Of four infernal rivers that disgorge.
Into the burning Lake their baleful streams
Abhorred Styx the flood of deadly hate,
Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep;
Cocytus, nam’d of lamentation loud
Heard on the rueful stream; fierce Phlegethon
Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage.
Far off from these a slow and silent stream,
Lethe the River of Oblivion rolls
Her wat’ry Labyrinth whereof who drinks,
Forthwith his former state and being forgets,
Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain.

John Milton – Paradise Lost

My post on Day 46, the one about my father’s time as a PoW, is still receiving comments, both on this blog and directly to my inbox. My point about the power of small kindnesses in a time of seemingly overwhelming adversity seems to have resonated with a lot of people. For anyone who enjoyed reading my VE Day blog post, I suggest you also take a look at Simon Lavery’s post on a similar subject HERE. In fact, Simon’s literary blog Tredynas Days is a good one to follow if you appreciate  sensitive, perceptive analysis.

Last week’s blog post was the first time I’d written publicly about my dad’s wartime experiences. It strikes me that, as my awareness of the nearness of my own mortality grows each day, I need to record these experiences in a more comprehensive way before they are lost forever. One of my three daughters has been encouraging me for years to do precisely this. Lisa Hill, commenting about the Day 46 post, suggested there is often someone in each family who is best suited to adopting the role of listener and recorder.

The only other time I shared any of my dad’s story in any kind of public forum was when I used it as the basis for a creative writing essay in my A Level class. In that essay, which I recall I rather pretentiously called Betweeen Time and Timelessness, I drifted back  through time to speak to my father in his PoW camp. I think I was reading a lot of Kurt Vonnegut in those teenage years! Mr Pryce, my rather wonderful English teacher, was full of praise for my essay, though I’m not sure it actually matched the brief we’d been set. He described it as my ‘ghost story in reverse’, an evocative phrase that has stayed with me for all these years, and he encouraged me to work at becoming a writer.

So when I do write that story, it will be for my father, my daughter and for Mr John Pryce.

Picture of River Dee near Aldford ©Bobby Seal