My father's fare-welling eyes

When last I looked

on all that was precious to me then,

life before me ever widening, so exciting,

fighting so strongly those inner young man urges …

stay… or… go!

and thus my mind in quite a turmoil reasoned.

 *

‘I’ll go,’ I’d say,

‘No opportunities available here;

nothing really to make me stay.’

Then this thought, conqueror for a while,

eased the struggle, made me smile.

New country, opportunities to make new friends

‘Yes, it’s time to get away,’ I’d say.

 *

Wait a minute now, are you sure?

What of your family?

Winter’s coming and Dad’s not well …

This inner battle surged to and fro,

but I accepted at last the challenge to go.

 *

In some ways that part was easy

with me still wet behind the ears.

So with brother, two elder sisters

and father beside me, I took me leave,

whispering tearfully my choked goodbyes.

 *

The years have passed quickly as they do,

my last goodbye often accusing -

somewhere deep inside my head -

wishing I could relive again

the words I spoke back then:

 *

‘Only five years, Dad.

Just a few years, Dad, I’ll be away.

You know I must go, Dad?’

And his eyes taking their last look of me

so nearly persuaded me to stay.

 *

He knew, of course

our hold on life is so very tenuous,

no guarantees that our mortal plans

will necessarily reach their end …

and so it’s often been since last I looked

into my father’s fare-welling eyes.

 *

Dennis Crompton © 1995

(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)

George, and leaving England

Here’s a picture of me as a happy chappie working at Ribble Motors workshop, Frenchwood, Preston, where I worked alongside (George) Jersey Fijalkowski from Radom, Poland, over two years from 1952-1954. He was very important in my life at the time because he was the one who pointed me in the direction of New Zealand.

One day George brought me a cutting from the Lancashire Evening Post, regarding the Royal New Zealand Air Force seeking recruits from amongst ex-British Service men.

That got me thinking. Did I want to stay in this life, or forge a new life for myself? Here were some of my thoughts at the time as I continued working with my colleagues amongst the noise and bustle of the Ribble Motors workshop:

• I had all sorts of chats and discussions with mates on the floor of the bus chassis reconditioning team, including a chat with Paddy who told me that, ‘All the world’s a stage. Do you know that Dennis?’ Paddy was someone who made Shakespeare come alive before my very eyes as he quoted, danced and acted, on the shop floor;
• Pat, well he was a thinker, a philosopher and my first ‘university teacher’, teaching me to think beyond myself;
• Tony was in charge of our work bench and was my immediate under-boss; a quiet and ordinary, patient, likeable man, who encouraged me;
• Another round-face jovial type (whose name I forget) who ‘annealed’ the copper tubing which carried grease around the chassis of the bus; he annealed the tubing by throwing it onto a heap of red-hot embers then dumped the piping into cold water. This then made the piping soft and pliable ready to be replaced around the chassis to take grease to vital points such as the brake pedal and clutch pedal;
• Plus others who gathered around our work bench for stolen moments to chat, exchange ideas or plan to walk somewhere on Saturday in the country together to enjoy each other’s company. We had some hilarious times together, with many of us joining Harry Freeman’s group as we planned where to take our August holiday that year…;
• Harry Freeman was a secondary-school teacher who led a group of young people at a Boys’ and Girls’ Mixed Club. He taught us that an interesting world lay outside Preston, a world comparatively easy to travel around, proving that by having a group at his home once a month to decide where, for how long, and how we would manage a holiday away. And we did just that in 1951 by having a week’s holiday at a big house that we felt looked like a castle at Lochgilphead, in Scotland. We had a great time, showing ourselves that we could escape the grime and humdrum life of Preston as we began to explore the world around us.

This picture of George is exactly were he used to stand re-assembling the diesel motors, while I, to one side stripped them, placing the parts in wire baskets for Jock to put through the degreasing plant. Skilled and semi-skilled side by side were great boosters to me 'shifting miself' so that when the question came: 'Why don't you go to New Zealand?' I was ready.

• Lastly, as mentioned, there was 'George' (Jersey Fijalkowski from Radom in Poland), who must have seen my wonderings and mind wanderings as I questioned my work mates, increasing my general knowledge on a whole range of subjects. He took an interest in me and decided it was about time I lifted my sights; it was time to move on. I didn’t know where to think about going until George asked me: ‘Why don’t you go to New Zealand?’ And he handed me the clipping from the Lancashire Evening Post….

George's home town of Radom in Poland

Looking back, I know I was the lucky one in our street who escaped to New Zealand. Thank you George.

Dennis Crompton © 1998
(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)