Good Bye - A Poem Concerning Departure
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"Good Bye" by "Anonymous"
This Poem was printed in:
The Indian Army Ordnance Corps Gazette
Vol. 25 December 1947 No. 12
The Author ("Anonymous") expresses her sorrow at leaving India and the wonderful India People; the country and people whom she had come to love since she went there as a young bride in 1937.
Ann with Laddie - Quetta, Baluchistan, India
GOOD BYE by Anonymous
The years are gone and time is nigh,
For all of us to say good-bye,
To all the folk we’ve come to know
Since coming to these arid shores,
Where dust and sand and pest and fly,
Have made our mouths and souls so dry
Neither tea nor beer can quench
A thirst so mixed up with the stench
Of wood and cow dung fires
And now and then a funeral pyre,
Ann on the veranda of the Bungalow in Dehu Road, near Poona (now Pune)
“What of the smells” you may ask,
“When in the sun you can daily bask?”
Little know you, how that we
Could curse the sun and quickly flee
To corners cool and pray for rain,
And wish to never see the sun again.
The sun goes down, and then the sky
Of flaming banners held on high,
Makes hearts turn over with the beauty,
Of God’s work wrought over each drab city.
Then comes the night, so soft and cool,
But spoilt by dogs and cats and mule,
That bark and call and bray, till day
Breaks gently in the eastern sky,
To bring another day as dry.
Good bye!
Note: The “Anonymous” poetess of this very heartfelt and lovely poem, was my dear mother, the even lovelier, Ann Dorking-Clark.
For good or bad, she always encouraged me to write and express myself, whether in prose or in poetry; constantly entertaining me with poems and stories of her own, which she made up for me as I was growing up.
This is a hub relating to me and where I come from; both geographically and emotionally. If you liked it, perhaps you would like the others here included.
- Jeanette MacDonald goes to Broadstairs
My parents met in about 1937, when my mother was a nanny to a rather rich Polish family living in Ivor, Buckinghamshire. As part of her duties, she would travel to a local private school to collect the little girl in her charge, Anne Zinzinanix I'm - Does Anyone Know What I Am
This is an attempt to explain why I have no loyalty to any particular country or geographical area over any other, as I come from, or lived in, and loved, many. So when I read any nationalistic, or emotionally heart-warming poetry to do with Homeland - Chrome
Chrome When I was just a child in India How many times has that prefaced a tale? Our Mali fashioned for me with two sticks and net, a toy. A net for butterflies. And I went out and gathered Scooped the air and brought within our bungalow Plucked fro - Krishna in the Morning
I had woken when Krishna came into the room and had brought me out of light sleep as his dry feet moved over the dry floor. Krishna always walked so quietly, so as not to wake the Chota Sahib. He walked so quietly, but when he saw that I was awake he
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Thank you for coming to read it. This poem means so very, very much to me.
Yes it was different, and my mother loved India so much... both my parents and I loved it.
Dear Twilight,
This is a beautiful poem from a beautiful mother. She must have loved the country so very much. The pictures are breath taking. I know from where you have been given the gift of poetry..what a blessed gift that is. Thank you.
Sunnie
Thank you for those very kind words, Sunnie. Yes, she was an exceptional lady. I know we all love our mothers, and there is none like them, but my mother was so gifted and intelligent, and so caring... I have every thing to thank her for.
By the way, I sent your last hub to my Christian friend, Christine, in Australia. I know she will love it.
A very beautiful poem... As an Indian I'm honoured to have read this one... Hats off to your mother and to you, ofcourse! Looks like the talent of writing and leaving the readers spell bound flows in your family..!
Thanks for sharing this with the rest of us ;)
Dear Twilight, I would be honored that you would share the hub with your friend.
God Bless,
Sunnie
Thank you, Cracknutcase. She was a very talented lady, and yet I have so few bits of writing that she did.
Being a child, I thought that all women were as intelligent and cultured and talented as she, because I was with her so much. I was brought up, as you know, in the last days if the British Raj, surrounded with men in uniforms, Indian servants who were so lovely to me, a bearer who I worshipped, elegant ladies with nothing to do except take care of themselves, and the exceptional person that my mother was. My outlook on life was quite unique, in a way.
The opinion still sticks... I still feel women are the intelligent ones, and the men are the doing ones.
