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(With apologies to Longfellow)
[When we were children, Dad’s side of the family were the relatives from "across the water" – in distant Ulster. So our grandmothers were Nanna-cross-the-water and Nanna-here.]
In a land across the water,
Cave Hill towering o’er the city,
Lived Sam Wilson, worked with letters,
He a hero of the battles,
First War battles out in Flanders.
Sam spoke not about his horrors
Spoke he little, this war hero
Hero from across the water.
One cold day in Ballymena
In the warmth arrived his firstborn
Safe arrived a lusty newborn.
What proud name to call the firstborn?
Named he not for his grandfather,
Nor any uncle, cousin, brother. Joe Wilson 1920-2011 (Photo: John Crocker)
The hero’s name he chose to honour
Did celebrate the soldier’s saviour
That name belongéd to the Stallion
Who took a bullet aimed at the soldier
Fighting in the fields of Flanders.
Young Joe grew tall and Joe grew muscled,
Joe played polo in the ocean
He played polo cross the water
Sea so cold his hands lost feeling
Hands so cold so close to freezing
Never felt the ball he’d captured.
Father spoke not of his fighting
So when war came again to Europe
Joe signed up to head for glory
Joined he the Irish Guards for Britain
At the tender age of 19,
Joseph left for war at 19
Off to fight across the water.
Joe knew friendship, Joe knew hardship
Fighting in the fields of Holland
Flemish fields consumed his comrades
But wrote he home midst all the chaos
Wrote he home across the water.
One home leave in shattered London
Came he back from fighting Germans
Came he back from cross the water.
Heard the Royal Empire Society
Made some fun for resting soldiers
He turned up at some big tea-dance
Meant to help and cheer the soldiers
Fighting in the fields of Holland.
There Joe met a gorgeous bombshell
Here he danced and fell for Peggy
She a lass of only 19
Fell deep in love upon that dance-floor.
When at last the Germans beaten,
Victorious guardsmen swept through Belgium
Joyous Belgians threw them boiled eggs
A greedy guardsman scoffed six and thirty
Then he paid for his behaviour:
Couldn’t ‘go’ for near a fortnight.
Two years on came home triumphant
Short auburn hair and trimmed moustaches.
English friends who cared for Peggy
Told her not to trust a soldier,
Not a foreign, Irish soldier.
Heard she not, this Peggy Thomas,
Heard she not her boss’s comment
Whispered to himself, and saying:
‘I thought better of you, Peggy.’
People said they should not marry
Family, friends away in Belfast
Warned against corrupting English.
‘God help him’ murmured his old Granny
Listen to her words of wisdom:
‘Mad to marry cross the water
Mad to marry English woman.’
But they were wed soon after Christmas,
They were poor but most devoted,
They knew friendship; they were happy
Made a home, a nest in Stoneleigh.
Joe went north to train for teaching
He knew hardship, he knew swimming
He knew how to run cross-country,
He knew football, rugby, tennis,
Shinty, hockey, bikes, life-saving,
But to teach the English children
He learned volleyball, lacrosse and cricket.
He’d known hardship, he knew friendship,
Went to teach in inner London
Cycled every day to Tooting
Here he saw the joy of team games
Taught the boys the pride of winning
And he helped them win new battles
Butterflying, back-crawl, breaststroke.
Battles spread throughout the nation
Mighty battles in the water
Fought with pride across the nation
Victors coming home triumphant
Bearing medals like their fathers.
Yet Joe was also father, husband
Three-score years and three was faithful
To his Peggy and his children.
In the kitchen he was useless,
No dish better than Ulster Fry;
Decorating made him angry.
Cultured common man with passion
Presbyter and Scripture teacher
Jokes and stories for church members
Bedtime stories for his children
Made up all from recollections.
And each Sunday after worship,
We three wrote letters to our Nanna
Letters sent across the water.
Joseph ever loved his swimming,
Golf and bridge and whist and scrabble
Croquet, quizzes, wordplay, crosswords,
Blake and Tennyson and George Eliot.
Loved his books and loved his letters
Letters sent across the water.
Now his children they are scattered
Scattered far across the water.
Whence came all that wanderlusting?
Wherefrom the lust to work far distant? *
Wherefrom the lust to cross the waters?
Our inspiration was our father.
And Joseph rests, all things renewed
Now he lies ’neath turf where golf balls
Sailing skywards t’ward the Grandstand
Plunge they into roughs and bunkers.
Joe thought nothing of life’s bunkers.
He knew hardship, Joe knew devotion,
Joe knew friendship, his faith his anchor
Sure, that’s the root of his contentment
That’s the source of all his riches.
Jane Wilson-Howarth
www.wilson-howarth.com
April 2011
[[* Editor’s Note: Jane and Simon Wilson-Howarth live in Cambridge (Cambs.), Mary and Tony Styles live in Rome, and David and Jill Wilson live in Washington, D.C.]
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