WELL, DAD’S BACK in his own chair again today, if decidedly sleepy. And he’s glad to be. It was good to share my mother’s cooking at lunch (“can’t seem to do it like I used to” – but I can’t notice any difference!) and to have a yarn with Dad. Today, as of old, we sang a few songs (Jean Sablon – La Mer & co), talked of poetry and prose – and the story behind the “welcome home” gift of a beautiful red rose. (There’s always “a story” in family-life isn’t there?).

My father has a phenomenal memory for story-telling poetry and song and can be moved to tears – of sorrow on the one hand, and deep gratitude on the other – by the memories stirred by both. Today he gave a good account of Gunga Din. And I thereby remembered If  in the gold picture frame on the wall above my childhood bed. Sometimes Dad would recite it, from memory, instead of a bedtime story. Tonight I thank God he’s safely back in his chair … he and I both, if we close our eyes, can remember those long-ago bedtime recitals; almost be there …

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling