November 11 marks the centenary of the World War I armistice that ended fighting. The writer tells the story of her father, who fought in a Highland regiment.
‘Where did you get that?” the female gorgon demanded. She stood there, four-square and 12 stone [76 kg.]; heavy-hipped, beetle-browed and stern-visaged, in a uniform reminiscent of a female gaoler. The noise of the busy airport receded as her voice boomed out, and she stood there brandishing the shell case she had unearthed from my suitcase. People stopped rushing for a second, pushing forward to see while other security officers glanced our way, but as I answered, “It belonged to my father,” the noise gathered volume and momentum as life swirled into action around us, and the sensation-seekers, disappointed, drifted off.
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