Twenty-five a good age young and strong. Proud family man providing for your wife so sweet, your first-born son and your smallest child your daughter. Then jobs are lost economies crash and Jarrow marchers walk the long cold road with hungry faces and desperate hearts; where only a cold welcome awaits. And so no longer proud picking sea coal with it's spitting warmth. A half penny here, a penny there when sold. A loaf of bread and margarine now the fare that's set upon the table. Both parents denying their empty bellies as they push the bread towards the children dear. The little one, hot and limp, they rush to the hospital no half-crown for the GP. The father visited and peeled one grape she loved her daddy and so, she ate. Next day the telephone box visited, his return ashen faced. My little girl; my little girl has gone. As tears roll down the face of that once handsome and proud, young man.
About the Author:
Christine Fowler has always written a poem to process major events, but only began seriously writing and performing poetry in 2019. Starting in her sixties means she come to poetry with a lot of life experience, which is reflected in her poetry. She has had poems published in the Gentian Journal (Issues 6 & 7) an anthology, and has several poems accepted and in the process of publication. Her poems are illustrated on her website https://www.christinefowlerpoetry.com
