John was part of my childhood growing up in the 1970s and a link to sunny, fun-filled days spent on the beach at Bangor in Northern Ireland where we went for our summer holidays. To many, he was a mystery. Every afternoon John would wander to the end of the pier   where he fed the seagulls and delighted in the sound of their excited cries as they flew around his head. Often I asked my family questions regarding John. Eventually I gave up as no one could tell me anything about him. As I grew up, my visits to the beach became less frequent, and my memories of John buried in a child's imagination. Last year memories came flooding back as I walked along the coastline, where I noticed a lady feeding the seagulls on the pier, and I decided to introduce myself. Then I came to know that the lady was John's daughter, and after John left this world she carried out the ritual  , which had held such importance for her father. In some strange way I felt we shared a bond, each needing to remember. In return, Lucy told me of John's life, his days in the British Navy   during World War I and how he almost lost hope when his ship was attacked by a German U-boat in the North Sea and he found himself in a lifeboat with five others. Close to death, he thought he heard the sound of wings. He put up his hands, only to catch a seagull that had landed on the side of the boat. The seagull saved the lives of the six men as it was used to catch fish, which kept them alive until they reached land. This period of John's life was one he never talked about. But the ritual he first performed as a young man remained a part of him until he died. Now I visit Lucy as often as I can, just to chat or very often walk along the beach to the pier end. We enjoy the comfortable silence, each lost in special memories. We can infer from the text that John   _  .
once served in both World Wars was a man with a grateful heart spent his childhood in Bangor joined the navy in the 1970s