The photo’s small and rather creased but there br We are, a family group in black and white. br A camera has the trick of freezing time. br We’re posed before a boat outside our house, br It is to be a sort of caravan br For holidays. It has a cabin newly built br Upon a hull that’s often sailed the Humber. br Each one of us is smiling in the sun. br The cabin’s shadow says it’s afternoon, br The trees’ and hedgerow’s leaves proclaim it spring. br br The War is over now. My father’s home br On leave and looks relaxed. My mother’s pleased, br I remember how she wept and prayed for him br On D-Day when his coaster carried troops br And petrol to the beach at Normandy. br My grandad stands erect and rather stiff, br And grandma, too, sits very upright, posed, br For both were born in Queen Victoria’s reign. br Their daughter, Eileen, looks so young. I think br She misses wartime dances and romances. br br And is that me, that boy with folded arms br And hair as fair as any Anglo-Saxon? br I cannot now recall what I was thinking then, br What it was like to be a boy of ten, br Now that my hair is grey and I’ve grown old br And all those people in that photograph br Are talking, laughing, drinking, full of life br Within my head though fifty years and more br Have passed, and all of them are long since dead. br A camera has the trick of freezing time.