The Morning After the Day Before 3

13 November 1933 again

More news items from the Auckland Star:

Editorial
NEWSPAPERS AND PROGRESS.

The "New Zealand Herald" celebrates its seventieth birthday to-day, and has marked the occasion by the issue of a special number in which its own progress and that of the city, the province and the Dominion are recorded in highly interesting fashion. These lines of progress are not separate; rather are they like the strands of a fabric. A newspaper is the abstract and brief chronicle of the time. It helps to create prosperity, but it cannot itself prosper if the community is unprogressive or suffers reverses of fortune. It mirrors the history of the society in which it circulates.....


BANK BILL.

amendment likely

IN LEGISLATIVE council.

question of powers.

 (By Telegraph. —Parliamentary Reporter.)

 WELLINGTON, this day.

The Reserve Bank Bill will come before the Legislative Council on Wednesday for its second reading, and indications are that an interesting debate will result, as it is known there are several members of the council who are opposed to some of the principles embodied in the measure. The most interesting feature of the council's consideration of the bill will be in the committee stages, when it is believed that some amendments will be proposed.

The question is bound to arise whether the Legislative Council has the right to amend the bill.- The powers of the council are limited in so far as "money" bills are concerned. It cah reject such bills in toto, but cannot amend them. Some doubt appears to exist whether the Reserve Bank Bill is a money bill, but it is understood that if the question is raised it will be ruled that it is not a money bill in the strict sense of the term.



TO NORTH POLE.

SUBMARINE EFFORT.

SIR HUBERT WILKINS' PLANS:

TO BUILD A NEW NAUTILUS.

 (By Telegraph.—Own Correspondent.)

 DUNEDIN, this day.

Plans for a second attempt to reach the North Pole by submarine and hopes for the erection of a chain of meteorological observatory stations in the Arctic and Antarctic were outlined by Sir Hubert Wilkins, in an interview to-day. "It is my intention to build a new Nautilus boat, designed to suit the. conditions,'' said Sir Hubert. The former I Nautilus was not an ideal boat for the job. The new Nautilus might be more correctly termed an ice boat. She will be designed to slide along underneath the ice, and will be of such strength as to be operated at depths of 500 ft or more. Plans are already out, and as soon as 1 return from this expedition I expect to proceed with the construction of the boat, in which I hope to carry out the final voyage, which is necessary in connection with (he geographical location of meteorological stations."




THE MELBOURNE CUP.

A GREAT FINISH.

HEADS AMONG- FOUR.

A GAME THREE-YEAR-OLD.

"A head, a head between second and dead-heaters," was the judge's laconic way of expressing the outcome of probably the most thrilling finish ever seen in a Melbourne Cup.

Not definitely a starter until the eleventh hour, Hall Mark, despite the tremendous handicap of a split heel, which required unremitting attention from the time the horse won the V.R.C. Derby until he went to the post for the Cup, added victory in Australia's greatest handicap to his remarkable record. The A.J.C. and Victoria Derbies and several other fine races already stood to his credit. Australians dearly Jove a good horse, and the tremendous attendance at Flemington was quick to show its appreciation of the sameness which enabled Hall Mark to battle out the finish to the end.


RELIEF PAY.

UNITED PROTEST-

ALLOCATION FOR OAMARU.

MEN SHORT OF NECESSITIES.

(By Telegraph.—Press Association.)

OAMARU, this day.

On Saturday a deputation from the Relief Workers' Association waited on

Mr. J. A. Macpherson, M.P., and emphasised that, they found it impossible to buy the necessities of life on their present allocation. Members of the deputation said that unless Mr. Macpherson brought pressure to bear on the Minister of Employment and the Unemployment Board for an increased allocation to the Oamaru Association they would not be responsible for the future. If it were possible to put a member of Parliament on relief wages for three months, without other source of income, the situation would soon be cleared up.

Speakers stated that the cost of administration of the relief fund was too high, salaries being so good that men so employed would be sorry when unemployment ceased. Men from Christchurch and the North Island had been employed by the Department at Oamaru discharging coal, and they had received an allowance of 2/ a night in addition to wages. This work should have been done by local unemployed.
  

Sketching this week

I had letters to post the other morning, so I walked round the corner to the post box.

Then I looked around for something to sketch. Near the post box is a big hotel. Over the highway from the hotel is a house on a little hill.

So I sat on a low concrete wall at the back of the hotel and looked across the road and up to the house.

And this is the result:

What use is poetry?

