New Through The Years File

Introduction This is the third book of poetry that I have written and published over the last 40 years or so. Those of you who have read either of my previous books , Just Me (1971) and Through The Windmills Of My Mind (1983) may recognise several of the pieces in this book, along with some relatively new pieces, especially those with a link to the World Wide Web and the Internet. I have used the word published. That however, is just a dream. What it does mean is that I wrote, typed, proof read, retyped, printed and photo copied them and put them into folders myself. That means you wont find any of my books on library shelves, not just yet. Over the years, both readers and critics of my work have all come up with the same question, albeit phrased in different ways and that is..Where do you find your inspiration? Well I could have used that old clich that says 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration; but that would not be true. I actually find my inspiration closer to home. My inspiration comes from something that lives and breaths, something that has nothing to do with culture or religion, class or creed. I find my inspiration from Life itself. Let me explain. In any one day of anyones life, they will have to face a whole myriad of feelings and emotions, and deal with them in their own unique way. Emotions such as love, and joy. The feelings that I felt when holding my newborn son for the first time; the way I feel when a stranger smiles at me, or my boss gives me a compliment or the emotions I have on receiving a letter from a dear but distant friend. On the other side of the coin you have those not so nice, but oh so necessary emotions, for you cant have sunshine without rain. Emotions such as anger, the sort you feel when you come across cruelty to animals or humans; your reaction when you have spent twenty minutes in a Post Office queue and it closes just as you reach the front; or how you feel when you come across injustice, stupidity or ignorance. One emotion that you will come across in my poetry, is loneliness. That feeling of desolation, of wanting to belong to someone. somehow, somewhere. However, you will also find humour, honesty, truth, understanding, confusion, betrayal and many, many more emotions that I dont have a name for or room enough to print them all. A Poet can be likened to an Artist. An artist will often paint something that he sees or has seen, in the hope that those that view his work might somehow share in the emotions he felt as he painted the piece. A Poet - paints pictures with words. I hope you find pleasure, perhaps a forgotten memory, and maybe a better understanding of me, in what you are about to read. Allan D Stewart May 2009 “There has been many times in my life, when I have felt so very alone - times when I would have given anything just to have a friend - a friend just to talk to- a friend to help and guide me in my hour of need. In time, I found such friends. So if you should ever need someone, as I did, please remember these words…” WHEN

When you reach out your hand… But find nobody there. When you’re feeling so alone and so sad… And in deep despair. When you really need a friend… I will be there. When your mind is so full of confusion And your heart is so full of doubt. When you feel that you are being used…. And need to talk it out. When you need a friend just shout And - I will be there. When the dreams you had planned No longer seem very real. When you feel that life itself Has dealt you a rough deal. When your heart is full of such pain That time alone can never heal. I will be there Though I cannot promise you an answer To everything. I will try to ease your suffering. I can help by understanding The way that you feel… Those dark secret thoughts That you dare not reveal. I can offer you guidance, in time of need. I can show you the way. . But never lead. I can offer you time, compassion and care; But…most of all I will always be there. ”This next piece is the shortest in the entire book, yet it describes exactly what this book contains – my thoughts – which along with my emotions, create the backbone to every poem” Thoughts Thoughts. They fill our minds a million times of a day. They are the prompters of all that we do or say. They are the building blocks of memories and dreams. They are a necessary part of life it seems. They can be joyful or happy – sorrowful or sad. They can be deep or fleeting – good and bad… They are our own, yet so very often of others… …Strangers, friends, sisters or brothers. They help us to read and to understand They nurture the hopes and the dream we have planned From the moment we take our very first breath And even beyond, some believe, our death.

Thoughts. They have been here beside me every day of my life…. This book - contains but a few. Thoughts from deep within my heart I would like to share - with you.

