Thank you, Elaine!

THANK YOU, ELAINE!
A True Story

War-weary,

I walked home from school;

Not wounded, not bereaved,

Just a drab English schoolgirl.

Five years of war

Had meant no clothing coupons for

Frivolities.

And I was certainly frivolous.

I was fourteen.

My mother had lengthened

 My older sister's dark green dress,

With strips

Of different colours at the hem,

As I grew.

I had been wearing it 'for best'

For three years now.

Otherwise I wore my navy-blue serge skirt,

White shirt and lisle stockings;

My school uniform.

Was it any wonder I dragged my satchel

Behind me

As I entered the house?

And then I stopped......

Transfixed!

Where are you now, Elaine?

You must be an old lady,

Like me.

I wonder if you even remember sending

The Food Parcel.

You were on the other side of the world

In America.

It seemed a place of magic

Untouched by War.

You were, briefly,

My Pen Pal.

And you had sent me a dress!

Never again in my whole life

Would I see mauve gingham

Without reliving

The frisson of excitement

That I felt when I first saw it.

My Mother had opened the Food Parcel

And she had found the dress

Carefully packed

On top of the biscuits and canned fruit.

She had laid it over the back of the arm-chair.

I circled it,

Disbelieving.

I think I stopped breathing.

Was it......?

Could it........?

Immediately, I fantasised

If this glorious object were really  mine,

I would wear it with sky-blue sandals,

 And my skinny white legs would tan.

And boys would look at me

And realise that I was beautiful!

My mother came into the room.

'Is it for…..?' I said.

It was!

It was crisp cotton,

With a frilled square neck-line,

And a skirt that flared slightly.

It was the most beautiful dress in the world.

Sixty-three years later

I say

'Thank you, Elaine.'