MY MOTHER'S DAY POEM

All right, now I know that all YOUR Mums are the best in the world, but the modest verse below goes some towards explaining why I think that mine is.

She is 91 now and has served her country as a Wren Officer during World War 2. If you are reading this in the U.S. that means she was a Woman Royal Navy Officer. At one point she was operating only 22 miles from Rommel's approaching army.

She was one of the generation who brought our National Health Service into being and, of course, funded it through her taxes and, as well as helping to bring up three children in a secure, happy and stable environment (of a sort that a lot of kids these days can only dream of) she held down a series of important and worthwhile jobs.

When we got home from school we used to have our evening meal together, during which she'd always talk to us like the intelligent human beings she knew us to be and tell us in great detail about the book she was currently reading. I KNOW that this was where I got my love of Language and Literature.

I hope to produce a fuller biography of this fine lady (and one of my father) soon.

John Robertson Nicoll


FOR MY MOTHER
The pebble on the beach
and the wave
are good metaphors,
I think.
For the wave alone
gives the pebble its form,
returning time and again
to spend everything on the stone
which, owing to its nature,
can never adequately give thanks
for each gift -
each act of forgivenness.

J.R.N.