“ If I was asked to choose the one piece from all the poems that I have written, to signify my view of this world -it would be this one. It was originally written in the early 70’s,when, as a young sailor; I was serving on a warship on coastal patrol in the Persian Gulf. These thoughts echoed my feelings at that time - and now reading it again I realize tthat nothing much has changed – and in my mind I can still hear the haunting words of… The Youth of Yesterday - The Old Man of Tomorrow “What is thy purpose on the earth my son? The Old Man asked of me – As we stood on a cloud, high above the Earth a warring, raging sea - of people. As I thought on how best to answer him… the stars in the heavens and the moon grew dim. Yet, I could still faintly see the Old Mans face; so full of love and compassion, for the human race and so - I answered him. In this hostile world of ours, Peace is just a word. Often spoken of, but never really heard. Its a world where Ultimate Power is the aim of one and all A world where nations rise, and just as swiftly fall. A world where Strength and Winning is the name of the game And with that come Power, Glory and Fame Where the loser, loses hope, loses faith.. loses face Yet where the only real loser -is the human race.” It is a world where to lose is wrong…and to win is always right. If one is to be the strongest, one always has to fight. No wonder its people find it so hard to unite.” It is a world where religion, has caused many tragic wars Where brother will fight brother in the name of the cause Where Life and Death are decided behind closed doors Where Peace -is just another word for a conflict pause A world where each religion insists that God is on their side. If so, what happened to the millions of people that died? Does any one really know -? Can anyone ever tell? Where did they go to, is there really; a Heaven or Hell?” The Arabs, the Israelis, Ireland, North and South. A gun in the hand and a prayer on the mouth. Bombing -. Murdering - Devastation And we call ourselves a peace loving nation?” My purpose on Earth is To me, so very clear

Yet -a rather impossible dream I fear. But I will speak, and I will pray, that some will eventually hear My words.” My aim is to bring unity, between class and creed. In my actions, in my words, and in my every deed. I will write, in the hope that others may read. To show people that Life really could be worth living… If we were more caring, more loving and much more forgiving. If we accepted that in life, we are not all the same. Then - Peace could be more, than just a name. Why should we care about the colour of a mans skin? Surely whats more important is the soul that lies within? What is so different between a Muslim and a Jew? They both worship One God…as most religions do? What is so different about the way we offer our prayers? Is it kneeling on mats? . Or sitting on chairs. What difference if we worship in a synagogue In a Mosque in our homes or in a Church? If it is for the same purpose we pray and search…. For Peace on Earth; and Goodwill to all Mankind. Or is true Religion…just a state of mind? We are all Gods children -or so the Bible tells So what is that lights the fuse, what is it that impels Men to kill and to maim, in the name of the Lord? By bombing, by missile by the gun or by the sword. Is it Power, or Jealousy or just plain Greed? Wanting something from life; that we dont really need? As I paused to consider on what else I had to say; I looked up at the Old Man…- but he quickly looked away. Yet not before I had seen, the tears in his eyes… Tears that he tried, but could not disguise Tears for the failure, of Gods Universal plan. Tears of blood, shed - for the stupidity of Man. As I looked down, at the Earth far below… Anger within me began to grow So, I continued by saying-…I know… That the task I have set myself is daunting indeed. But someone has to start so that others may lead. My greatest hope is - that I will one day, succeed.” As I finished speaking, the light returned And now I could clearly see, the Old Mans face; But as I did so, my heart began to quicken And my pulse began to race! For it was then that I began to realize With a sense of determination and sorrow That I was that Youth of Yesterday And -the Old Man of Tomorrow.

“This next poem, was written not so many years ago, a time when I was in a relationship, that might, or might not, head anywhere. My partner of the time had asked me to tell her, in writing, my true feelings about our relationship. This was my answer. This old and weary heart of mine, is scarred, with time and age. Each love, a different story, each romance, a different page…in the Book of Life” My Heart It has shared the youthful experience of romance ,pure and new. It has known the joy of tenderness -of love, sincere and true. It has felt the emotion, the happiness, of the wondrous birth of a child. The love and trust of children pure and undefiled. It has known the joy in sharing the love of colleagues and friends. And touched the very heart of a love, that never ends. Yet -it has also faced the bitterness -and the heartache of divorce; the tearing apart of life itself by some invisible force. It has survived the anger, the bitterness and the pain And the loneliness when one has to face the loss of that special someone who can never be replaced. It has traveled to the very depths of despair; When faith, and even faint hope, are gone. It as also lost the will to live.. to try soldier on. Yet somehow, it still beats on - its eternal rhythm of Life. And time does dimmer the memories of sorrow and strife. It awaits the day, when someone new Rekindles the flame - someone perhaps.. like you. When joy and passion, and tenderness Are found in a smile - a loving caress. When life feels worth living -every moment of every day. And so, my dearest friend - to you, this I say. If you’re heart, and my heart should someday become entwined. Before you actually tie the knot please bare this thought in mind. If my heart should beat, for you, and you alone With a love, that is so deep and so rare. Please treat it, as you would, your own… with tenderness…and with care.

