YOU never forget where you were at momentous points in history:

Kennedy's assassination; the moon landing; John Lennon's murder; Princess Diana's fatal car crash; September 11.

When the War against Iraq began, I'll look back and remember that I was in the smoky upstairs room of a local social club, giving a Dad At Large talk to the Darlington Machine Knitting and Craft Association.

My mobile telephone rang: bombs had started dropping on Baghdad earlier than expected. I raced through my stories of fatherhood, made my excuses and hurried back to the office, leaving the ladies to talk about their knitting patterns and home-made greetings cards.

Being a dad is by far my most important job, but being the editor of a newspaper is quite important too and there was a "War Special" to publish.

After the initial flurry of early evening missiles, aimed so precisely at Saddam Hussein's bunker, there was a lull. The unbelievable storm came as dawn broke over Iraq's capital. Air raid sirens wailed on live television and, 20 minutes later, the bombing began in earnest.

By the time a beautiful, crisp dawn sneaked up on us in tranquil, lazy Darlington a few hours later, the war edition of the paper was being safely delivered to newsagents.

Outside, the only sound came from the droning of a pavement cleaner being driven around the deserted town centre. It's a job which is normally done before most of us stir, so our nice, clean pavements are taken for granted.

When I walked into our comfortable house in our peaceful, idyllic village just after 7am, Jack, aged eight, was just getting up and scraping sleep from his eyes. His two brothers and sister were still in dreamland.

"Why are you just coming home, Dad?" he asked, squinting at the daylight.

"Something terrible happened last night..." I started to explain.

"I know, Dad," he interrupted, giving me a hug and putting on his sad face. "Arsenal got knocked out of the Champions League, didn't they?"

"No, Jack, I mean the war started in Iraq," I said.

He bowed his head: "Yeah, I know, Dad - but Newcastle got knocked out as well, didn't they? Can I have some breakfast?"

In Iraq, there were children who had spent the night cowering in sheer terror, their lives dependent on the ability of Smart bombs to zoom past their homes and only hit military targets.

There were mothers and fathers desperately trying to comfort screaming babies, praying for the all-clear to be sounded, and wondering why this was happening to them.

Shrapnel was flying into homes, killing and injuring innocents no matter how Smart the bombs might have been. In Baghdad, the noises of war were deafening and truly horrifying. Deserted pavements were reduced to rubble along with bridges, buildings and people's lives, and one day it will all have to be cleaned up.

In England, our children need only worry about last night's football results and what's for breakfast.

As we go about our daily, ordinary lives we should remember how lucky that makes us.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

ISN'T the Internet wonderful? An e-mail arrived all the way from Harvest Hills Drive in Calgary, Alberta, Canada.

Sheila Varjassy, formerly of Darlington, and a regular reader on-line, recalled the day her baby brother came home from hospital at five days old.

The first time Sheila watched him being changed, she wondered aloud about the dressing covering his little penis. Her mum explained that he'd been circumcised in hospital and Sheila walked away with nothing more to be said than "Oh".

The next day, Sheila had a friend round to play and baby brother was again being changed. The friend wondered what was wrong with the baby.

"Oh, that's just where he was criticised in hospital," explained his know-it-all big sister.

JULIE Ross, who grew up to be Julie Coates, was five and living in Redcar when she and her mum Gwen were going through a book of Bible stories with pictures.

They came across the story about the Christians being thrown to the lions. The picture was a bit gory so mum turned the page quickly, only for Julie to insist on seeing it.

After looking at it intently, the little girl said: "Mum, that poor lion hasn't got a Christian."

PAMELA Lally, of Redcar, was in the bathroom with two-year-old grand-daughter Rebecca, who was being potty trained. After putting the little girl on her potty, grandma announced that she needed to go to the loo as well.

After Pamela had finished, Rebecca looked up from her potty and declared: "Good girl, grandma!"

PAMELA'S other grand-daughter Heather, aged five, turned to her and said: "You're very old, grandma."

"Oh, I'm not that old," replied grandma.

"No, you're only dying a little," the little girl conceded.

PATRICK Savage, aged seven, who lives near Ripon, turned to his mum Ruth and asked: "Mummy, what did you do when you were a little girl - sit around waiting for TV to be invented?"

THE THINGS DADS DO

BACK to the war...

Alan Wotton, 33, of Redcar, is a father-of-two serving as a Royal Navy helicopter pilot in the Gulf.

Alan's mother-in-law Maureen Stainthorpe-Smith came over for a chat and to buy a Dad At Large book at an enjoyable meeting of Saltburn Ladies Luncheon Club at the town's picturesque and sunny golf club yesterday.

Naturally, Alan's children Jacob, nine, Ellie, five, and his wife Kate are missing him dreadfully. They want him to know how much he's loved and that they can't wait for him to come home.

The book and a copy of today's edition of The Northern Echo are now on their way to HMS Ocean, somewhere in the war zone - together with the thoughts and best wishes of us all.

Published: 27/03/2003