Farewell To My Mother

This free verse poem remembers the occasion when, as an eighteen year old apprentice, my mother drove me to join 'Strathnairn', my fourth ship, in London's Royal Albert dock.


Listen to: Farewell To My Mother

I sat nervous and wary of the unknown
as she drove me to London and the docks.
I was still young, a youth, and immature
enough to suffer a boy’s irrational dread
of being seen in public with his mother.

And I was ashamed of her ancient car,
and felt that we trespassed as we clattered
through the City, along those famous streets,
past grand weathered buildings, still soot-blackened
by years of coal fires, industry—and war.

At the dock gates the IRA's bombs had failed
to stir the police into vigilance.
They stayed dry out of the summer drizzle,
waving us through with barely a glance
to where, like her car, everything was worn-out.

The once-thriving dock seemed abandoned then,
but for two or three ships idle alongside.
The warehouses were silent and empty,
or ruined, and grass grew between the cobbles
on the quay, for times were changing quickly.

Strathnairn’s distinctive corn-coloured hull 
made her stand out against the dock’s water, 
so laden with grime it held no reflections.
Ships and cranes stood unmoving, 
like herons in the marsh, amid the wet, dull drab. 

I made my mother park astern of the ship,
hoping that no one would see the car, or her.
When I gave her the briefest kiss goodbye,
I worried and struggled with growing unease
and pretended not to notice her pain.

I felt such a fool hauling my suitcase,
I should have asked her to park by the ship.
She lingered then, waiting to watch me go,
but I wanted her gone; I raised a hand
in farewell, and she smiled and waved in return.

As I watched her climb back into her car
I sensed her sadness and felt so ashamed;
of course she'd forgive me, but fifty years on
how I wish I could have that time again,
I’d weep with her and hug her so tightly.

My own children are grown now, but as boys
they'd hurry and chafe to be rid of me too.
Even now, every time I part from them,
I think of my mother and regret her pain,
and wish I'd had sense, and could hug her again.

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