“You are probably sat reading this poem, in a comfortable chair in your comfortable home. Now try to imagine what it would be like to be torn away from your family, your home, your loved ones. Imagine what it must be like for a Sailor, or even the sailors wife” The Last Farewell You remember that day so clearly now. The dockyard. The Jetty, the waiting ship. The sadness,the sorrow,the trembling lip.

The kiss - that said..I love you, more than you will ever know… and though it breaks my heart, I really have to go” The hooting of the tugs as the ship pulled away. The sky matching your every mood; now cloudy and grey. Then...those first bitter moments of loneliness as you remember his touch, his kiss, his caress. But now you are alone...alone to think alone to cry. Alone to ask yourself why? Why was each parting such bitter - sweet sorrow. Why did he have to go away again. Who would be there for every tomorrow? To wipe away the tears that would fall like summer rain? Were loneliness, and separation, just part of the price... of being a Sailors wife? As you slowly left the dockyard and made your way home – A ship slipped out of the harbour into the raging foam. Its destination who knows somewhere near, or far away. Its duty, one that all sailors must obey. To preserve the freedom of our homeland and sea. You silently whispered a prayer .. Lord bring him back safely to me”. When you reach home, though the children are there – The house seems so empty, so bleak and so bare. Little Jimmy asks Wheres Daddy” You reply, Hes gone away” Silence, Then… Mummy, didnt he want to stay?” Later that night with the children in bed and past asleep Your thoughts and your mind, drift away into the deep And you remember another time, just like today You remember how it was the last time he went away. How at first, your nights and your days, were filled with tears. How each month seemed to last a hundred years. How you longed, each day, for some word, maybe a letter And how each loving word made you feel so much better. Yet still you asked yourself, are there many other wives like me, Married to a man, whose first love is the sea? ------------------------My friend, this is not story, about a love that died For now you will discover, this storys other side That of that sailor so far away at sea For not so long ago that was me. -7Just like that sailor, I was once a wanderer to And I left behind me, someone special, like you. Yet, it was not for a life of adventure, that I went to sea. It was just a lifestyle that had appealed to me. My father had been a sailor for over twenty years Listening to his many stories had given me ideas

I wanted to see for myself, those far away places I wanted to met different people, different races. I wanted to travel before I settled down With a wife, a child and a job an anywhere town. So I signed up for nine long years and traveled far and wide My home each ship I served on - the sea, a willing bride. Yet a sailor’s life at sea does have a serious side. Endless drills, secrecy and silence, far out at sea Preparing for war or any other eventuality.

After seventeen years I grew tired of the life And the heartbreaking months and years away from my wife. A life of adventure, a life at sea No longer held any pleasure, or excitement for me…. And so, with my final voyage done I returned home to England, my country -and my wife and son. I can promise you that your loved one will one day feel the same And you will be more than just a photograph in a golden frame the childrens daddy will be much more than just a name. your love will become once more a reality, and not just a memory. There will be no more loneliness, no more sorrow No more having to face alone, the emptiness of every tomorrow. You cam live your lives together, in harmony and peace Until the sands of time begin to cease When all sailors must answer, to the ringing of the ships bell For that final trip.. to Heaven .. The Last Farewell.

