Our Last Outing Together
- Mother's and mine - we weren’t to know
was the last. Frail, on heart pills, slow
on her feet, she loved outings still.
So slow getting out of the car!
Now I’m that age I edge my stiff
self out, sorry, thinking of her.
For years I’d visited her less
than a good son should, living
with the Tasman between us -
wide reason, weakest excuse.
Travelling lost its charm for her:
her many siblings became fewer -
one more funeral trip to endure.
Hers she thought would be the last.
Newly widowed, she’d had one trip,
with ‘Glad’ from Kaikohe, by ship -
Panama, Southampton. Oh mother,
you came through Customs like a
shadow so soon after your husband
my father’s funeral, and me away,
excused, in far-off Scotland.
I drove you north through rain.
England should have thrilled you -
I watched you for signs in vain.
Soon you warmed to Scotland.
For your sake I endured the Tattoo.
You travelled with your old friend
to the sights of Europe, one per day;
off then with her to Panama,
the slow Pacific Ocean, home.
From then on only saw Australia,
to be cheered up by your sister,
and me a bit, busy in Melbourne.
So when I think of you today,
conscience reminds me how seldom
year by year I let you see
your grandson. You made do with your
daughter’s children, missing mine.
That last visit, on my own,
I said: where shall I take you?
Round the waterfront of course,
and stop at Underwater World.
Bright sun, the harbour dazzled
us both, the wandering under
water through see-through tunnels
novel, thrilling at all their fish!
young again together for a bit.
And then? Our family’s annual wish
was a pilgrimage in homage
to the country’s saviour, founder
of our welfare state - M. J. Savage -
sadly dead in nineteen-forty.
So to his memorial,
renew our Labour piety,
reflect on old poverty,
later prosperity. Brilliant
the view from Bastion Point!
We failed to snap each other.
I’m squinting now recalling
our last bright day together, mother.
[for C.R, 1903-1980]
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