The Pocket Watch Part Twenty Three

Part Twenty Three? Yes, it has been a long story. And you have missed some parts. Bad luck.

You've missed the part where Sam kept the pocket watch for ages in a drawer. He didn't need it, you see. He'd acquired a much more high tech watch in the Navy, and my dad had one the same.

You've missed the part where my dad got married to my mum and they went to live in Manchester, and the part where I was born.

You've missed the part where I caught whooping cough several years in a row. Cough, cough! I watched my mum and dad gardening on long summer evenings through my bedroom window, coughing.

(What pathos! But wait, surely it was winter?

Oh yes, cough cough. I don't remember it perfectly, you know.)

You've missed the day dad and mum decided to emigrate to Australia, because they thought it would be warmer. And the day they told dad's family the news. Och! they said. Ye canny!

(You made that up!

What?

Och ye canny!

Alright, I made it up. I don't know what they said. But please don't interrupt, I'm nearly done.)

And now, you've even missed the part where Sam decided to give his dad's old silver pocket watch to his brother.

Part 6 : My Life Without Me

What would my life have been like if my parents hadn't emigrated? Perhaps every child in similar circumstances wonders this.

The other me ( let me call her Heather, which was the name they didn't give me ), may well have died of whooping cough. I caught it every year which was why they decided to move to a warmer climate.

Assuming Heather hadn't died, what next? She wouldn't have had the pleasure of learning this poem, composed ex tempore by her dad:

This New Years Day of fifty five
We're certainly glad to be alive.
We'll pack our bags at the end of May
And go on board the Oronsay.
This biggest, newest, fastest ship
Will take us on a lovely trip
Across the ocean far and wide,
And deposit us in Adel-ide.

Yes, you must pronounce Adelaide wrongly for it to rhyme, and this is what makes it so delicious. To have learned this poetic lesson at the age of five is a privilege Heather will never know.

Heather grew up to be a studious girl and went to Oxford University. Later she became someone who was interested in art history. She worked at the British Museum painstakingly restoring various items, and sometimes at the National Portrait Gallery doing this and that. She was also very talented and produced many delicate and much admired etchings.

As to her personal life I've never thought about it. Thinking about it now I'm thinking : If she had three children they would be half like my three children. I don't like this thought. Nor do I like Heather, very much.

She has had one more summer in her life than me. This is because I left England at the end of May and arrived in Adel-ide in June. The more I think about this the crosser I get.

That's all.