One half of a conversation
I didn’t ever really know you, I’ve become used to not knowing you
It’s been many years since you left, that I’ve been bereft
Missing the distant memory of you
I only know of you from what others say, older half siblings
You were a hero to them, brilliant scholar, sportsman, chess God
A pilot who did heroic things, was immune to nettle stings
Those young child memories hold you in high esteem
No faults, a paragon of excellence, a pipe dream
Did you really land your sea plane to rescue a man from the water?
That’s what my sister, your daughter, told me
And that you would hold me as you drove her and me in your land rover
We were two of eight, me and her, all those children
Milling around like you spilled them
When I thought things a lad might ask his dad
I couldn’t ask a question that you couldn’t answer
I have a murky memory of a game of cricket on the lawn,
you running between the wickets
But we never had a kickaround
You never took me to a football ground
Didn’t help me with my homework
You couldn’t fix my bike
Don’t know if you made jokes
Or what music you liked
Maybe you could have helped me musically
They say you played the piano, but not rhythmically, a bit like me
If you’d been around my life would’ve been different I’m sure
Gone to different schools, read different books, not been so poor
I envied my friends who still had a dad
They’d do guy stuff together
I don’t know if we would have done that but it would have been good if we had
I wonder if you are in a place
Where you can wonder the same things too
And if you are, then whether you do
If you think what might have been
What together we could have seen
What was your favourite colour, did you like honey?
Your favourite singer, who did you find funny
You likely don’t know these things about me I know
Those things may have been different if you’d reached eighty or so
I still miss the vague memories of you
there are of course only a few
Blurry images, much like the real photographs I had
Black and white images of kids with their mum and dad
Sitting in the garden eating a peach and one of you on the beach
Next to the pram that held your baby girl
It must have been just months before you died
I wonder if you knew then you were so sick
You look pensive, distracted
Maybe you were wondering what you’d do if she cried.
I wish I’d known you better, longer, our bond had been stronger
But this way you do have an air of mystery
And all I know really is that we all have our versions of you
And my version of you, of us, our history
Is that you were my dad and I loved you.
***
Nick spent most of his childhood in Cornwall, hanging out at the beach, enjoying the outdoor life, which he still does to this day. He is a musician and poet. Coming from a songwriting background Nick has been writing poetry with a view to performing for the past 18 months or so, although he has written simple little poems for as long as he can remember. A regular performer on the Devon poetry circuit, Nick writes on a whole variety of subjects from ecology, to food obsessions, dysfunctional upbringing, anti-Islamophobia to an ode to a guitar. He may well not be as funny in real life as he is in his own head!
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