And of course, you know Maharashtra and the area around Pune and Dehu Road, yourself.
wonderful poem with heartful memory that reminds the love of humanity.
Thank you for coming to read it H.P. I thought about you when I posted it and wondered if you would get to read it. I'm glad you enjoyed it.
How lovely to have this. I get the sense your Mom was a bit spunky :)
She was, Randy. She broke a lot of rules. Some of the Memsahibs were annoyed that she could go "against the grain" a bit. Heavens! She was kind to the "natives" and treated our servants like human beings. She was only 5'2", but she has a heart as big as an elephant.
Thanks for coming to have a look around. I respect your judgement.
I loved it, Ian. It is a loving composition of words and pictures and though I have never been to India (I really want to), but I can (I think I can) imagine hot weather and longing for a relief.
My grandparents lived in Alma-Ata (Kazakhstan) and summers were hot there, maybe not as hot as in India, but I could relate to "never seeing the sun again".
I must admit I am envious of your relationship with your mother, because my mother never understood me. I cannot just break that wall and I left it the way it is. I never had the encouragement, only criticism.
But relationships are different. Lovely poem, lovely hub, lovely (wistful) feeling.
I hope you feel better.
To me, the beauty of this poem is in the legacy your mother gave you through her poetry and teachings. I can see how she is so much a part of you through your writings. And I am sure you were very much an inspiration for the many creative things she did. The poem and pictures say so much. Thank you for sharing this treasure.
Now I see where you get 'it'!! Talent runs rich in this family!
TKI, you have looked into my soul. Thank you. She was a very special person, as are all mothers, and I am so sad that I do not know what happened to all the stuff that she wrote. I hope that I have managed to carry on her legacy somewhat.
Svetlana, I am dragging myself back to the doctor tomorrow for another course of stronger antibiotics, as she suggested. It has happened before.
My mother was so proud of everything I did, and somehow I managed to let her down in many ways. I always did "just enough to get by" and never showed my full potential... so now I have the rest of my life to think about that.
Kazakhstan is in roughly the same longitude at Baluchistan, where I was born, and the summers would have been very hot and the Winters very cold, but not the extreme heat of Maharashtra. She loved the country, and I think it shows in these few words. She adored the people.
Thank you, Candie. And remembering talent running in families, how is your project coming along?
Thank you coming and reading and thank you for reappearing after all this time. I missed your visits.
Yes now the puzzle has been solved, your exotic travels can't be the whole reason for your dexterity. Your mother would be mightily pleased to be acquainted with your growing flock. What a beautiful homage your mother paid to her cultured rich and diverse hosts, in her (sometimes a little too hot) utopia.
Thank you, Keith. It didn't start as homage; I just felt that this poem should have some airing. It is part of my family history, and I should imagine very few others would even know of it. They were tumultuous times.
Strangely enough, having left India (unwillingly, I can assure you) we were on the way to somewhere else in the Empire (Remember that?) but we didn't know where, and the boat docked in Fremantle Harbour, West Australia. My parents decided to visit Perth as we had a couple of days, and they loved it so much that they stayed. Perth can be hot too!!!
Ian
Ian, thinking of mothers: I am in between now - I am a daughter and a mother. I am not good enough a daughter, nor could I ever be. But that is fine, I did not live to my own expectations, but maybe it is time to revise expectations.
I am sure you lived your life the best way you could - there is no right or wrong way. You have to accept, as I am sure your mother would have accepted.
As for me being a mother - I am certainly not the best, yet I am the only one Daniel got. He is only seven or already seven and yet I still haven't found the right footing. I want to encourage him, yet it is hard. Motherhood and parenting does not come with manuals. Nor do children. The last word on Daniel -- my husband said "He is a rebel". And I did not say much, I just thought "Wait until he is a teenager".
We all do our best at any given moment. At least I find consolation in that thought.
Health is very important - take care of yourself.
I think Daniel is a lucky boy. His mother is an interesting and itelligent person, and she wants to do her best. She realises that no one is perfect, but she wants to stretch her boundaries and those of her little boy. What more could a child want or need?
And I am glad he is a "rebel". There are few children more annoying than the bland little kids who do as they are told and get on with things conscientiously and never put a foot wrong. I am talking as an ex teacher, and when a child shows those traits, I worry... I worry about all things... and then if the child doesn't prove to be "at risk" I go off and concentrate on the interesting children. The little buggers who are attention seeking, and nosy and rebellious. They're the ones that get the attention; they're the ones who deserve it.
