Elisabeth Gallon writes: ÔMy father, Harry Gallon, along with thousands of others during WWII War, was separated from his wife and children to fight for his King and Country. Little more than a toddler at the time, I have no clear recollection of my fatherÕs leave-taking.All I knew was that my tall, handsome, loving daddy had gone away leaving a gaping hole in the lives of his loved ones which no one else could fill. I knew little about him at the time. I might never have known him at all had he not, in his wisdom, kept a record of his thoughts and feelings during the long years of our separation whilst he served in India. It was a country he learned to love during his RAF days, thousands of miles from home. ÔYears later, reading my fatherÕs diaries I realised the depth and quality of his intellect; his dexterity with words. He possessed a mastery over words which came to him as naturally as breathing, allied to a kind of spiritual grace, an awareness of beauty and a power of self-expression.