One of the posh literary magazines ran an article earlier this year with this title.

 

And in the discussions around the local body elections in New Plymouth there was often an underlying theme that more or less asked the same question, implying that the arts have no practical use, when compared with footpaths and drains.

 

Take two well-known poems, at least in New Zealand. “God defend New Zealand”,  goes the refrain of the first. Does anyone really suggest that this poem is no use? It has, in fact, a clear political value to enable us to identify with our country, and to express our solidarity over against other countries, whether we compete in sport, business or war.

 

The second poem starts “Ka mate! Ka mate!” Again it should be obvious to anyone who has watched a sporting event, or seen the welcome to a homecoming team or hero, that it is a very special piece of poetry, accompanied by dance, which serves, in much the same way, to celebrate, honour, unify, and express gratitude and the deepest respect.

 

Then, take another example: ”Georgie,  Porgie,  pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry.” We have mostly forgotten the origins of this one, but it was sung or chanted by the street urchins in the eighteenth century about one of the King Georges, and because it is easy to remember for its rhyme and rhythm, has been told to children ever since.

 

Its original use was as a political slogan, or to express popular feeling about politics, but now it is just good fun for children. And there are lots like it.

 

These are just three of the uses to which politicians have put poetry.

 

Then take one that begins:  ”Thirty days hath September, April  June and November.” We can all say this poem by heart. And we use it to check our recall of the calendar when we are fixing dates for our diaries, and such everyday tasks.

 

Then look at “What shall we do with a drunken sailor?” Our ancestors who sailed to New Zealand by sailing ship would know exactly what that was used for:  the crew of the ship, each man on one arm of the capstan, walking round and so operating the winch that raised the anchor, or hauled up the huge sails.

 

And this kind of poetry, song or chant, was not only used by sailors.  In those days and before, for centuries, working gangs had had to do all the heavy hauling, at least until steam winches and jack-hammers were invented, or the boss could afford a team of bullocks or other animal power. I have seen and heard gangs hauling up concrete blocks to drop on piles for a new bridge in places where modern machinery was unobtainable. Their chant was just like a sea-shanty. And I guess my great-grandfather who rebuilt Queen’s Wharf in Auckland a century ago probably used the same sort of manpower for pile-driving, sometimes.

 

So work-poetry is another large genre where the practical use is obvious.

 

Much the same are children’s play-poetry, like “Oranges and Lemons”, and all the other rhymes for skipping to, in rhythm.

 

Then there are the poems which tell a story; before everyone could read, they were able to remember the story because lots of the poetry was easily remembered. Such poems are in every culture: “Iliad”, “Aeneid”, “Ramayana”, “Job”, “Beowulf”, “Paradise Lost”. And more modern ones like “The Charge of the Light Brigade”, or “The Ancient Mariner”. Even A A Milne’s “The King’s Breakfast” fits here.

 

And then there are simple, romantic poems like “I wandered lonely as a cloud”, or “Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?” where the poet is expressing his feelings in memorable, concise language. Alexander Pope described this process as:

 

“True Art is Nature to advantage dress’d,

What oft was thought but ne’er so well express’d.”

 

This kind of poetry helps us to find words to put our feelings into when we want to tell someone else about them, or just to get our descriptions of emotion straight in our own minds, especially to express our ideas very concisely.

 

Poetry is almost never without a use, in many cases a public use that we all share.

Auckland Grammar: Second Year continued

During 1947, my interest in the school library developed to the stage where I became a library assistant.

Under the guidance of senior librarians from sixth and seventh forms, we issued and shelved books, repaired damaged ones, and generally kept the library functioning and tidy. We were each responsible for a couple of lunchtimes and morning breaks each week.

Library staff, 1948

Towards the end of the year, we were asked to choose our subjects for the next year. The first thing I discovered was that Option 1 was between Maths, Latin and Geography. I wanted to study all three subjects, but there was nowhere else in the system that any of them appeared.

The basic idea was that you chose Science, so your subjects were English, Maths, and sciences, or you chose Languages, which meant English, Latin, French, History and Electricity and magnetism.

My parents agreed that it would be best if I could include both Maths and Latin at the very least, and my father went to consult the Headmaster about it, but there was no shifting the system.

So the languages stream was chosen, and a crucial direction was set for the rest of my life. I did pick up some basic maths in statistics and navigation during my studies in Education and the Air Force later on, but they, and my lifelong interest in maps and the weather, were peripheral.

