Kilby Bridge

I don’t know how or when I became aware of the oppressive dark or why it should make me so afraid, my infant mind sensed instinctively that my daddy was in danger; as to the reason I had no clue. I heard muffled voices urging him to hide in the cupboard, someone breathing hard, a shadow moving silently to obey the frightened voices.

Running booted feet making loud stomping noises on the cobbled yard; a clipped angry voice shouting orders in a foreign tongue, yet I understood its meaning.

Lights flashing, men searching rooms, cupboards… Surely they would find my daddy, but no…
They went from house to house until they reached the end of the row; always,daddy just one step ahead. Then when they had searched all of the houses, the voice shouting orders to cross the street and search there too.

Only I saw my daddy moving like a ghost onto the bridge that spanned the canal and morphing into the letters etched into the stonework of the bridge

‘Kilby Bridge 1936’

As mysteriously as it had begun the oppressive darkness disappeared along with my fear, just my wet cheeks and hiccupping sobs remained.

I was calm now as I felt my mother’s arms around me, her sweet voice telling me daddy was safe now nothing would hurt him ever again; that he was watching over me to keep me safe.

Each time I crossed the bridge I would touch the letters and gently run my fingers over them wondering if he knew I was touching him and if he was happy.

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VMM2008