´óÏó´«Ã½

I have been asked by Mrs.Sandra Eros to submit this poem on her behalf. She completely understands the ´óÏó´«Ã½'s Rules and Conditions and agrees to be governed by them

Childhood

At first darkness; the humming of aircraft overhead;
The smell of rubber gas masks.
When walking through debris, fear stalked me like a shadow
cast over bombed sites.

‘Oh God our help in ages past!’
A frequent, rising nausea in school assembly — perhaps from awe.
My teacher led me away into the fresh air.

Father and uncles were photographed in khaki uniform.
There were ration books and sticky gelatine cubes.
My mother fed the kittens. She wore a floral housecoat.

Then came light: long hours spent in the sunshine of a wild garden.
We played Cowboys and Indians clothed in black-out material
and coloured feathers.

The voice of my brother on the landing when he sang with me in unison.
My friends and I stole blossom from the beautiful houses, then ran away hurriedly.

A deserted courtyard was another kingdom where we rode a sledge
Tugged by a short length of rope.
‘Our Princess!’ chanted two curly-haired boys as they stroked
my waist-length hair.

Rita of the blind, German mother took me into her underground greenhouse
and our heads swam in the perfume of so many blooms.

Childhood was a time of dreamy innocence pervaded by a faint melancholy.

Sandra Eros (nee Grayson)

Addendum:
My late father Lou Grayson (Goldstein) came from a large family and was one of five brothers who served in the forces during WW2.
His photo and service details can be found in "Five Sons, all serving in H.M.Forces" (A2025028).

Memories of Lou Goldstein, my Dad

I remember that he was a very kind and generous man. He used to take me (and my brother, Brian) to ice cream parlours and to the fairground. We also went to the local theatre occasionally. When I was older he encouraged me in my studies and used to give me spelling tests. He liked reading and gambling. We were bombed out during the war and he was sent home on compassionate leave in order to help us find a new home. He worked as a tailor and used to make me wonderful coats. I would choose the material and draw what I wanted and he could copy my design. He had studied business and I still have his Pitman’s shorthand textbook, which helped me when I did a Secretarial Language Course.

When the war was over he returned to us but, unfortunately, the marriage did not work out and my father left home suddenly when I was ll years old. It was a shock to me and I did not see him for four years. I do regret this now as there are always two sides to every story. When I was fifteen I used to see him twice a year. He lived with my grandmother in Stamford Hill and I used to think that this was very far away. I had to travel from Ilford to Liverpool Street and then take a bus. I remember the delicious buffets that Booba used to prepare for me. I still have some of the beautiful birthday cards that he would send me. When I was in 2l I was in Paris and had an awful feeling that something was wrong. When I got to London my mother was waiting for me and told me that he had had a coronary thrombosis and had died. He was only 52.

I know from the family book that he was a moral man and very protective of his younger brothers and sisters. He worked with his father in the tailoring business, which I do not think fulfilled him. I remember that he wanted to win a lot of money and change his life, but sadly it did not happen. A few months before he died he did visit my mother a few times, but they did not reconcile.

When I studied hypnotherapy some years later I had to be hypnotized eight times and on one occasion I realized that I had not allowed myself to grieve for my father and was in floods of tears, so much so that I had to be escorted home. I used to feel disloyal to my mother if I saw my father and so it was quite difficult for me and my brother.

If I could have had one wish it would have been that my parents had found happiness with other partners, but we cannot change the past. We can only cherish the good memories.

Sandra Eros
December 2005

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