Also late in the year, my father managed to buy a new car; Ford had put out its new model, the Prefect, a 10 horse power (1000 cc) simple fourseater family car, easily mass-produced and very popular. He applied for the petrol ration and was granted far more than he expected to get, so decided to drive to the city each day and take me with him.

This was a good opportunity for me to learn to drive, and so each morning I was soon driving a new car through the chaotic rush hour traffic up the Great South Road from Hunters Corner to Newmarket. It was very good training, and I was able to pass the driving test a couple of days after my fifteenth birthday. But that was twelve months later, in November 1948.

The Morning After the Day Before 2

We are still on 13 November 1933

News items (international) from the Auckland Star:


BUTTER IN LONDON.

DEMAND SATISFACTORY.

IN STOCKS.

LONDON, November 11.

The demand for butter continues to be very satisfactory. Stocks in cold store at the end of October were reduced to 630,000 boxes, compared with 796,000 a fortnight previously. The retail price of one shilling a lb is attracting many buyers, but iti view of heavy prospective supplies, importers do not see much chance of raising the wholesale price. There is a great shortage of unsalted Australian and New Zealand butter, which is selling at about 20/ a cwt above salted.


GERMANY VOTES.

STRANGE election.

REFERENDUM TAKEN.

Disarmament and Withdrawal From League.

REICH POLL MERE FORMALITY.

(United P.A.-Electric Telegraph-Copyright)

 (Received 11.30 a.m.)

 BERLIN, November 12.

 "Do you, German man, and you, German woman, approve the policy of your Government, and are you ready to recognise it as an expression of your own views and will, and solemnly to pledge yourself to it?" this was the actual form of the referendum on which Germany to-day was asked to approve the attitude towards disarmament and the departure from the League of Nations.


Voters on another paper were asked to choose a new Reichstag, which is a mere formality in the absence of the competitive element. However, this did not affect the intensity of the Government's propaganda. Every town and village was beflagged, and there were long queues outside taverns,
which were used as polling booths, while elaborate arrangements were made for the votes of Germans living abroad.


 Polling Reaches 100 Per Cent.

 The Nazis polled 14,866,950 votes, representing 92.8 per cent of votes counted till 10.30. The invalid votes totalled 1,150,550, or 7.27 per cent. A total  representing 94.1 per cent, replied "Yes" on the plebiscite and 708,000 "No." There were 251,950 informal votes. Early returns showed that the polling had exceeded the most optimistic expectations. In several instances 100 per cent went to the poll in rural centres, with almost a 100 per cent "Yes" vote, even in centres which formerly were Socialist and Communist strongholds. Hitherto 85 per cent was the highest poll recorded in Germany.



FLIGHT OF GOLD.

XJ.S. INFLUX INTO BRITAIN.

LONDON, November 12,

The city editor of the "Daily Express" estimates that the dollar slump has brought £100,000,000 of American money to London in purchases of British Government stocks by Americans. The figure for the past two days is between £40,000,000 and 60,000,000.

 

REPLY TO LABOUR.

Bank Nationalisation Policy Criticised.

PUBLIC UTILITIES COMPARED.

LONDON, November 12.

The British Labour party recently issued a manifesto on banking policy, in which it made various suggestions, including the nationalisation of the Bank of England and amalgamating the "big five" banks into a corporation under public ownership and control. An effective reply to this manifesto has been made by Mr. F. L. Bland, a director of Barclay's Bank and president of the Institute of Bankers, in an address in which he said the nationalisation of the Bank of England might appeal to the uninstructed, but he thought these did not realise the risks involved nor the close contact which exists already between the bank and the Government.



UNITED IRELAND.

NEW PARTY'S POLICY.

Voluntary Reunion As Empire Constituent.

OBSTACLE OF PARTITION.

(United P.A.—Electric Telegraph—Copyright)

(Received 1.30 p.m.)

DUBLIN, November

The United Ireland party has issued a detailed policy. This includes the abolition of proportional representation, termination of the economic war with Britain, a permanent reduction of the annuities by at least 50 per cent, and the voluntary reunion of Ireland as a single, independent State within the British Commonwealth.

The party also proposes the reopening of the partition question with Britain, as it regards partition as the greatest obstacle to Irish acceptance of membership of the Empire. The absorption of able-bodied unemployed in -a reconstruction corps for public works is also proposed.




CONTROL IN ITALY.

MUSSOLINI'S LATEST PLAN.

ROME, November 12,

The Italian Prime Minister, Signor Mussolini, intends to abolish the Chamber of Deputies in favour of an ambitious scheme of social legislation. He will indicate shortly whether the abolition of the Chamber will be immediate or gradual.

