1910 the year,

the second eldest in a family of nine,

a quick, sharp brain

fascinated by all things mechanical,

math and science a breeze,

English and history, too,

a military career for him, of course,

following the tradition of years.

An officer he becomes,

listening to long tales of hunting

and shooting in the mess,

but these things do nothing

but bore him completely to death.

Eager to share his mechanical passion

the words pour forth in youthful naivety

about Aston Martins, Rovers,

engines, pistons,

motor bike racing, the lot...

But “Don’t you know, my dear chap,

that’s just not the done thing, what?”

A square peg in a round hole,

a nonconformist

rubbing superiors up the wrong way,

an army career dissolving,

a first marriage ending,

but then war — a reprieve,

distinguished service,

mentioned in dispatches,

family honor retrieved.

Part of the British occupation

on the shattered German soil,

encounter with a native woman

who’s fled her homeland in the East,

fifteen years the difference,

yet what of that?

Elegance and intelligence intriguing,

to joyful marriage vows finally leading...

A few months later a soldier no more,

a career in technical writing beckoning,

but money is tight

and work has to be found

be it north, south, east or west,

so lonely weeks spent away

from family and home

are the price he has to pay.

Yet delight he finds

with two daughters,

helping with homework,

encouraging, comforting,

supporting, teaching,

answers never failing

to satisfy the countless questions,

revealing nothing of financial worries

robbing his nights of sleep.

Insatiable curiosity driving him

to devour books galore

on history and science,

philosophy and war,

to ask all he encounters,

whether workmen in the road

or politicians in the street,

about their work and trade

and the knowledge he gains

is oh, so precious and so sweet!

Up with the lark is his habit,

preparing breakfast before the household stirs,

enjoying the early morning quietness

and the richness of coffee freshly ground,

turning the pages of the ever-present book

or allowing the beautiful notes

of arias and symphonies divine

to transport his soul

to the realm of the spiritual.

A daughter enters

and in companionable silence,

minds perfectly attuned,

a breakfast is shared.

Can’t be found?

In the study perhaps,

planning family holidays

with military precision,

or maybe the garage,

clamped under engine

hands black with oil and grime,

or glued to the workbench

cutting, shaving,

repairing, mending,

gifted fingers

weaving skillful patterns

with tools for this

and tools for that.

A call comes,

a friend in need

of his technical expertise,

or a daughter’s plea,

“Can you take me into town, please?”

No problem!

Requests fulfilled

with grace and speed,

a heart full of kindness

willingly performing

deed after deed.

In the kitchen, too,

a whiz of a chef,

roasting and stewing with admirable flair

and conjuring up delicious puddings

from ingredients plain, simple and bare.

What to do for relaxation and rest?

A book, of course,

(science fiction a favorite)

or a trip to the pub,

to converse with friends

and partake of a pint or two of best.

Yet the money worries of earlier years

have taken their toll

and blocked arteries around the heart

darken tomorrow’s goals.

An operation he wants,

not a body rattling with pills,

but the doctors aren’t sure;

he’s too old, they say, for an operation,

it’s too risky, they say, at seventy-three.

But he persists,

a second opinion he wants

and at last he finds a doctor to agree.

He waits for a hospital bed,

the call arrives,

the bags are packed,

and off he goes,

this man who thinks

his life doesn’t amount to much,

always dreaming of ideas

to make that fabulous fortune,

though it eludes him at every turn,

yet surely it must be there, it must —

if not now, then soon, very soon!

But look at the daughters he’s brought up,

teaching them right from wrong,

never failing or deserting them,

filling their memories

with endless happy hours

of warmth and affection.

Look at their pleasure,

their laughing, smiling faces

when he is near,

look how they listen

with eyes so eager and keen

to the words that fall from the mobile lips —

that’s a wonder to be seen!

How well he’s taught and loved them!

Isn’t that an accomplishment

more valuable than all the prizes

the world of men offers

and more precious than all

the gold and jewels we hide

in strongholds and coffers?

The surgeons await

and wield their instruments

with skill and care.

The operation’s a success,

but the body’s too weak

and the torrent of drugs is too forceful and strong,

the heart fails,

a minor collapse,

hours later a massive one...

The race begins to open the chest,

massage the heart,

it beats,

but too many minutes have passed,

imprisoning the brain in a vacuum too long.

The body seeks refuge in coma;

organs fail as the days tick by

and hands switch off machines —

a flick here, a click there,

that’s all it takes,

not much,

to enable the soul to pass

to its existence beyond,

accompanied by the love

and gratitude of hearts

enriched by its touch.

Copyright © 2008 Helena Harper