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The Leather Suitcase |
They don’t
make suitcases
like that
anymore.
Time was,
when voyage meant
train, steamship
distances unbridgeable
waiting for thinning mail
weeks, then months,
then nothing.
Time was,
when this case
was made
solid, leather
heavy stitching
with protective edges
at the corners.
Children’s train,
across the Reich
stops
and starts again…
Holland
a lighted gangplank
night ferry to gray-misted
sea-gulled Harwich,
again the rails
reaching flat across
East Anglia
to London.
In my bedroom,
the suitcase
a silent witness
with two labels:
“Masaryk Station, Praha”
“Royal Scot, London-Glasgow."
Leather suitcase
from a far-off country
Czechoslovakia
containing all the love
parents could pack
for a five-year-old
off on a journey
for life.
From the end of 1938 until the outbreak of War in Sept. 1939, about 10,000, mostly Jewish children (unaccompanied by parents or adults), were brought from Nazi-controlled Germany, Austria and Czechoslovakia to Great Britain under the Kindertransport scheme. But for the Kindertransport, few, if any, of these would have survived the War.
This poem first appeared in the Poetry Super Highway, April 2004.
copyright 2001
Tom
Berman |
