When my dad came home

 Dear Reader,

My favourite reading is about the First World War. It is such a rich literary field and I have read many many books on the subject. One of the reasons I became interested in this particular war was because my father was in it.  He was mentioned in three dispatches for bravery and I have got a very precious letter from some of the officers of his regiment, the A.S.C., applauding him. Although he was gassed and suffered from headaches and stomach problems ever afterwards, he never complained about his time in France or indeed ever spoke about it. I wish now I had asked him more about it but he is no longer with us sadly and I missed my chance. Thinking about him I wrote the poem and probably many of you remember someone coming back from a war and will relate to it. I remember Dad sitting in the rocking chair so I have put one in the blog in case you have forgotten what they look like.

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From Katherine Mansfield, 1918, May 16th, after a train journey from Paddington to Cornwall.

'I had a very comfortable journey.  The country in the bright morning light was simply bowed down with beauty - heavy, weighed down with treasure.  Shelley's moonlight may glittered everywhere.....I have never seen anything more solemn and splendid than England in May - and I have never seen a spring with less of the jeune fille in it.'

I am not quite sure what she means here : less of the 'jeune fille'.  I think it is because May the month is so fecund, fertile and sexy.  It brims over with heavy blossoms and rich green meadows full of buttercups and cowslips and dozens of wild flowers.  A 'jeune fille' month would be more innocent, like perhaps February.
This is just what I think but I might be wrong.

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 When my dad came home

he nodded off
in the old armchair
any time,
forgot everything,
could name no names.

Tobacco smoke from woodbines
filled the house,
he drank malt whisky,
came home unsteadily from the pub.

He talked of cricket, he whistled
and hummed old country and western songs,
rocked in the rocking chair
and potted up red geraniums.

He ate junket and white fish
had headaches,
and he wept sometimes.

But we were good friends my dad and I,
night times he told me stories,
and tucked me into bed.
I never asked him about the war,
and he never said.

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Half a Pair of People here

As you see, my book 'Half a Pair of People' is now out on Amazon.  Look for in books:    Patricia Huth  and click here and they will send you a copy if you would like one.  Sorry to boast here but I do have eight 5 star reviews and most people seem to find it amusing.  Hilarious in fact. As I told you last week I have to do this publicity against my will because I have no publicity agent.

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With best wishes to you all,

Patricia