I never knew my father
He didn’t know me.
But today I received a letter
Written when I was three.
A little scrap of paper
Barely four by five
But how the words on that scant page
Made him come alive !
Concern for his family
Hopes for better times.
Thoughts of Spring in Scotland
Written in simple lines.
Nothing in the way of news,
The censor had his way,
But just to say he was alive
Was sufficient for the day.
What were his thoughts I wonder ?
What visions did he see ?
A bakers shop, prosperity,
Back in liberty ?
He knew not then his fate was sealed,
And he’d come home no more
Only in his wistful dreams
Would he see our island’s shore.
Royal Army Service Corps.
Their daily job to feed the troops
Who soon would fight no more.
Then later dad was captured
In enemy camp enclosed
Detained by Hitler’s henchmen
Their will on him imposed.
I wonder if he baked their bread ?
Did they commandeer his skill ?
Did he have cause to wish them dead,
Or did he bear no ill ?
So many questions in my mind
So much I’ll never know
Strange it should take fifty years
For this interest to grow.
The kids with dads would brag,
Vying with each other
On the attributes they had.
And when they asked what mine did,
I told them with a nod,
My father was a baker
And now he bakes for God.