“This piece was written just a few months ago and requires little introduction. The reason will become apparent very soon after you commence reading..yet still I would ask..… Why Me ? The shock, the agonizing pain, that shot across my chest -down my right arm and then back again. I couldnt move. I felt paralyzed. I asked myself why -was it fear, was that day - finally here? I couldnt see -I couldnt speak. I was completely dumb. Yet, I could hear a voice calling me in my head. but was I alive or dead? Who are you; I asked -what do you want. Is this just a warning or - do you just want to chat.” No, replied the voice.. my name is Stat”. I answered him -”Stat who, I have never heard of you. Leave me alone Go away-.leave me be.” And then- suddenly it dawned on me! So, now you know, said the voice, And yes, it is your turn now..

you know me, you know why, and you know how!” And then before me was a sight that I will never forget. I saw thousands upon thousands of corpses…each smoking a cigarette! I watched, as the smoke went down in to their lungs .I heard as they all cried out, in different tongues. I saw smoke, clinging to and blocking their arteries. I saw black lungs-dead hearts -I saw disease. I saw old people-young people- even children to.This”- said the voice, is now happening to you. Every cigarette you smoked.. millions of them have been eating you away…Dont you remember the rasping cough and that horrible black phlegm?” But I will change- I cried out. I will never smoke another one”. To late! - the voice repliedthe process has begun” But I will change, I repeated. I will try that thing I read about-the patch. To late- was the reply-Your losing this match. But why! I cried! Why now-why me? Why not, he replied-and I had to agree Nobody had forced me to smoke all my life…regardless of the danger to the children and my wife I had seen the adverts -read the warnings but had ignored them, just the same. There was nobody else but myself to blame.

Who are you, I asked, my conscience, or what?”Oh yes, he replied -I almost forgot! my name is Stat - or statistics to you; you must have heard of me, or do you need a clue? This is nothing personal he said but I cant give you a break; For I have my quota of people to take. Perhaps then people will listen with every breath and stop smoking themselves-to death.” So what happens now,I cried- am I going to die?” Yes, he replied,you are the weakest link ..GOODBYE!

“This piece was written many, many years ago after an afternoons stroll through a small park in Devonport, England. I have never been back there since, but I vividly remember the occasion and how I met….” The Wander As I sat there I watched him, strolling aimlessly along. Mumbling quietly to himself so doing no wrong. Stumbling and limping-he made his way to a bench. I was sat nearby and could smell the stench… He had long knotted hair, unkempt and scraggy and wore patched up trousers, all torn and baggy…

The rest of clothing was in dire need of repair. He wore two odd shoes perhaps he couldnt find, a pair. He pulled from a carrier bag, a crusty roll or two; nd with his few black teeth, he began to chew; All the time, looking around, staring here and there. Perhaps he was looking for someone, some place, somewhere. As our eyes met, he glared suspiciously at me. I smiled - but he quickly looked away. Then he shivered and coughed, uncontrollably Though it was a warm and pleasant sunny day. He finished his meal. Stood, and turned to go his movements looked awkward, painful and slow He hobbled out of the park… and away down the road Heading somewhere, nowhere, for he had no abode. Maybe he really was looking for someone, some place his memory as his guiding lamp But to me he was just - a Wanderer Old Nicholas - the Tramp.

“In the same park, just a few minutes later…I came across a large marble cross...partly hidden from view by some scraggy bushes. It looked so neglected and so lonely...and it angered me that nobody really cared for” The Monument It stood in a corner of the park, partly hidden from view. A tribute, in memoriam- yet clearly visited by very few. It stood there, alone, rising up into the sky. Upon it stood an angel - with a tear in its eye. As I looked at the monument I found it, a very moving sight… As I watched the sun setting behind the monument bringing on the night. In its hand, the Angel held a wreath of holly leaves. Alone, it had stood there year after year.. and alone it grieves… For those who would never return to this fair land, Or see this angel or-the wreath in its hand. Mounted high above the figure, was a cross. A magnificent sight, though now covered in moss. Around it were insets of wreaths, on every side. And as I looked upon it -I sighed. For that solitary figure and that mighty cross Was a dedication to the city’s greatest loss? For those that died the inscription said. Yet. I wondered ; Did anybody really care about the dead?

