Uncle Amos

By Silver Spun Sand

Thu, 11 Jun 2015
  • 1619 reads
10 comments
 
Turned up with a pushcart – the old man
who moved in across the street.  A ‘Yid’,
Dad said he was; whatever that meant.
Mum used to clean his house for him...
do his washing, things like that,
 
and one day, he gave her the shirt
straight off of his back he was wearing – 
on his arm a kind of tattoo. I asked him 
what it was, but he never replied. 
 
His possessions were few; a threadbare
armchair, a wind-up gramophone, a picture 
of a girl in a pretty lace cloche-cap,
a parakeet in a cage, and one of them
squeeze-boxes.
 
He’d give me sweets, biscuits sometimes, 
so in return I’d fetch his loaf of bread
and milk from the dairy.  Grateful, he was.
 
Didn’t get out much; a ‘gammy leg’
he put it down to. Of a weekday, Gran 
would cook him lunch and I’d  take it
to him on a tray, except on Sundays 
when he’d come to us.
 
Uncle Amos, we all called him.  He’d chat
for hours, telling stories.  Words beyond
my ken, but the adults listened on the edge
of their chairs...moved to tears sometimes 
when,  they’d sob behind their hands, even
my dad; except for Amos. His eyes 
stayed dry.
 
Most every evening I would watch him
at his window – even in the winter
with the days so short, he’d stand there, 
stock still, as if, somehow, he could see
beyond the dark.
 
My brother thought we should tell on him –
might well be a ‘Peeping Tom’ , for all
we knew.  I told him to get lost, and so
he grassed on him, but Gran, she just 
nodded – said she doubted it.  About 
the same age as us, when they put out
both his eyes at Auschwitz.
Certificate 12
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Biography

Comments

Submitted by Art of the Diver on

Nicely held and rounded off Tina. I was also lucky to meet some of the Polish Jews who were brought to New Zealand from the death camps. It is a story repeated by each lucky enough to have survived, a soul destroying sadness that many today could never comprehend. Thank you for voicing one little tiny piece of it. Take care

Rob

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Rob...for reading, and for sharing.

Tina

 

Submitted by Ossy Gobbiner on

Love the way this moves along and tells a truly harrowing story, you really got to me right at the end telling me about his loss of his eyes! Made me think. 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Obliged to you, Ossy.

Tina

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Beautifully told, Tina. A survivor winning so much affection from his new neighbours. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

In a nutshell, Rhiannon.  Many thanks.

Tina

 

Submitted by EB on

Story well told and prejudice expertly dealt with. 

Submitted by Starfish Girl on

We learn such a lot about Amos in few words, and then the shock of the last line.

That it is written from a child's point of view gives it added innocence.

Lindy

Submitted by Deliberately Ev... on

Very "when hitter stole pink rabbit". Interesting to hear accounts of atrocities through the eyes of a child. Very well written. 

The beat of your heart is the mellifluent rhythm to my soul.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

My thanks to you Ae.

Tina