I HOPE to God that my kids never have to confront their own D-Day but, increasingly, I worry that they might.

MAYBE IT’S JUST a sign of ageing, but I have been thinking more and more about another world war lately. 

I think it’s partly a result seeing my son and daughter growing up so fast. Officially, by August this year, we will be a household of four adults, and young adults are the people who will have to sort out our problems in future. 

It’s also the constantly accumulating evidence of my own mortality – like finding it harder to run, and the continued presence of someone who looks a bit like my Dad (and my Grandads) in the mirror.

These things make me realise that  I am, militarily speaking, way past it and that it won’t be me and my generation who are called upon to respond, if another catastrophe does occur.

No-one past the age of 40 was conscripted in Britain at the start of World War Two and, even allowing for the fact that 50 (and now 60) is the new 40, I reckon I am Dad’s Army material at best. 

So, logically, frighteningly, that makes my son and daughter’s generation responsible for responding to the daunting-seeming challenges of the future, just like my grandparents faced up to Dunkirk, El Alamein, and D-Day. 

Continue reading “Kids, Keep The Tanks Of The Roundabouts!” →