Father's Day Letter to a Harringay Father

The Guardian invited readers to write to the man who gave them life and send it in. Those published on Saturday included one to a Harringay father:

In my mind's eye I see you, sitting on the ledge smiling in at me, three floors above the traffic that runs along Green Lanes, Harringay, roll-up dangling from your lip, window frame on your knees, polishing the glass with a damp shmattah, enjoying a smoke on one of those regular early 1950s days between being demobbed and dying.

"I'm all right son, I won't fall."

I found this photo ("10/9/45 – Germany – Morrie) today in your box among the medal ribbons, shaving brushes and the testimonial from the commanding officer of 860 Laundry Bath Platoon: "… in sole charge of a Bath House with a small German Staff." Why are you smiling, Dad? Because you're going home soon, back to your mum (I move the stones on her grave every year when I visit yours)? Or because you just like keeping things clean?

Give me a sign, Dad, come to me in a dream, smile at me through a window. You've been gone 53 years; time is pushing on, the water needs changing and the Staff wants to get home.

Lawrence