For that monument was clearly in need of repair. Could nobody bother-did nobody care? Or was that monument just meant to be… Like the war in which those men had died… Just a faded memory ? -11“This next poem is relevant to so many people that I have met, and spoken to, on the Internet, especially in chat rooms. As well as the usual friendly chat and banter you now and then come across a friend with a problem. A friend in need. This is about one of them” The Missing Link What is it that is missing from your life? What is it that brings you so much sorrow and strife? Is it the boredom, the usuality? Of being a mother - and a wife? What is it that cuts into your heart like a Surgeons knife… Is it excitement, or danger, that you seek? To climb that illusive mountain To reach passions peak… Is your life so dull without it and your future, so bleak? Life, is what you make it, or so they say As you walk along the road of life, It is you -who decide the way and the role that you play. All that I can do is wish you hope, and luck, and pray – That one day you will find the missing link Whatever it is that is missing from your life and heart Maybe in your life -I can play a small part My talking to you is a start. I cannot lead you, but I can show you the way And I hope that you will understand, the things I say. Though your world, now, seems so empty and like the sky dull and gray. Tomorrow is a new beginning Of a brand new dawn So dont give in your depression and sorrow Don’t dwell in that world of dismay. Forget the past, plan for tomorrow And make that new start in your life Today. "I have been asked this question more then once but could not come up with any one answer, simply because love, how we see it, feel it and need it, it different to every one of us. What--- is Love? What is this feeling, that people call - love

is it really, as is said, a gift from above. Does it bring with it, eternal devotion or is it just, an over rated emotion? Is it true, that church bells ring Whenever your loved one comes into sight. Can it really give you, many a sleepless night... Is just a racing heart beat -ringing in your ears; Or insomnia, caused by your unconscious fears? Is Is Is Is

it it it it

love that we recall in our memories? a desire to be needed, a desire to please… the answer to a prayer, or a dream to come true... life, is it hope, or is it none of these?

Is it fleeting, is it eternal, will it last forever more. Or does it, in time, become a burden, and a bore? I do not know the answers, to these questions that I ask… For they are hidden, deep within each heart a face behind a mask. Yet, my search for love has been, a lifetimes desire that burns within me like a raging fire, Yet too often ends in divorce… loves funeral pyre. Yet, still I carry on, and will do all my life. Searching for the right woman, to become my wife. A woman that will return, all that I have to give. To love honour and cherish for as long as we both shall live. That special someone, who will accept me, just as I am. Neither a roaring lion, nor a timid lamb. Just an ordinary man, with ordinary needs Who tries to show love, and sometimes succeeds. An ordinary man, searching for a reason to live To forget the bitterness of the past And perhaps to forgive. Perhaps then – With the grace and goodness, of the Lord above… I will know the answer to…what is Love? “Addendum In time I found that love that I searched for through the years and it was worth the waiting, the loneliness and the tears. For to me love is life and sharing it with that special one and now my quest is done.. Love..is what you make it, but not just you it is something that is initially shared by two. It means being wanted and needed every second of your life In the good days the happy days but also in times of strife To me love is what makes my heart skip a beat And what makes my life…complete.

“This is a story about life and death, happiness and sorrow, and anger and fear….but with a twist at the very end:” Lifes A Bitch I was born, so I have heard, many years ago though the date and the time, I will never ever know. I do know, that I was the youngest of three. That scrawny little runt- is what they used to call me. I had a loving mother, but never knew my dad, but I hear he was a bit of a dog, and a cad. My mother tried to feed us, all fair and square but my brother and sister were a brutish pair. At mealtimes I was always the one who was left out and all I got for complaining was a clout. As a result, I grew up, al skin and bone. I felt so unwanted, unloved, and so alone. Then came that awful day that my mother died, as they took her away, I cried and cried. I felt that my life might as well be over now for the future looked so dim, and so bad – Mum had been the only comfort I had. After some discussion I was given away, to the friend of a friend of a friend as they say. Perhaps, I thought, with this change, this move My life, and my future, might improve. They took me in a car, to a place far away. It must have been some distance for the journey took half a day. My new home was very small It was in what I think you would call, a flat. I shared my new home - with a big fat cat who hated me from the moment we first set eyes on one another. Suddenly, I missed by sister and brother… Any hopes that my new home would be an improvement, was soon kicked out of me. I didn’t even have a bed, so I slept at night On a dirty old mattress where the bed bugs did bite! My meals were scraps of food left over from each meal. What had I done, to receive such a rough deal… That cat, however, sat on a cushion made of sable fed tasty morsels from a well spread table. One day, I decided that I had suffered enough Surely I could do better than this even if it meant living rough? So I escaped one day when a door was left ajar

