So why am I writing a blog?
Why am I suddenly writing poetry?
Well, I think is inspiration. First there is my dad, he probably inspired me to join the services. He fought in Burma and won the Burma Star for his service at the Battle of Kohima and the words he often used to say regularly were from that poem by John Maxwell Edmonds (1875-1958).
Its called 'The Kohima Epitaph' and it is the epitaph carved on the Memorial of the 2nd British Division in the cemetery of Kohima (North-East India) in which my dad served during the Second World War . It reads:
'When You Go Home, Tell Them Of Us And Say,
For Your Tomorrow, We Gave Our Today.'
The verse is attributed to and is thought to have been inspired by the epitaph written by Simonides to honour the Greeks who fell at the Battle of Thermopylae in 480BC, but my dad often came out with these words and knew the poem almost by heart.
The second reason is that I find myself with more time on my hands these days and many thoughts in my head which I think are useful to share. My Brother-in-law, Mr. Donald J Dolby sends out a distribution of his poetry at Christmas time to all of us and if you are interested you can check out Don’s stuff at these Poetry Websites so you like me might get inspired.
Third, another inspiration. Is one Christopher Graham Collins (born 28 January 1957), professionally known as Frank Skinner, he is of course known as an English comedian, actor, presenter, and writer. Frank mentions in his autobiography that his dad grew up Skinner wrote in his autobiography that his father, who was born in West Cornforth, County Durham, and played for Spennymoor United before the Second World War. Frank says that his dad met his mother in a local pub after Spennymoor had played West Bromwich Albion in an FA Cup game in 1937. So even though club officials and historians could not find his father in their records. This is a good enough place to start how my dad met my mum.
She too was born in Spennymoor and she met my dad whilst working as an usherette in the local cinema. She used to tell us kid the stories of “Sandshoe Sammy”, who she swore, followed her home one night; Sandshoe Sammy was well known in these parts - and terrifying to young people who’d heard the tale that he’d snatch them if they were out walking after dark.
Dad was in the Durham Light Infantry training as the war was ramping up circa 1940 onward and was later transferred to India where he said he guarded Ghandi – although I used to joke that he didn’t do a good job there then as wasn’t Ghandi assassinated? Of Course, Ghandi was killed well after my dad was demobbed so the joke was on me.
He was born in Skipton in Lancashire, England in 1920 and has some Italian heritage we all think as he never found it hard to get a sun tan. He also had stories of some people he would later meet and includes his doctor, who, when he was a young boy was Dr. Buck Ruxton who was at one time in Madame Tussaud's Chamber of Horrors.
Dad convinced Sally or Sarah Jane to marry him, (She always said that he pestered so much she said yes just to shut him up). So, whilst on leave, in 1943, with his twin sister Florence as the best man, they got married.
He was later sent to fight the Japanese and mum was told as that war raged on in the far east that my dad Corporal Taylor had been killed in action!
Mum spent the war years cleaning in London at Kensington Palace. She left the house where my dad was expected to live when he was demobbed, this went to Florrie or Auntie Flo. But Dad was not missing or killed in action, the telegram was mistakenly sent about another Taylor of the same rank in the same Division.
My Dad never spoke of the time he spent in Burma until he was much older. The terrors he experienced as are recorded by other Burma veterans were often only for his and probably their nightmares.
He died of rectal and prostate cancer in the August of 2006 and his ashes are scattered in a planted lemon bush in my Winchester Garden. The plant which blooms every year especially around his birthday in June.
For his funeral, my brother-in-law, Don, wrote these words, which accompany the lemon tree plant against a brass plaque, and which say:
ALF
1920 – Skipton – born
He fought his battles in lands afar
1940 – wearied and worn
For his efforts awarded the Burma Star
1960 – Children to Care
Mixing Concrete to earn a crust
1980 – Grandchildren to share
A laugh with Grandad they could always trust
2006 – no more battles were near
He fought so hard just as before
Helped by the love of those held dear
But now in a place he struggles no more
Dad was 86 when he passed in 2006, and mum was to follow two years later. They were married for 63 years, and I remember that they quarreled and made up and quarreled and made up again. Mum’s ashes, Sarah Jane Taylor nee Small, are with my little Sis, Sally Street nee Taylor who resides in Nashville Tennessee. (Mum died on a visit to Carmel Indiana, USA, where Sally and her husband Steve and their five children lived back in 2008); now mum is in a place were there are birds singing in the house that Sally and Steve own in Nashville.
There Sally has created a lovely area held in Mum’s memory and a bulldog named Alfie pads about the place there with his counterpart female Aggie, (named after my dad's first girlfriend actually called Aggie Ruth, which always brought a laugh to those pair of lovebirds, Sally and Alfred Taylor.
Even though they are parted now their ashes spread across the miles, I believe they are together still and often my Sister, Sally will tell me, that my dad’s favourite song, (apart from Slim Whitman’s Happy Anniversary, which he put on the record player every year in celebration) – was the ballad called ‘The Green Green Grass of Home’ by Tom Jones and spookily, it just comes on the smart speaker or other device for no reason at all.
So, my poem for them on this blog today is:
A Boyhood Memory of Mum and Dad
They were together, longer than most, survived the events of two wars and that MIA post!
Sal and Alf three letters in each name, once said, bring the boyhood memories into my head.
Of Butlins hols and trips in the car so sweet, to see our Nanny and Grandad, in Chester Le Street.
Then on to Blackpool, B&B, to Morecambe, in the car - not the train!
He’d say Kids “Why call it Morecambe”, And we’d all shout “Dad - Coz More Came.”
Those wonderful memories - there was a trip to St Ives.
With him continuing to rhyme about that meeting with a man with “seven wives.”
Found on a post card, I still see today, although he's gone now, I still him say,
many words of wisdom repeated day after day.
Some melodies played, my sister would Jive, he'd sing "Darling Happy Anniversary" alongside Slim's 45.
His passing message stays with me as “Don’t you retire early son, there’s so much to face”; I know he was right now - I have his laugh, some boredom but I have his humour - his face.
"All Roads Lead to Home" he'd say, dearest Alfie we had so much to learn ;'Down the Road, I look' - I look for my Dad, but there is no YOU-to turn.
#Love You Dad x