By Greta Romaine

Wartime Mum 

A cousin and I aged seven and eight
Had our lives changed by the hand of fate,
The War began, we said goodbye -
To Mum's Mum and Dad's, and had a cry,
Then off we went to a brand new life -
Leaving behind the bombs and strife.
An Auntie welcomed us with open arms,
And after that we had no qualms.
We sat down to a lovely spread,
Then off upstairs to a cozy bed.

Life in the country was so much fun,
Our memories are of endless sun.
We rode our bikes and climbed the trees
And knocked down apples where nobody sees.
We dammed the streams and caught crayfish
And made mud pies in the little dish.
We had a sledge and loved the snow,
We're sorry when it had to go.
We picked the bluebells in the spring,
The nettles gave us many a sting.

We went to church along the lane and when
We walked back home again,
For wild flowers we would always look,
And press them in our prayer book.
Our Auntie gave us lovely food,
Her apple pasties especially good!
And every week we wrote back home
To say we're fine and never a moan.
Then came the day we'd waited for -
Our Uncle came home from the War.
He carried back a big carved chest
With souvenirs that he liked best.
For quite some time we all had fun,
But the end - we knew, would have to come.

At last the five year War was won,
And back to our Mums we had to come.
We had to rush to catch the train -
To take us all back home again.
With lots of tears and quick goodbyes,
Sadness reflected in our eyes.
Bewilderment showed on all our faces,
As we struggled along with heavy cases.

The years went by, they had a son,
For all our holidays would come.
We all went back, year after year,
To all the folk that we held dear.
Retirement came, they settled down,
They reaped in life what they had sewn.
There was happiness and peace in life,
So many years as man and wife.

Then one day in the early spring,
Her family came and flowers did bring.
She went to the garden before their tea,
To see what greenery she could see.
She rested on her garden seat,
And waited for her Lord to meet.

She left us for another land,
Her bunch of leaves still in her hand.
Those left behind can only sigh,
There was no time to say goodbye.
We'll miss her in the years to come
She was my friend,
And Wartime Mum.

Greta Romaine