Even then- they tried to run me down, with the car. I just ran, and ran, until I was very far away. My new home now would be, wherever I decided to stay. At first life was hard, and decent food was still very rare – but I survived, with the occasional Rabbit or Hare – or whatever I could steal, by courage or dare. Life moved on, and by and by I am glad to say I grew stronger and bolder with every passing day. I spent my nights sleeping or hunting for prey and spent my days with friends in the forest at play. And then came that terrible day that I got into a fightI was attacked by a pack of dogs…it was late one night, And even though I fought them with all my might When they had finished with me, I was a terrible sight; One leg was broken with a savage bite. Then worst of all, they took me, again and again, I remember the darkness. I remember the pain. I cannot remember much as to what happened then. They say I was rescued by some gentlemen… Who took me to someone’s home and put me in a bed. For the first time in my life, I was washed, and fed. Then they took me to some man to repair my broken limb. I remember feeling sleepy as the lights grew dim. When I awoke, I was washed and fed – again And given injections to take away the pain. I was cared for at last, and fed well every dayBut why did they call me, that little orphan stray? Well, that is my story but I hope its not the end for what lies in my future, will still depend on whether YOU are looking for a companion and friend will you bring this story to a happy end? I don’t care what YOU are, be you a saint, sinner or witch For what you see is what I am A homeless and lonely, Doberman bitch!

Friendships, especially those that are formed through the Internet and chat rooms, can be brief and fragile, here today and gone tomorrow, or, in some cases they can become honest and caring friends. You only know what the person you befriend wants you to know, the rest is down to trust. Mistrust and lies inevitably lead to… Broken Friendships

Who do you turn to when you are r feeling rather low? Where do you head for when there’s nowhere else to go? Who will always be there to cushion the blow? A Friend. Who will support you when you are in the right? Who will defend and back you in a verbal fight? Who will always be there for you, day or night? A Friend. Who gets you to smile when you really want to cry? Who always help you to keep your head held high? Who always says aur revioir but never goodbye? A Friend. But, what happens - - When that friend, suddenly turns away and wont even say hello or give you the time of day who take away your sunshine and leaves your life a murky gray? You ask, why did it happen, why are e-mails never replied has that special friendship, just died? Why is her away sign, always on – Where has that bond of friendship you once shared, gone? Was it something somebody did, something I might have said? [You swiftly go through the last conversation in your head] You ask her, has someone been telling her untruths or lies – If so, my dearest friend, please stop and realize… That your friendship to me is a very special thing And I had hoped that our friendship would last. Focus on the present, and the future, not the past. Where is that person who had become a big part of my life? Has our special friendship, reached its end – Are you listening - are you there - my friend?

“ This poem is simply a collection of thoughts that went through my mind, as I went to a friends second marriage service. I had just become divorced for the second time. As I watched them, and their six year old daughter I felt their togetherness, it lead to”:--Wishful Thinking Against my better wishes I decided to go To the second wedding of a good friend I know. Though I was still recovering from a second divorce I was drawn to their marriage by some invisible force. So I went- perhaps I had felt that the time was right to forget the nightmares that haunted me each night.

Time to get out and meet people, and maybe, just maybe then I could start to live again. I had known the bride and groom for a number of years. They had been there for me and has shed my tears – But this was their day - a day of celebration … the very air was full of joy and elation as they made their pledges and vowed to be true to each other, for all eternity. I wished them every success, from the bottom of my heart. Seven years together so far, they had had a fair start. Yet, as the other guests stood around chatting and drinking – I indulged myself, in a bit of wishful thinking. I wished it had been me, getting married that day -– or that I had been the father giving the lovely bride away or that I had such a lovely daughter as their Mary May. I then remembered all the games that I used to playWith my son, before that joy had been torn away. Yes, that had been long ago, he would be much older nowBut still I ask myself, why - and how? Many years have passed on since that lovely wedding day And that marriage grows even stronger I am glad to say. But my thoughts on that occasion forever more will be Remembered in this book-and in my memory.

