I was a miracle baby. Not that such a phrase would ever have come from the lips of either of my parents. "Oh for gods' sake stop being histrionic." my mother Phyl would have laughed dismissively. While my father, George, would have drily say something that would make me the butt of the joke. Both of them had been married before and in each case it had been disastrous. Phyl had been consistently sexually abused by her first husband and, as a result, had been told before she married George that she wouldn't be able to get pregnant. As she was over 40 any cessation of her menses would be down to menopause; not pregnancy, she was informed. So it was rather a surprise all round when George was called in to visit the RAF doctor. "Ah, yes, George, old man. Marvellous to see you looking so well." "You could have seen how well I was looking at the Mess to-night." George raised an eyebrow. "Yes, yes, jolly good idea. But I thought I'd better tel