IMAGINE

Imagine one dreary wintry Monday morning in post war Europe – imagine a poor outer suburb in a major town in Europe – imagine a row of aging apartments lining a street in that suburb- imagine one Monday morning a family gathered in a kitchen in one of those apartments.

Imagine one Monday morning, a daughter telling her family that she, her husband and small son were leaving – leaving her much loved family - leaving the family home in a few months time – leaving to migrate to a land that she knew very little about. She would not be able at first to speak the language and knew little but the barest facts about the climate, landscape, history or people of this foreign land. Nevertheless, the land was full of hope, promise and security, far away from the old countries with their old ways. The daughter knew she was embarking on an exciting adventure far away from the dreary post war land she called home but it was also an adventure coloured by sadness.

Imagine one Monday morning, a mother quietly sitting at a kitchen table - a mother whose face is creased by the grief of losing her son to the war – a mother whose grey thin hair revealed the struggles she had, to feed and protect her family – a mother whose dress hung shapelessly from her bony shoulders- a mother whose tired blue eyes filled with tears that trickled like small rivulets down her cheeks to rest silently in her lap. She was too exhausted with life to disguise or wipe away the tears. As the tears rippled down her cheeks the daughter could hear them saying, ‘why must you leave me, why so far away, why must you take my only grandchild away from me, who can you turn to when you need help’. She was a mother mourning the loss of another child. The daughter wrapped her arms around her mother’s thin worn body to kiss away her tears.

Imagine one Monday morning, a father standing beside the empty fireplace with stooped shoulders – shoulders that were rounded and dejected by the moulding of life and age - shoulders that bowed under the responsibilities as head of the house – shoulders that spoke of the unnecessary burdens of war and hunger – shoulders that were desperate for respite – shoulders that had difficulty holding his head high. Those shoulders told of his sadness at losing a special daughter even though his words only spoke of encouragement. Those words were hard for him to say, but said slowly as an adagio in a low minor key. He was losing a soul mate - a father and daughter relationship that could not be replaced. She looked at his sagging shoulders, took hold of both of his hands and kissed his worn wrinkled forehead.

Imagine one Monday morning, a younger sister frowning as the realisation of her situation became clear - a sad frown – a worried frown – a frown of abandonment – a frown of intensity as she realised that she would have to take on the responsibilities of looking after the younger brothers. Why would a sister do that to her? How could a sister leave behind a best friend? How would she be able to smile again? And who could she share her girlish secrets with anymore? And what’s more, how could anyone leave their motherland for this god forbidden place on the other side of the world? No-one would understand her as a sister could. The frown not only marred her pretty fair face but revealed anxieties that she or her sister were not aware existed. The frown darkened as she started to weep and feel sorry for herself. The sisters embraced each other as the older sister tried to reassure her of her love and tell her that life, for everyone, is about change and acceptance.

Imagine one Monday morning, two confused small brothers sitting quietly on the kitchen bench trying to absorb the news – trying to make sense of the body language of their parents and sisters – trying very hard to sit still so as to concentrate. Quietly, their little pale faces followed the conversation as it flowed from one member of the family to another. Towards the end of the discussion, the elder of the two plucked up enough courage to ask a question which gave the other courage to join in. Can we still play with Peter? Why does Peter have to go? Can I come with you? When are you coming back home? Who will peel the potatoes for Mummy? Who will help Daddy dig the garden? Can we have your room when you go? Smiling fondly, she ruffled their hair, cuddled each boy and gave each a saved sweet.

Imagine one Monday morning, the tears, the sagging shoulders, the frown and the two pale faced boys coming to terms with their sadness and loss in their own special way as the family gathered in the kitchen. Imagine a daughter telling……

Imagine one Monday morning…….