When Anzac Day comes around, my thoughts go immediately to my parents, both veterans of World War II. Both served in the Middle East – my mother as an Royal Air Force nurse and my father as a second lieutenant in the NZ Army.
However, their service remains an utter mystery to me, as does a little silver brooch of a flying boot my mother always wore on her jacket, especially when attending Anzac Day ceremonies. I never heard my parents or their friends talk about it and it was only later, as an adult, that I understood its significance.
During my childhood, my parents never spoke of that part of their lives to me or my three siblings, and we children were too self-absorbed to ask. Every
