Her Memory - Trudie Shannon

Her Memory
She was twelve.
She and her mum had boarded the boat together.
Dad had said he’d meet them there.
He’d said, you go on ahead, I’ll catch up.
But, he hadn’t come, he’d had no intention of leaving.
And the gangway was pulled onboard without him.
She leaned on the rail,
Scanned all those faces, searching for his familiar one
But he wasn’t there.
And the ship steamed away.
On the mainland, she went one way and her mum another.
She went on with the school
One of many farmed out, kid evacuees.
She vividly remembered her first night at their house.
Her pretending to be asleep whilst they unpacked her little case.
She remembered Aunty’s comments
As she lifted aloft a pretty little camisole and matching pants
She can’t be from a poor family, look at these.
And she had peeked a one eyed peek then
And wondered, how such lovely things came to be inside her case?
She had called them Aunty and Uncle
Though they would have preferred mum and dad
But she refused, she had a mum and dad.
Her dad alone in Guernsey guarding hearth and home.
Her mum working in the town earning pennies to survive.
But then The Hood was blown to smithereens
And her brother was killed, just nineteen
Her mum wanted her then, wanted a child by her side
So she sent for her
And she waved goodbye forever to
Aunty and Uncle who had been very kind.
She was nineteen when they came home together
Her grieving mother whose skin wept the tears she could not shed.
Dad was there to meet them off the boat.
He said their home was still there,
Though much of their furniture, their possessions had been destroyed.
He’d done his best, her grieving dad
Her thinner, greyer dad
But her dad, her dad,
Her dad was alive.
And the war was over, over
And she was no longer a child.