It is understood that a council of corporations, which is tantamount to the joint committee of the Federation of British Industries and Trades Union Council will control the nation's economic activities thereby placing the State under its complete dominance.  
 

 

Current Reading

I have been reading Christopher Hitchins' memoir Hitch-22.

As you might expect, this book is an exposition of the dilemma Hitchins finds himself in after a lifetime of fighting for "progressive" causes and writing for left-wing publications.

He illustrates the dilemma, among others, by reference to the Falklands War. As a journalist he had visited Argentina, contacted left-wing associates, and found out something of the atrocities being carried out by the ruling junta, some of which have never been satisfactorily resolved.

At the same time, he was fiercely opposed to Mrs Thatcher and her policies, and could never have imagined himself siding with her government, but that is where he found himself over the proposal to go to war over the Falklands.

Reduced to the simplest terms, the dilemma is that a war to bring about regime change in Argentina (or, later, Iraq) was the lesser of two evils.

When I started reading this book, Hitchins struck me as a bit of a name-dropper. I soon found some of his writing really came alive, when  he was describing some incident he had been involved in.

He analyses in some detail the process by which he came to the conclusion I outlined above, the Damascus experience he calls it.

I found many parallels with my own process of development and change in my own life. A perceptive and revealing account of one man's careful self-analysis.

Family History Sideline: Rev Joseph Ivemey

This is the frontispiece and title page of a book which has been in the family for over 150 years.

Published in 1835, it recounts the life and writings of Rev Joseph Ivemey, who was the Pastor of the Church Charles and Alice Gaze belonged to in London, but some years before they were associated with it.

Joseph Ivemey was Alice's uncle; exactly how they were related I have not been able to find out.

He was born in Hampshire in 1773, and lived in the town of Ringwood, which had been the home of his family for several generations. Ringwood is between Bournemouth and Salisbury. His parents were Charles and Sarah. Charles was a tailor, and started teaching his trade to Joseph, the eldest child, as soon as he was old enough.
Sarah was a positive influence as contrasted with Charles, who was inclined to hit the bottle.

It may have been for that reason that Joseph was sent to live with his maternal aunt and uncle in the same town, and of the same trade, to learn more effectively. The aunt was connected with a Baptist Church, to which she introduced Joseph, who soon made plenty of young friends among the congregation, and eventually committed himself to the Christian life-style and to this particular church.

Before long it became clear to Joseph and others that he was a leader; he had already excelled at sports with his friends. He was persuaded to look towards becoming a minister and eventually took up a pastorate at Portsea, a suburb of Portsmouth.

After brief periods there and at one or two other churches, he was called to lead the Eagle Street (Red Lion Square) Baptist Church in London, where he served until his death in 1834, aged 60.

He was involved in a range of national movements: the anti-slavery drive which took the time of his whole working life to progress to an act of Parliament to ban slavery; he was a member of the Council of the Baptist Union; he wrote a three-volume history of the English Baptists; he was the Secretary of the Irish Baptist Society, which supported Baptist churches and clergy in  Ireland; he was one of the leaders of the Baptist Missionary Society in England; and he took a vigorous part in some of the debates running during his time, both inside and outside the church.

Ivemey also wrote a life of John Bunyan, and a sequel to Pilgrim's Progress.

One of his long-time friends and colleagues was Rev Andrew Fuller, pastor of the church at Kettering, Northamptonshire, and of the first missionaries sent by the Baptist Missionary Society to India. This was the town where later Julia Goodwin (who married Fred) grew up and went to Sunday School. No doubt Alice Gaze and Julia Gaze had some conversations over their lifetime about the connection between these two ministers about whom they had heard so much from their families.

Family History 1.705

29th November 1859

Latitude 37N

Very calm, the Sea as smooth as I have seen the Canals in England, making very little progress sailing S.W. Warm and very Fine. The Sailor better but still in hospital.

Went on Poop and Read, my wife at Needlework. All pretty well. Saw a Turtle, a short distance from us, looked like a large brown dog swimming, no attempt to catch it: porpoises numerous. No ships in sight today. Another concert on the poop tonight.

30th

Still very calm, all beds ordered up on deck to air, warm weather. Cabin windows open. Slight breeze and began to rain about 6 in the evening. Water came in on our beds - Latitude 34North. Sailor much better and able to go on deck. No ships in sight.