Ian, you are an excellent motivator (can I say it about a person?)
I can always count on you. You are right - he needs those qualities for his life. I need to work on those qualities, too.
Motivator? Yes, definitely. That's what a good teacher is. He motivates others to learn and how to learn. Poor teachers just fill their pupils with knowledge and (frequently unrelated) facts. I was a good teacher... and I hope I can be a good friend to you.
Since coming to these arid shores,
Where dust and sand and pest and fly
Love that line you wrote! :)
That poem wasn't written by me, Hattie. My mother wrote it... She was a really lovely and talented poetess, and yet, only once had anything published, so I thought I would show my friends on HP her quality of writing.
By the way, you have kicked up a hornets' nest with your latest hub... all the atheists are out in droves.
which one is that! lol
Hattie. I can't find the reference or the hub. Maybe I have Alzheimer’s and I’m not aware of it. When my mind clears I’ll let you know. Till then, I’ll continue taking the medication.
I'm thinking it is the one that I was talking about my spiritual teacher being an atheist, at the start, " I used to be quiet about being a christian."
Thanks for letting me know, was a little quiet around here the last few days!
I also have had no interest in my Hubs for about three days, and I was beginning to worry that the moderators were on to me!
It's OK if someone else has felt a little quiet.
Yeah that is okay, i love my quiet reflection time. Quiet time is good! :)
So very beautiful, the pictures, the poem and the comments that tell so much about the place from which you arrived here. And of your dear Mother who was a beautiful soul inside and out. Lovely, lovely hub.
Thank you ever so much Peg. I just needed that. She was amazing, and as when one is surrounded by beauty and intellect for all one's life, one doesn't see it or appreciate it till it is gone.
Thanks again.
I'm deeply affected by this. No wonder you're spirit is such a beacon, with such a mother as this! Thank you for sharing, dear Ian.
What a wonderful tribute to India and the sad departing by your mother, she left a heavy heart there with those beautiful peoples.
I can see how her love has been passed on to you. Ian I am spellbound as a tear rolled down the side of this poet's cheek. Peace my friend. Nellie couldn't have said it any better, your spirit is a beacon for your mothers spirit.
Nellie, thank you so much for getting to know this one little bit of a truly amazing lady. I know we all love our mothers, but she was splendid, and I didn't really realise it until it was too late.
"A prophet in his own country", a they say.
To know her was to love her!
Saddlerifer, I thank you. They were turbulent times; dangerous times; cruel times. A lot of mistakes were made. A lot of love, however, was given and reciprocated. I still feel pain and joy when I remember those people and their love and kindness to me. If you have the time or the inclination, please read my hub 'Krishna in the Morning'... it might explain what we felt, just a little.
Thank you so very much for dropping by.
I've absolutely no doubt that she was splendid, Ian. Everything I have perceived about says so. And just look at the splendid son she birthed and reared! Through you, I feel as though I almost do know her - I certainly love her!
It reminds me that my mother was a phenomenal person and I'm thinking also of Svetlana's comments, and the fact that my Mother was an independent woman as she is, and I wouldn't have had her be any other way, though at times I was jealous of her other interests and activities. I was never neglected and I was always convinced that she could do anything she set her mind to. She was fun to be with - which is probably why I was jealous of others who got the opportunity at the time! But her kindness to others, as well as her realistic sense of self, were beacons to me.
I can't exactly say that she "taught" me (if it means drilling a person or trying to force any knowledge upon a person). But the creativity, innovativeness and resourcefulness, probing mentality, stick-to-itiveness in her own nature were constantly and clearly DEMONSTRATED for me to see, emulate, absorb and internalize. So I can well imagine that Daniel also sees your crystalline characteristics and wishes to make them his own - possibly more so than if you tried to instill them with all the focus on him. Children are imitators and also they are selective. They choose role models who are good demonstrators of desirable traits and who are good examples of their own values and activities, including responsibility - but not such that it overshadows the sparkle.
