Photo of my dad,
black & white,
In Nissen Hut
During his National Service in the 50’s.
Looking straight to the camera,
Unusual for him who always seemed off-centre,
on the periphery;
From the light
I assume it was evening,
Although, inside those places,
there was likely never was much illumination.
Two stripes on his shoulder,
I don’t know the meaning*,
nor the significance,
nor the year.
Pen in hand,
he was always an adroit, meticulous writer.
And, piles of papers to his left and right
and in front;
I can’t imagine their subject matter,
for the stories he related were few.
The only two,
I heard more than once
Was his experience of jumping out of a plane at 15,000 feet (fear)
and the other,
Taking a fellow soldier
From the barracks, who for whatever misdemeanour was in handcuffs,
to the synagogue for New Year prayers. (Dad un-cuffed him)
Given there is only a fortnight to go until
Then, Yom Kippur.