PART 1: THE SUITCASE
The battered vinyl suitcase
sat for over thirty years,
in my wooden shed in the back yard of our home.
Covered with dust and grime,
the locks had rusted over time -
two mouldy leather straps were all that held it closed.
The straps weren’t of much use;
they were old and stiff and loose
but they kept the contents safe from exposure to today.
For the suitcase held a year,
a year I could not bear
but a dreadful year I knew could not be thrown away.
PART 2: DISCOVERED
On one fateful Christmas day
when my grandson came to play,
in the shed he found the suitcase on the shelf.
He managed to drag it clear
from the garbage stored in there
and called loudly for his Mum to have a look.
There was silence for a time
but everything seemed fine
until Christmas dinner was ready to be served.
The roast was getting cold
but there was no answer to our call
so I decided to check to find the missing pair.
PART 3: CONFRONTATION
I felt a churning in my mind
and a shiver down my spine
when I spotted my garden shed door open wide.
There was nothing at all in there
that was of interest to that pair
but I knew the coldness of the truth had found the light.
I could not think real straight
and my mind, it toyed with hate
but I entered the shed and gently took their hands.
No longer could I hide
the horror that was inside
the battered vinyl suitcase that was open on the floor.
PART 4: MEMORIES
I sent them on their way
and asked my daughter to say
I wasn’t hungry and I had something else I had to do.
I closed the wooden door
and sat upon the floor
with shaking hands and tears streaming from my eyes.
I reached out to close the case
but staring me in the face
was a photo of me and Duncan “Mother” McNair
He’d been killed after I’d got back…
Then my mind went back
to the year when I learned how not to smile.
PART 5: AMEN
In the shed, a year passed by
and then I heard a cry
and realised I was holding the holster that I’d bought.
Frustration was the pain
for “nothing” had foiled my plan;
the holster was empty except to my anguished mind.
My family heard the cry
and though they now knew why
(they knew from experience to leave me all alone)
But they decided to take a chance
to shake me from my trance;
they felt that I was now ready to come home.
PART 6: EXPOSURE
As our family sat under the patio on that special Christmas Night
I touched and remembered all the things I had hidden from my sight.
As I took each item from the case, and exposed it to the light,
the reality of its touch told me that everything would be all right.
PART 7: THE CONTENTS
There were:
Photographs, the holster, two flying suits, a pair of flying boots
some jungle greens, a pewter mug, my dog tags, a bamboo flute
Super 8 movie film, my logbook (an assessment of my work and worth),
dry red mud, a filthy scarf and lots of letters from the world.
Combat boots and woollen socks, epaulets and children’s toys,
soap, a razor, and some crude paintings – each was done in oil.
As well as:
Toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving gear and a plastic comb,
sketches of my family that I drew when I was all alone,
undeveloped rolls of film - perhaps 8 or 10 of those.
My “figmo”, all coloured in, right down to her rose.
A flight jacket with my name boldly stitched in black,
the albatross sewn to the sleeve, more accurately, just tacked.
And I found:
MPC and piastres, “choi hoi” leaflets and a bag
containing an open first aid kit and what seemed a bloody rag,
And a spent bullet fell onto the ground, and I wondered at it all, until
a sharp pain in my foot reminded me of a bloke I met named Bill.
There were civilian clothes I wore each time that I went to town,
a torn photo of our hooch maid and some souvenirs I’d scrounged.
PART 8: EPILOGUE
And so it became a brand new time, a time for me to live,
a time for ancient fears to pass, a time for me to grieve.
For the vinyl suitcase is empty of all the terrors of the old;
it now contains the relics of a time when I was young and bold.
©Anthony W. Pahl
11th August 2001 |
