dunkirk. Later he took part in the invasion of North Africa (Operation Torch) and fought his way across North Africa against Rommel’s Afrika Korps. By 1944 he was a Sergeant Major, leading his men in savage fighting up the boot of Italy. After four years of almost continuous absence, Sergeant Major Calladine was finally “demobbed” and returned to his home, which had been kept running and safely intact by Henry’s beloved “Mum”.
Collapsing into his armchair, finally home again, Henry’s Dad noticed one big change he felt compelled to comment on: “Bloody hell, when did we get a cat?!”
In honour of the strength and courage of my Mom and all other moms, here is a photo of Mrs. Ruby Coffey and Gary, taken in 1944 while Dad was thousands of lonely miles away.