December 1st

Very fine and warm as any day in June in old England a nice breeze and very clear. Sighted Porto Santo about 10 o'clock a splendid view about 2 o'clock about 12 miles distant. A mist soon after 3 o'clock and lose sight of it. Saw 3 sperm whales this morning, close by us, I suppose about 10 or 12 feet long. No ships in sight today.

2nd

Passed very close Madeira in the night.

Fine and warm, our Children not very well, my wife applied to the Surgeon for a substitute for meat and was told by him that the Steward ought to have at least 6 cases Arrowroot for Children, but the Steward had stated there was none on board, so do the best she could with oatmeal. Great Grumbling about provisions generally not being good. No ships in sight today.

New Granddaughter: Sophie Rose Kuriger

Just after midnight we got a text from our son-in-law, Andrew, with photos of our new granddaughter.

Here is the poem I wrote for her mother, Julia, at her 21st birthday in 2002:

JULIA

 

BIRTH

 

I remember watching a birth,

In a warm midnight,
In a small room, before electricity,
Where doctor and nurses, some Indian and some New Zealanders,
Helped Judy into the world,
While, seated at her head,
Out of the way of the professionals,
I wiped her mother’s brow,
And every now and then,
To keep the light bright,
Climbed on my high stool,
And pumped up the kerosene pressure lamp,
Which was perched on top of a wooden cupboard,
At the head of the operating table.

Julius Caesar was a Roman leader.

From his family name, Julius,
All the Juliuses and Julias and Julians of the world
Are named.
Calling himself Julius
Meant he was claiming
To be descended from the gods
And not just any god
But the Father of all the gods.
So Julia means Daughter of God.

And from his last name, Caesar, we remember

That his mother died in giving birth
By that operation that in those days was fatal
To the mother if not to the baby.

I did not see your birth,

Your mother drugged, and Paul Dempsey
Performing the operation, safe now,
That is famous because of Julius Caesar.

But I saw you, new-born,

And I remember your strong chest,
And your contented face,
In spite of an awkward mouth,
And your warm body,
As we danced in the recovery room,
Next to the theatre,
In our modern hospital,
While they zipped up your mother’s abdomen,
And gently woke her from her dream,
To the stark reality of pain,
And you, and me.

We talked, later, of our first reaction:

I do not want this baby!
Not one that looks like this!
But our second reaction came a split moment after it:
I will protect this little life,
Imperfect though she may appear.

My father must have looked like you

When another earlier Julia brought him
Into the world.
She told me once how she had been afraid
Of what Fred’s reaction might be,
Coming home from work
To see his son for the first time.
She said he took her hand
And comforted her (she was 35 at the time)
And promised they would take special care
Of the little boy.

We named you after her,

Partly,
And you have her spirit,
And that of her family.

When she was a girl,

She belonged to a Temperance group

That pledged never to drink alcohol,

And tried to persuade others to do the same.
She went home to her old grandfather, Daniel,
And told him she wished he would
Stop drinking his ale with his dinner.
He never did, so far as I know,
But in this land the WCTU
(Women’s Christian Temperance Union)
With her as a member,
Won the vote for women in 1894.

And I remember how they used to vote

On local body election day,
Guarding their hard-won right to have a say
On who should govern their city,
Their harbour, their schools and hospitals,
And their trams and electricity.

They were enthusiastic about the idea

Of freedom, that generation;
Fred’s sermon, the year he was President
Of his national Church conference,
Was called: A New Zealander’s Free Church.

I remember holidays spent with them

Swimming at Milford Beach
Playing in the sand
Or at the Mini-golf
Walking the dusty road home to the bach
Under the pohutukawa trees
Where at night we went to bed with a candle
And hid under the bedclothes from the mosquitoes.

Julia’s father had brought his family

From Kettering to Auckland,
Because he had not won the vote;
Perhaps New Zealand might be
More democratic than England
Was proving to be!

And he was right in one way,

Because his nieces in Kettering
Did not get even the sniff of a right
To vote until 1921.

At sixteen can you see her?

Sitting on a coil of rope on the deck of a sailing ship

A pretty, dark-haired girl,

Talking with rough sailors

Who are bringing her from England to Auckland

While the long slow waves roll past,

The masts creak, and the breeze whistles

In the rigging.

They told her sailors’ yarns;

I wonder what her parents thought

At the time;

I guess she was a strong person

As I remember her;

They knew she would keep herself safe

In those circumstances.

She told me these stories, and more,

In the evenings, by a roaring fire,

In her Edwardian living-room,

Half listening to the radio,

While her caregiver, my aunt,

Was out for her one break each week

At Bible Class,

At 55 years old.