This poem is not one of my personal favourites, and the only reason it is appearing in this book is at the request of friends and colleagues. It was written many, many years ago when I was a lot younger it is full of loneliness and sorrow it was written at a time when real men didnt show their emotions. It shows distress and desolation – It shows in every word.. The Loneliness of the Lonely People. They passed me by with many a scornful stare. It was no wonder, for what they saw there before them, was a young man with tears running down his face. He certainly looked out of place. People. I saw them, as I swiftly passed them by - yet I cared not that they saw me cry For I could not hide my breaking heart That breaks even more and more the further, we are torn apart. As a sailor, I had faced many such partings through the years Each time I had shed a million tears. Yet each parting became much harder Then the one before and I wondered- could I take much more? People. They did not see me as I entered my hotel room

the darkness of the night, matching my gloom. They did not see me as I knelt beside my bed -and bowed my head …in prayer. They did not hear me as I prayed to God above To protect the child and the woman, that I love. The woman that I had married, just three short years ago… And for whom the tears flow. People. They could not truly understand the way that I feel Only these words, and these tears, can reveal Just how much I long to leave, this life I spend at sea To go home and find them, waiting there for me. To be able to share all our lives together as normal families do – Lord, is that to much to ask of you? But until that time comes, at the end of each day I will quietly kneel and pray – For the day I can reach out, and she will be thereMy life away from wife, is so very hard to bare. That day, however, may be many moons awayBut I know that she to, is praying for the day, that I can change this emptiness, these tear stained eyes this sorrow, this depression, and these endless goodbyes – For Peace, and Joy, and so very much more beside With my wonderful son, and my beautiful loving bride.

As I draw back the veils of time and look back over the last fifty years – I can remember and relive wonderful moments, but I also some bad. I remember places and people far and wide, from Bournmouth to Bombay, from Portsmouth to Perth. I remember two marriages and nine years at sea…so join me now as I take a leisurely stroll down…” Memory Lane Memories. They are our personal journals of days long passed. Some pages may be missing, but others linger and last perhaps, to be remembered at some later date. Some of my memories may even relate - to you. They bring back powerful feelings such as happiness and sorrow Some may even bring a tear to the eye Others… a sense of nostalgia and a sentimental sigh. Your own memories may remember a face, a name Someone who so affected you that life would never be the same. You may remember a special place, a song, or a film you both saw All stored away in your memory - forever more. My first memory takes be back over thirty-five years.

I remember honour and duty but also bitterness and tears. I see a young sailor aboard a ship, staring out to sea from the bows of a mighty ship. I see sorrow in his eyes as he struggles to keep a grip on his feelings. He is young and this is his first time away from family and friends Will he last the year away…- it all depends… for this is the life that he had decided to lead but it would be a very different life indeed. That he seeks knowledge and adventure is plain But as I look into his heart- all I see right now is pain. As he stands there thinking of those he left behind – A time, a place, and a name come to mind. Shirley. A wonderful, beautiful woman with a heart so pure and kind Who, just like him was probably lonely and going out of her mind. Yet, their love would keep them together, though torn apart. He carried her love, and her memory in his heart Next, I see them together, bridegroom and blushing bride I can feel how proud he was, with her by his side… I see her standing there in a beautiful wedding dress. I hear them give their vows, and hear the vicar bless our marriage. Next, I see the wondrous joy of fatherhood… And let me assure you, it felt pretty damn good! I see a son and his father just walking hand in hand Lost, together in their own private land. But then my joy turns to anger for as the years roll by I see this love, this union, just crumble and die. I see the terrible heartache of forced separation – As the wheels of progress take their inevitable course that lead to solicitors, lawyers, and in the end - divorce. I see that young man again, now so alone in his world – His heart so full of bitterness and strife …as he comes to terms with this tragedy of life. I watch him, as the years pass swiftly by. Another Marriage. Another Divorce. I hear him ask himself- why? Was he to blame, was it this life, his chosen career? If so, his duty had cost him very dear. Had he loved too much, had he been to soft, to strong? Both wives had left him for another man So- where had he gone wrong? Yet this young man had both determination and strength And he knew that he would go to any length …even to lay his life on the line -for that illusive dream, a love divine. No longer do I see that sailor boy in the bows of a ship

For, in time he had completed his last, final trip. He had journeyed the world, seen all he wanted to see. Now, all he wanted was to settle down hopefully with a future loving wife and family. As the years pass by I see him, still walking alone Yet in between those years, that young man had grown. Still looking for loves perfection He would accept something less. So he searched on and on, in search of trust and happiness I found that love in you Sue…you are my reason for living but life I am afraid… has been less forgiving. For my health has begun a general decline The body may be crap but the brain is fine. But I now have something that none can ever be take from me. True love, Real life, and my memory. Maybe one day, we may take a gentle stroll again From the past unto the present … down Memory Lane.

