November Memories

This poem was written for our monthly poetry group, The theme for November was memories/remembering. I hope you enjoy reading it!

November Memories

"Remember, remember"; you excitedly recite the poem you have learnt to me. 

"Do you know it, Daddy?"

And my childhood memories suddenly burst into my mind.

Grabbing a stick to check for hedgehogs under the bonfire my own Dad had built in the back garden.

And when it was lit - the siren-song of the beckoning heat and hypnotising flames,

Calling me closer, only to make me recoil and flinch as the fire suddenly cracks 

And a burning scrap of paper flies free from its boundaries,

Racing towards my face before suddenly fleeing and fading 

into the cold night sky.

I can see the enticing tin that the fireworks came in, 

looking all the while like a magical box of forbidden treats;

Fountains of gunpowder sherbet.

Explosions of neon popping candy.

A golden sparkler; a treacherous lolly-pop I hold at arm's length 

for fear of befalling the fate 

of the children in the Public Information Films that lay in wait 

on the ad breaks of Saturday morning cartoons.

Even now, I cannot let you hold one

without picturing that child’s bandaged hand.

Remembering, remembering.

I think I will always remember that.

And then my mind jumps:

Another November memory.

Shorts and a neckerchief. 

Shiny school shoes that Dad helped me polish the night before.

Green cap on my head.

We're marching to the glockenspiel and drums of the scout band;

Oh, I’m thrilled to be in that number,

Holding the flag, slotted in a hip-holster, secured around my neck.

It's too big for a small boy like me.

And so heavy.

But I can cope with that; 

my own prepubescent sacrifice 

that is nothing compared to what they went through 

45 years before.

The church service afterwards, I could do without, though.

Marching is fine, but sitting still for that long is torture.

Wooden pews are not made for shorts.

Remembrance services are not made for 10-year-old boys.

There are not enough fireworks.

We will remember,

Remember, remember.

I wonder how the old boys reacted to the orange explosions overhead;

To the gunpowder;

To the treason.