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My Father was a Baker

by Joan Comrie - July 1990 - about her father, Bill Anderson, who died on a train going over a bridge in Italy with hundreds of other POWís on 28th January 1944.

I never knew my father

He didnít know me.

But today I received a letter

Written when I was three.

A little scrap of paper

Barely four by five

But how the words on that scant page

Made him come alive !

 

Concern for his family

Hopes for better times.

Thoughts of Spring in Scotland

Written in simple lines.

Nothing in the way of news,

The censor had his way,

But just to say he was alive

Was sufficient for the day.

 

What were his thoughts I wonder ?

What visions did he see ?

A bakers shop, prosperity,

Back in liberty ?

He knew not then his fate was sealed,

And heíd come home no more

Only in his wistful dreams

Would he see our islandís shore.

 

In 21st Field Bakery

Royal Army Service Corps.

Their daily job to feed the troops

Who soon would fight no more.

Then later dad was captured

In enemy camp enclosed

Detained by Hitlerís henchmen

Their will on him imposed.

 

I wonder if he baked their bread ?

Did they commandeer his skill ?

Did he have cause to wish them dead,

Or did he bear no ill ?

So many questions in my mind

So much Iíll never know

Strange it should take fifty years

For this interest to grow.

 

As a child I remember

The kids with dads would brag,

Vying with each other

On the attributes they had.

And when they asked what mine did,

I told them with a nod,

My father was a baker

And now he bakes for God. 


Linked toWilliam Anderson Lamond

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