Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Violet Apted

Oct 3, 2006

Dear Dad

Violet Apted

I spent the day with my sister Jane and found myself telling her more stories about you. Why? Well Jane was only nine years old when you left us, when the Lord decided he needed you more than we did!

I can remember so well that fateful day when Mum phoned me to say you had been rushed into hospital and was down in the operating room. It was ten oclock in the evening, so I could not get to see you till the next morning. But at four in the morning I received the call that was to shatter my world. You had passed away Dad. Without a goodbye. I sat in my lounge room crying all alone till the break of dawn. The  day when I sat little Jane on my lap and told her our Daddy had gone to heaven, and we held each other tight and cried together. A day I can never forget!

Talking to Jane today I realised just how little she remembers, or knows about your life, so I told her. She laughed when I told her about the day you slipped and fell into the water when we were gathering watercress from the stream and we had to go home with you soaking wet. I told her about your life in the army and about your  Prisoner of war days. I told her all about our Dad, the man who loved his children so very much. Dad the dancer with feet as nimble as Fred Astaire. Who taught me to dance every ballroom dance and even to tap dance. The many early hours we used to go out to gather mushrooms from the fields, or collecting winkles from the rocks at the sea shore.  I told her you were the best Dad in the world. Because you were dad! Many years have passed since you  were taken from us, but I still miss you and feel the pain and emptiness you left behind. I can keep you alive for Jane now. I was so, lucky to have  you with me for my growing up years. Today I promised jane I will write your story for her and you know Dad, I will!

 Violet  Apted 

violetsrblue7@hotmail.com