That word

This momentous event occurred when I was about six years old and as innocent as a new-born lamb. We were seated ‘en-famille’ around the kitchen table: Father, Mother, sisters Betty and Gladys, brothers Ted and Ron and of course, little me.

At some point in the proceedings I decided to demonstrate my familiarity with the ways of the world by raising two fingers, in the ‘V’ sign. On seeing this, my mother, also demonstrating her knowledge of current, wartime, affairs, asked, “What does that mean? ‘V’ for victory?” Confident in my newly acquired vocabulary and thinking “Don’t these grown-ups know anything?” I replied, “No! FUCK!”

The detonation of Barnes Wallis’s ‘Tallboy’ paled into insignificance compared to the explosion of shock and disgust, which emanated from my mother! “Where did you learn that disgusting word?” she demanded, red-faced and shaken. “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again!” I detected that this was more than I could handle alone and desperately sought a way of laying-off the odds. I, therefore, immediately implicated my older brothers in the crime. “Ted and Ron told me it,” I pleaded, thinking, “What the hell have I hit on here?” and “If it’s so bad, how come she knows it?”

I don’t remember anything further about this event, but I suspect my brothers were none too pleased with my eagerness to pass the buck.