大象传媒

This is not quite a story, but a poem about my uncle who was killed in France in 1944 at the age of 19.He was in the Hampshire regiment and is buried at the Bayeux War Cemetary in France.
His Sister, my Mum, lost Len and then her father six weeks later. The shock sent my Granny blind, and she regained her sight after about six months.
Really the poem (if you can call it that) is about knowing someone who has been in and spoken about throughout my life although of course I was not even born when he was killed. My Mum used to talk to me about him and how much she loved and missed him and when the war finally ended what a bitter-sweet time it was for her and of course for millions of other people.
I felt I knew him through her and he must have been a very special preson if he was anything like my dear Mum.
My Mum joined the ack-ack during the war and
her Brother was really keen to join her doing his bit. She used to know all the makes of the German planes and make me laugh with the tales from the army.
Anyway, here are my thoughts on Len, my Uncle, whom my parents have now joined. I miss them every day of my life, but I am determined to pass the stories of the war on to my children. These brave, wonderful people should never be forgotten.

"Our Kid"

I have known your face for as long as I have lived,
I have known the name given to you Len "Our
Kid"
I have known you through my Mum, your loving sister Jess,
I have known how much she loved you, and that you were the best,
I have known the things you used to say, and the loving words you wrote,
"Take care big sis, its cold outside, so dont' forget your coat",
I have known much more than this, but yet we never met.
You went to war and paid the price, your life, the ultimate sacrifice,
Sometimes the grief of my dear Mum was very hard to bear,
As the tears would well and drop, a cup of tea would share,
And I would kiss her tenderly and try to make them stop,
How much she loved you Len was a testiment to you,
I know if we had met I would have loved you too,
So now, you lay in peace with your comrades
for evermore,
In a piece of England on a foreign shore,
But your dear face was always there, on the mantlepiece at home,
And now it has place of pride in mine, now that I am grown,
No lines will ever ravage you,
Nor all those brave young men,
You are our own dear face, forever, always,Len.

Barbara Lowe 6.6.04
As you can see a poet I am not but the words are nevertheless heartfelt and genuine.
If there is anyone out there who know my Uncle, I would love to hear from you.

kid

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