麻豆官网首页入口

'This poem was submitted to the People's War site by Rick Allden of the CSV 麻豆官网首页入口 Coventry and Warwickshire Action Desk on behalf of Joyce O'Kane and has been added to the site with her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions'.

鈥淭hank Amy for the Biscuits鈥�

Part of home.
A souvenir of his last leave.
Girls who noticed him
for the first time.
Smart in his bellbottoms,
horizontally creased
to suggest the folding
in his 鈥渄itty鈥� bag.
A life at sea.
Likewise, the well washed collar,
suitably faded.
Proof of his experience.
Not true.

And now this fair haired child,
unrecognisable as a sailor,
muffled to the eyebrows
against the bitter cold.
The cold that makes him tremble,
never fear.
This child, in charge
of a machine gun.
The solitary defender
of the fishing boat
imprisoned in the convoy
to Russia.
鈥淎 sitting duck鈥�.
Did this thought
lead back to childhood memories?
A small toy duck
bobbing in his warm bath.
His mother.

But afterwards
he could not cope
with the humdrum life
of home.
In the Indian Navy
he had danced
with pearl decked
Maharanis,
drunk fine wine,
slept on silk cushions.
Life was exciting
but not real.
Breaking his mother鈥檚 heart
He left for the Antipodes.

At his funeral,
surrounded by his progeny,
his eldest son
delivered a well meant eulogy
of his father鈥檚 life
in the potting shed.
His youngest brother
himself an old man
exasperated by the triviality
burst out with
鈥淵our father was a hero鈥�
and was shushed
for spoiling
the peaceful atmosphere.

The fishing trawler 鈥淧hineas Beard鈥� went down with all hands on the next convoy.

This story was donated to the People鈥檚 War website by Joyce O'Kane, of the Leam Writers. If you would like to find out more about Leam Writers call 0845 900 5 300.

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