Grandad Was My Rock
I was six at the time; Grandad was my spine.
I never saw him much – work needed to survive.
But when he took me to the country, it was sublime;
Nests and birds were explained, never contrived.
Catapult in back pocket, special stones at the ready,
Went hunting, hungry belly – fill the plate, fill the belly.
Didn’t kill for the sake, killed to survive another day, steady.
Grandad – what a shot. Nine out of ten hit the spot; I felt like jelly.
Hedge Creeper – WW2 name – extra food for all who knew,
Eggs and meat, milk and butter, anything; it didn’t matter.
Need some more? “Hedge Creeper,” Sergeant would spew.
He returned rabbits too, in wild garlic hewn, wood for a platter.
I only had four years with him; worked himself into an early cauldron.
I can say without a doubt, knowledge flowed when growing up.
I have learned a lot and hope to pass on to my three grandchildren –
Two, five, and nearly seven – what a wonderful time to fill the cup.
