Harry, his name,

second oldest in the family of six,

boisterous and brave,

mischievous imp

as all boys must be,

a raconteur supreme

of adventures imaginary

in lands of heat and sun,

enthralling younger siblings

with tales of wonder and fear,

running a coffee plantation in Africa,

his fervent, passionate dream.

A bike glistening silver and new

in the shop window large,

enticing with stainless steel

and wheels of sumptuous shine,

but oh, the price — it’s a crime!

What to do?

Ah ha! Into the woods,

that’s the place,

special mushrooms

growing thick and fast,

pick, pick, pick,

a suitcase full,

off to the hotels nearby

eager for these delicacies so delightful and rare

and suddenly he’s got a fistful of coins in his care.

Stones for builder’s merchants

he then collects and soon,

with every penny of pocket money saved,

the bike he buys and proudly shows

to friends and family alike,

discipline and perseverance

a winning combination.

The outdoor life,

to him a joy,

camping, canoeing,

swimming, diving,

sailing, too,

though he’s nearly lost in turbulent seas,

on a trip across the Baltic

with friends from school,

thrown into the sea,

all possessions gone,

but Swedish rescuers arrive in time,

fishing him from bitterly cold water,

finally appearing on land

to parents’ delight and siblings’ laughter

in borrowed clothes two sizes too small.

The Colonial School his goal

when sixth form’s over,

but war intervenes

and to the army he’s called,

returning on leave to congratulate the sister

on splendid A level success,

pinning a medal to her chest,

a tradition of the time,

she feeling so tall and proud on his arm:

a wonderful thing to have a brother

dressed in uniform so fine!

Then off to Russia,

surviving winter’s deadly cold

by washing each morning the body

in snows of freezing, glacial white.

“Crazy Harry,” the others say,

but it saves him from ghastly frostbite

and the dreadful fate of losing a limb —

amongst his comrades a common sight.

At Stalingrad he fights,

injured near fatally in thigh and leg,

but his devoted batman

like a madman drives,

across ditches and fields,

through bushes and trees

with his officer in sidecar,

delirious with pain.

The field hospital reached,

into the O.P. tent he dives,

ignoring the wounded littered all around.

“Save my lieutenant,

save my lieutenant!”

he madly, desperately cries,

and the operation’s done,

sparing the life of this uncle near dead.

The war he survives,

but then what to do?

A restaurant he starts,

first here, then there,

long, hard hours the price

but success the reward

for the work invested.

Kidney disease takes his wife

and scars his two sons.

He marries again,

though this aunt much younger

is one of difficult moods,

possessive, jealous

and open to the abuse of drink,

yet Harry sticks with her

through thick and thin.

“Foolish,” some might say,

but caring and loyal

is what many another would think.

His love of warmth and heat

leads him to exotic holidays

and a life in Spain,

and though he returns

to his birth land of wet and cold,

his decision is made

to retire to the sun;

so to the Canaries he goes,

running a bar for the German tourists

who flock to the islands in droves.

The weather he adores

and the relaxing lifestyle suits

and here it is that a niece from England

gets to know him once more,

much better than before,

for she’s older and wiser

and more fluent now

in the language of his birth.

A convivial companion

this estimable Uncle Harry,

interesting, well-informed,

keen to widen his knowledge,

kind and generous,

warm and friendly,

a man with great love of family,

of infinite resource,

determination and bravery.

Battles and strife were his lot,

but undaunted by the obstacles

washed towards him by the stream of life

weary capitulation was never his choice,

somehow finding a way

around or over or through,

pushing open doors that others didn’t see

because their minds were closed

to the range of endless possibilities...

Good coming out of bad,

warmth radiating from cold,

sunshine pouring out of snow.

Resistance makes us all grow stronger

and fly ever higher on the wind of life,

so the difficulties we meet are what we need

if we want to be the highest flying kite.

Copyright © 2008 Helena Harper