I'm chuckling a little about your statement, Svetlana; the one about manuals for parenting. Actually, I'd always been an independent kid who preferred to dig out information and study it to be applied to whatever project was new and of interest to me. I probed endlessly until I felt I'd mastered it or surpassed the manuals' instructions. (Till I felt confident - on firm footing, in other words.) Mostly these projects involved only myself and the materials, tools and accessories for doing wonderful things with them.
So - when it came to being a new mother, I suppose I tried the same pattern. For nine months I read & studies books on the subject, especially the illustrated "Better Homes and Gardens Baby Book". I studied all the procedures, visualizing in my mind each step (as was my pattern) and thought through my approach which I'd use when the time came.
It did help in that I felt relaxed and confident. My labor was not difficult, partly because I didn't expect it to be difficult. I was determined to breast feed, even though that was VERY much out of popularity and even discouraged by the medical profession. But I was determined and successful.
However I will NEVER FORGET that first bath I gave the little cherub!
I was on my knees by the bathtub, with the trusty "Better Homes and Gardens Baby Book" open to the page on "Baby's First Bath". Steve was on a nice little raised platform in the tub which I'd devised, as recommended if one didn't have a bathinette, and I didn't.
Steve was yelling at that top of his lungs, kicking hysterically. Nellieanna was in tears so that she could hardly read what to do next, when baby's father came home and walked in upon the scene. He gave me a contemptuous look (which I was to become accustomed to seeing over the next 17 or so years) but he said something so wise:
"Why don't you just wash him?" Voila!!! Just wash the slippery little eel! What an ingenious idea! Then it occurred to me to cuddle and comfort him as well. Everyone was soon smiling, clean and dry. (I'd gotten my share of the bath in the beginning - those little legs were strong as they kicked and splashed!)
I disposed of that paraphernalia and threw away that book (not really - but I put it far in back of a shelf, as a reminder!) and from that moment on, I trusted my instincts - though not because I'd mastered the manual. The opposite, actually. Maybe because it hadn't mastered me! Plus my son and I formed an alliance which saw us through many upheavals during those next 17 years!
:-)
There is a novel bound up inside my mother and my father... not just a hub. But it's a Gothic novel that few would believe, because it has all the aspects of Miils and Boon and Barbara Cartland and Daphne du Mauriet... It's quite bizarre, yet so many dramatic cliches are wound inside it.
As is said, dear Ian: Talk is cheap.
Where is it? It would be wonderful reading!! Don't you owe it to the world?
It's just a series of incidents. I would love to tell the tale, but it would be a matter of cobbling them all together Anyone can write a reasonable description of an event, but the bridges are the hard part.
Half the stories I tell concerning myself, begin with, "When I was a child in India...", but I feel I should start with my father meeting my mother and (You would fall out of your chair if you heard the charming and romantic method in which he persuaded her to marry him; after she had had second thoughts and decided to pull out of the arrangement).
Well, I've always held the belief that a good fall out of a chair occasionally - for a good story, of course - is what keeps a gal graceful, limber and full of verve. So WRITE it!!!!!
Afterthoughts: If not YOU, who? If not NOW, when?
A story needing t be told and preserved - so - it's up to you!
The way I feel today, I doubt if I'll live to complete the week... much less complete a novel. I have seldom felt so rough. Headache, bringing up bile. All the nice things of life!
Oh Ian, I hope you are feeling better now?
Now, lots of people have said it, and I have to reiterate - you really should write this book! As Nellieanna said, 'If not YOU, who? If not NOW, when?' and I want to ask you those very same questions :) Write those bridges!
This poem was just so heartfelt and moving, and then when I read that 'Anonymous' was your mother, well, the tears just overflowed (mine, that is)! There certainly are very strong similarities between your poetry and your mothers. You have certainly not let her down - there are very few of us who ever live up to our full potential anyway :) I certainly never do, I can tell you that.
Thank you for sharing this poem, that must be so precious to you. It really has helped us to understand more about you.
Linda.
Oh Linda, when I sign my book, "To my Friend Linda, for being such an encouragement", I want you to look away, because when I give you that embrace, I will have tears coursing down my face, as they are now.
She was an inspiration, and I have felt for years that I didn't live up to my parents' expectations, but your words here make me feel just that little bit reassured.
Thank you.
:) Beaming smile on my face at this comment from you Ian :)
I will look forward to receiving that copy of your book, my friend, and then we'll have a good blub together over your tremendous achievement that your mum would be so proud of; then a nice cup of tea and a cream cake will be in order, eh? :D
You're welcome :) I wasn't just being a softie, and trying to make you feel better - I really did mean what I said, as did everyone else.
