Another old WW2 photo unearthed. My father who grew up fast between Normandy 1944 and Germany 1945, my grandfather, as a retired professional soldier, having served much of his time in Africa, spent WW2 in the Home Guard, aka "Dad's Army". Grandfather died before I was born. Grandmother made it to age 101, father to 78, and I am still going, meantime. I have not had to fight in a war, which is progress, I suppose; but ever since I was a child I have had to fight a perpetually ebbing and flowing battle against a deep sense of pointlessness and depression. Perhaps we need tangible physical fights to keep our minds from contemplating other things. My father and a pretty young girl he found in Edinburgh made me a few years after this photo was taken. Is it ungrateful to say that I have many times thought it would have been better had they not bothered? Grandmother seems to be managing a faint smile here, in the midst of patching up the mess made by fighting men. Her favourite saying was, "Every blade o' grass holds its own drop o' dew."