Something Old, Something True

If you notice on the right hand side of my blog, under the heading All Things Paris, there is a link to my favorite blogspot, the Paris Daily Photo. The title is self explanatory. A wonderful frenchman named Eric posts a new picture from the city of Paris each day with a little explanation about the subject matter. It is my little "Paris fix" each day, and I love to check in and see what he will show us next.
I post comments sometimes, and in doing so, I have noticed some of the other faithful readers (and bloggers) that comment. I will sometimes click over to their blogs and so on and so on. It has been a fun way to learn about places and people and new things.
I happened upon a blog this way called Things UK, written by a woman named Lynn. (she actually has a few blogs). But, one of her entries in particular touched me, and I emailed her and asked her if I could post it here, because I thought you would all enjoy this as much as I did.
Lately, I have watched so many of my friends struggle with broken hearts, the challenge of marriage--and making it work, and I have to tell you, there are days when I think-- Are there true love stories anymore? Not that any of my friends have failed, and that is the worst part. I see all these wonderful, amazing, unique individuals, and it all seems so hard.
Following is the post from Lynn's blog. The story tells itself. And it is nice to know that even though the stories are few and far between, that there are some love stories out there that have stood the test of time. It gives me hope, and to my friends out there struggling, all of whom I love, I hope you read this, and that it gives you hope, too, wherever your own path takes you.

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Poetry after 65 years? Must be Good!





Recently my father sat down and wrote a poem to my mother about their lives. They lived in Whetstone and Finchley in north London. I'm so touched by it and hope you will enjoy it too. He's a romantic old thing.

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I remember, yes, I remember
The summer of forty two
The sirens loud
The guns and bombs
In Britain's struggle
To win through

And at that time
A change of schools
Sent me to Holly Park
So strict, but fair
No place to suffer fools

Then in these momentous days
A happening so great
To shake my youthful ways

I remember, yes, I remember
The girl that I saw there
In class 1a, the same as I
I tried hard not to stare

Her hair so dark and neat
With eyes more brown than brown
I glimpsed her in her seat

And even then
My heartstring woke
And stirred within my mind

Her name was Joyce
And plain to see
She was the girl for me

We went through school
And not a class apart
Until our time was through

Fourteen, the year to leave
Our working life to start

I remember, yes, I remember
The winter of forty five
Her schooldays done
Six months in front of mine

This must be it!
She’s gone
And I’d not sense to ask
To meet again
And could it be soon?

New ways for us so young
Find jobs and learn a trade
A year slips by
Sad thoughts of dates not made

I remember, yes, I remember
The winter of forty six
While working in my office
A new girl is employed

I know this girl!
It’s Joyce’s friend
From Holly Park, our school!

I ask her how Joyce is
The answer “very well”
I say “and will you please
Ask if we can meet?”

The answer relayed back to me
It really is a yes!

The meet’s arranged
It’s in our lunch hour
We’ll meet on her way home

Ten minutes by bus
And I am there

I know where she will walk
My tie is straight
Excitement tense
But can I sensibly talk?

I see her then
It’s her, and no mistake
Her hair so dark
Eyes sparkling brown

The schoolgirl that I knew
No longer was in view
But here, grown up
And very lovely too

We talked and walked
To where she lived
Time short
Can’t be late
I had to catch my bus

Must go, but then,
I have just made the date!

I remember, yes, I remember
The evening of our first date
Cold January twenty nine
I’m early (can not be late)
I wait outside the Odeon
Who’s cold? Not me! I’m fine

The bus, a one-two-five
Comes rushing to a stop
I see her getting off and then
I greet her with a smile

Two 'two and nines'
The price I pay
The best seats in the house
And would she like some chocs?
The ones we both will always share
Our favourite ‘Dairy Box’

The film show over now
We stand for ‘God Save the King’
It’s time to take her home
We queue together at the stop
The wind blows freezing cold

I wrap my coat around us both
I say, to keep her warm
But truth to own
It brings us close
So I can look
Into her eyes so brown

I remember, yes, I remember
The Autumn of nineteen fifty
Three happy years we’ve spent
Together all the while
And now it’s National Service time
My call-up soon is sent

Two years to serve
It’s in the RAF
How long to be apart? -It’s not so bad
As I had thought

I often can get home
On many a Weekend Pass

Our letters to each other
Pass, daily in the post
Mine sometimes do contain
A short but loving rhyme
And hers to me the same
But sometimes also this
End with a lipstick kiss

My National Service days now done
I’m back in Civvie Street
So good to see her all the time
To make our plans complete

Ten years have now gone by
Since the summer of forty two
When first I saw her face
Then was it luck?
Or maybe fate?
That winter of forty six

I remember, yes, I remember
The summer of fifty three
The Queen and Coronation Day
But no, much more than that!
In June that year our wedding
At All Saint’s, Oakleigh Road

I turn and look to see her
Coming down the Aisle
She’s on her Father’s arm

Her dress pure white
And darker shows her hair
Her eyes of course are shining brown
But finely covered by her veil
Then smiles that both we share

She says “I will! So softly
Then, and in my turn
I say that “I will” too

A fine reception
Enjoyed by all
Was in the Springfield Hall
Then came the time
For Bride and Groom to leave
The music, food and wine

Her Mother came and held my hand
And said “look after her”
She knew, of course, I would
I said “You know I will”
The best way that I could

I remember, yes, I remember
The spring of fifty seven
In March that year
Was born, and to our joy,
A healthy baby Boy

Two years on
Then April fifty nine
To put us in a whirl
A lovely baby Girl

I remember, yes, I remember
All the years since then
A further forty eight have passed

So can it really be?
Sixty years and five
Since that summer of forty two
When first we met in school

Two images have stayed
Fixed always in my mind
Of Joyce at Holly Park School
Sitting at her desk

And see her then so clear
Stepping from the bus
And knowing that from there
It’ll be not You or Me
But Us

-Roland Ede 2007