I can't believe that it is four years
since I opened the Ingfield Manor School Summer Fete alongside Dame Vera Lynn, but it is. Back then I said to her "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but I know we'll meet again some sunny day." And I was bang on about that. Even down to it being sunny. If I had thought harder about it I would probably have been able to work out that we'd meet again in the exact same place one June, but I can't be expected to predict everything.
At Christmas my dad had got out a copy of Vera Lynn's autobiography, which he'd bought in a second-hand shop. "Do you think you can get Vera Lynn to sign this for me?" he asked. I explained to him that I didn't really know Vera Lynn, had only met her once, wouldn't know how to contact her and in any case, he hadn't even paid full price for the book. But he told me I was being ridiculous and that obviously I could get someone at SCOPE to get the book to her, so she could sign it, even though she'd got no royalties from it and it was for the father of someone that she would have no memory of meeting. I took the book anyway, hopeful that one of my contacts at SCOPE could make my father's dreams come true. He does really like Vera Lynn. Not so much that he'll pay full price for her book. But he more than made up for that with his sense of entitlement!
The people at SCOPE went one better for me (dad, it turns out had been right) and suggested that my parents come along to the fete and get the book signed in person, as Dame Vera would be there as usual. There was the slight chance that dad might do the wrong thing, like eat some lip balm or make an awful "We'll Meet Again" joke, but as remarkable a woman as Dame Vera is, my father is a remarkable man and no one's life can be said to be complete until they have met him and/or been subjected to him.
So this potentially incendiary mix of my family and Dame Vera Lynn took place today, over ham sandwiches and strawberries and cream. My parents had been a little late, fittingly because they had made the exact same sat nav error that I had made in 2008 and arrived via the muddy single track at the back of the school. I am not turning into my dad, my dad is turning into me.
As it happened my parents were both very well behaved, waiting patiently for Dame Vera to finish her lunch until asking for an autograph. At 95 years old she is still feisty and funny and happily signed the book for my delighted dad. It was a nice coincidence that this had all happened on Father's Day, making me look like an excellent son, but also saving me having to buy him a proper present. Double win.
I did later hear my dad asking Dame Vera's daughter what it had been like being Vera Lynn's child? A difficult question to answer, which she should have responded to by saying, "I don't know. What's it like being Richard Herring's dad?"
It was a fun day in the sun, raising money for a fabulous school. I failed to win a coconut, scored 0 on an impossible bowling game (which my wife then got the then top score of 80 on straight after me - she insisted I let you know - before my mum scored 0 straight away afterwards, showing it's her genes that had let me down). There's an impressive miniature railway with steam trains in the school grounds and we took a ride on that too. At one point the driver opened her up and drove at full speed (maybe 20 miles an hour at a guess) and I wondered if anyone had ever been killed in a miniature railway derailment. It would be a funny way to go. But luckily we were in safe hands.
Had a lovely day and got to eat my lunch with a living legend. But enough of my dad - it was good to see Dame Vera again.