Linda.
Thank you, and let it be known that yours was the straw that made this camel's back feel firmer, for I think that perhaps, for reasons you have highlighted, Linda, that it is time that I took my finger out and tried to finish a book of some description. Thank you.
I like the Camel analogy. I come from Baluchistan; that country from where the best racing camels originated.
Yay! Do it, do it! You're already an inspiration here - if you finished a book, well, there'd be a virtual party on HubPages!
I appreciate a camel analogy pretty well - I have ridden a camel, in Egypt. It was no racing camel though - quite possibly it was on its last legs actually, probably dying of some kind of passive smoking related disease caused by its chain smoking owner who led it up and down the Nile day after scorching day, blowing his carcinogens into its down-turned spitting face. Ooh, sorry, went off in a day dream there!
Lx.
Yes, but that is where great literature comes from. It's being able to report that and do it well that makes me want to read that sort of book, Innit.
x
Mmm, you're right, i'n'i't!
Her imagery is strong: "neither tea nor beer can quench" had me thirsty (mostly for the latter), while I could easily visualize the "night, so soft and cool". Imagine my delight at learning she was your mother. When it comes to her poetic talents, I would suggest that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree -- but, I can't write that, that would be too much of a cliche. But I already did.
Nevertheless, I'm engaged by your work and am very glad we've solidified our correspondence. Becoming regular with someone on hubpages is like meeting an interesting stranger at a party; you glance at each other a few times and size the other person up before making conversation. I saw you around for a while, and then gradually we took to each other's printed words.
I'll visit again soon. Peace.
God knows you write beautifully, Doug. I have read your comments on my own stuff, of course, but I have also looked at your feelings concerning those of others and you are so damned articulate. fair, and yet, not patronising.
The next time we meet at one of those parties, lets find a quiet corner, and I will bring a couple of my most private and heartfelt thoughts (in hard copy, of course) and I'll hand them to you, and wait with my heart beating so quickly in my throat, and ask you to tell me your honest opinion.
And yes, she adored India, we all did in our differing ways.
Sounds like a plan, TL. Perhaps at William and Catherine's wedding then?
Actually, they prefer it I refer to them as Wills and Kate, but of course I prefer it if they address me as Sir. I mean, it's only right, isn't it.
You can call me Ian, however; but make sure there are no staff around when you do so.
Deal. I'd like to be referred to as "Sir Dude" at the party. I'll brush up on my accent, which fluctuates between a bastardized version of the Queen's, and a horribly exaggerated dockworker cockney -- depending on which movie I'm trying to imitate. Should be a famous evening.
Ian, your invitations to read are like an evening out in a land I have only imagined visiting and only know from readings. Your mother has left so much of her soul and life blood in you that a stranger would not know where one's personal story stopped and the other started.
What a wonderful embrace it is for her each time you write of life's love shared... if I had your talent, heart, splendor and had been born to live in worlds of radiant beauty, harshness, God's most resplendent work I might never stop writing.
My friend... thank you each and every time for the invitation to share your life's loves.
Your elegance in writing, Kevin, is astounding. I love exchanging ideas and listening to you through your words.
It is true, though. I was such a lucky person; born into that millieu, with all those amazing incidents and situations surrounding me. But I was so lucky. Even as a child I was entranced by the beautiful, the dramatic.
I remember that you were one of the first to read my: 'Krishna in the Morning', which basically was observations from the standpoint of a child, but a lucky child to have an almost photographic memory for pictures, but also sounds and atmospheres, and the most elegant and lovely mother who looked on the India of those days with a less jaundiced eye than her acquaintances; who was cultured, compassionate and a thoroughly lovely lady.
This poem is a beautiful reflection of your mother's feelings. I loved the line
"Of wood and cow dung fires
And now and then a funeral pyre" .They were very touching.
snigdha.s, I love this too. She adored India, and hated leaving, but we left as a result of Independence, and of course we were the wrong colour scheme, but I still consider the Subcontinent to be my home.
We left after Partition, 1948.
Thank you so much for your visit.
HattieMattieMae Level 7 Commenter 14 months ago
Love reading old poetry and stories, it was so different back than!