          *        *        *        *        *

I always love the vision of you

In the back yard at Hobson Street

With a background of rusty corrugated iron

Dressed in a polka-dot navy dress

And a bright pink felt hat

Holding in each hand a full-sized white shoe

That will not stay on your foot

While you totter around the lawn.

Look at this! Christmas Day in Queenstown

And you are going swimming,

Your long, slim legs and arms unsure of the temperature

Of that glacial lake.

You always were a water-baby;

I can see you yet swimming up through the water

Of the swimming-pool at your first lesson

Of Aquatots:  your eyes are open looking at me

Bright and eager to reach my outstretched arms.

You had just jumped in to the pool

Well over your six-month-old head in depth

With no fear that you would find any difficulty

In getting back up to Daddy.

But of all the pictures I have of you

Perhaps my favourite

Is taken at Waignaro Springs

On holiday when you were barely a year old.

You are walking up the path

Holding Matthew’s hand

Launching out on the long road

To an understanding

With your big brother.

DEATH

I watched your sister die;

Not the actual stopping of the breath --

That was on Olwyn’s shift.

But I saw her body slowly wilt,

Her spirit dying by degrees

Under the crushing force of that pitiless disease.

I have known fear, despair, and rising hope

When she seemed to rally and regain some of her lost skills.

I watched her struggle to knit a pair of bootees for her baby cousin,

Four or five times she tried to make her fingers

Put the needle into the stitch

Before she succeeded.

I remember like it was yesterday the moment

When she dropped a cup of tea

Because her hand would no longer do

What her brain told her

And I knew that looking after her

At home by the sea at Paihia

Was no longer possible.

 At the end the doctor,

One of the best in the country,

Said she should have died a month earlier

Her heart was so strong it kept her body alive

When everything was really dead.

I had had a lot of experience of being

In and out of hospital wards, and doctors’ rooms,

And X-rays, and theatres,

Before you came along, so had been well trained

To help you over your first few hurdles.

          *        *        *        *        *

Ten days before she died she wrote her last sentence;

Trailed off into a meaningless scribble

After three or four words

And from then on a flicker of recognition

Or a faint squeeze of the hand was all.

She did not “go gentle into that good night”,

Her body fought violently,

Racked with spasms in the final hours.

Three months earlier she knew

She was dying, said so to me,

And worried how I would cope without her.

And it was hard. I grieved more or less for two years

And for years after that I talked about

A Judy-shaped gap in my life

Until you reached the age she died at

And since then I think of her less often.

I do not want to, did not ever want to

Burden you with the weight

Of my sorrow and the struggle

To live up to my idealised picture

Of Judy the beautiful girl, Judy the brainy,

Judy the sensible, Judy the friendly,

And Judy the (pretty) good.

But you have surpassed the ideal I had

So it is no longer a weight.

You are Julia the beautiful woman, Julia the brilliant,

Julia the sensible, Julia the popular,

Julia the musical and Julia the good.

I am incorrigibly proud of my two daughters.

                        --30.6.02

 

 

In Memoriam: The Poem

Even though I had been warned this was going to happen, I had never really believed that Judy would die. I hoped against hope right to the end, taking comfort from each little improvement provided by a change in medication, or a treatment with radiotherapy.

 

I was in a shellshocked state. I woke early the next morning and went for a long walk before breakfast, up to the summit of One Tree Hill and back through the Epsom streets, quiet as only a Sunday morning can be. By the time I returned, a poem had formed in my mind and I determined to use it for the funeral as a memorial to Judy.

Here it is:

For Judy, 27 November 1973

 

 

We brought you roses, blood-velvet, red;

And all day long your eyes,

Your laughing eyes looked back and said,

“I love you, Dad.”

 

I brought you gladioli, moonstruck, white,

Straight from the garden, blood-drops at the throat;

And all day long your golden eyes looked back;

“I’m happy, Dad,” they said.

 

We brought you ferns and chunky, tall forest trees,

With spiders, wetas, crawling on the bark;

And waterfalls and rocks, and mountain peaks.

“I believe in God,” was what you said.

 

We brought you orchids, cold and waxen,

With butterfly-brooches on their breasts;

Your deep, deep eyes looked back and said,

“I’m scared, Dad.”

 

They brought carnations, tight and crisp,

Scarlet and white and gold, orange and red;

And all day long your eyes looked hard and far;

“I’m tired, Dad,” was all they said.