I am the son of a teacher and a preacher.
Brother to a sister who guides me.
Nephew of a kind-hearted journalist and a gregarious gynaecologist.
And of a multi-lingual lawyer,
A life cut short by the course of love.
Cousin of a creative-writing legal counsel,
And a compassionate, athletic economist,
And a now grown-up football protégée.
First cousin, removed, second to many.
Grandson of a strong-willed Scotswoman,
Who served most civilly at Somerset House.
And a creature-of-habit pipe-smoker,
First date an Open Air Theatre Dream.
I am grandson of an Irish educationalist.
And an elegant, aristo-Anglo botanist.
Smuggled into an all-male UN meeting.
Step-grandson of a smoking secretary.
Oh what a great grandson I am…
Of a naval Commander-cum-diplomat,
Serving in Ottawa, Dublin and at sea,
And a woman referred to as ‘Mormor’,
Norwegian, where she loved to be.
Of a Sligo Grammar School Head.
And a Castor-oil-anointing matron,
Rubbing alcohol on children’s ears,
A homemade cure against sunburn.
Of a horse-and-cart postie in Argyll,
delivered all-too early to his grave.
Thanks to him, my love of letters maybe?
And a single mother, who lost a son at sea.
Of a Methodist Mayor and his Mrs,
who sent their children to Church,
Not once, twice, but thrice a Sunday.
He’d be proud of going booze-free…
I am a descendent of sailors and spies.
An Inspector of Salmon Fisheries
who kept an eye on German ships,
Off Norway’s coast during the War.
Descendant of a ‘Father of the Railways’,
the first Quaker permitted in Parliament.
And a Baron who saw out his days,
In hospital rather than stately home.
Descended from Jacobite rebels,
& a Scottish Saint from Hungary.
From fishing folk and Jura crofters.
Princes, Princesses, Kings and Queens.
I am also a descendant, if only I knew it,
Of those lost, ignored, erased by history.