In my book of Poetry Through The Years the very first piece was dedicated to my Mum and Dad. This piece was written many years ago when they were both still alive. Sadly, they both passed away in the intervening years, but I still think this dedication, deserves an airing. It is simply called..… Our Christmas Message At 3pm each Christmas Day - the Queen begins to speak – to pass her Christmas Message to her subjects, everywhere – the rich, the mighty, the famous, the poor, the weak. Yet, I have often wondered if the words she says are meant, true and sincere or is she just reading from an auto cue saying things that she thinks we need to hear? I would like to think that what she says is what she really means – not just prompted expressions and words from the producer behind the scenes. At Christmas time we also hear the timeless story told of the baby infant, Jesus, born in a stable dark and cold. How he came to earth as a gift, from our father above. To teach us how to live, to teach us how to love one another. That, is what Christmas should be all about but these days, as it appears to me everything revolves around money, pleasure… and luxury.

Children want the latest toys, no matter what the cost. The true meaning of Christmas, of giving, has been lost along the way. What has happened to those-good old days that I recall with much elation -– Are my precious memories just a figment of my imagination? Were they really as wonderful as I like to recall ? Did I watch out of every window, waiting for snow to fall? Did we really have balloons and festive streamers in the hall? Was the Christmas tree really ten foot tall? As I close my eyes right now, I can see each smiling face as each parcel was opened, paper strewn all over the place a new bike. a New Doll. a game or two, – Christmas Stockings full of, oranges and chocolate pennies too. That is how I like to remember Christmas, the laughter and joy Of Christmas Time -when I was just a boy. As time passed by, we all grew up, and one by one moved away… And now have families of our own with which to spend that special day. Yet, as I sit here smiling, surrounded by my brood – I want to send you, Mum and Dad this message, of thanks and gratitude. Thank you for the love that you both s freely gave. Thank you for showing us how to be patient and brave. For showing us the way, when-as often- we strayed For showing compassion when tempers became frayed. You were always there, in the good times and the bad – You gave us a reason to carry on when we felt lonely and sad. You were always willing to listen, and truly hear Of a dream, a hope, or a secret fear. Even Dad was there, though his duties meant month’s apartHe carried our memories and our love deep within his heart. Even you dear mother, in hospital and near death We were in your deepest thoughts and on your every breath We want to say thank-you, for so many any things To our Saint without a halo- and our Angel without wings. So many years have passed us by, since this poem was first writ and every year now, a special candle is lit in memory of a wonderful mother who had sadly passed away yet in our thoughts and prayers, every day. It can’t have been easy for Dad, to face the world alone Though he knew we were always there at the end of a phone Though we saw him as often as we possibly could maybe not as much as we really should? In time he passed away to be with his loving wife Leaving a hole in every-ones life.

Who knows what lies ahead, what each NEW tomorrow may hold We just face each day and each challenge as it starts to unfold Though we cannot go back and live those days – as special as they may be,

Hi – My name is David Malcombe I have been a friend of Allans for many years and he has asked me to write a short piece about him and his life. I have agreed to do so but let me warn you, there is nothing short about the life he has led so far. Anyway, here goes. … Born in a small country village is West Sussex, England- he was the second of what was to become a huge family of eight boys and one girl. He lived in this village for the first eight years of his life, and despite the tender years he insists he can remember people and places from that far back in his life. It was shortly after his eight birthday that life changing events took place that were to have an affect on the rest of his life. Firstly, the whole family uprooted and moved to another leafy little village called Denmead, which was not to far from Portsmouth where his dad served in the Royal Navy. It was also during this year that family life was turned upside down, when his mother and a few brothers were confirmed to have Tuberculosis - as a result of which, the family were split up and sent to three different parts of the south coast. It was to be year before the family were reunited again, as one. It was during his teenage years and at Secondary School that he discovered his love of the written word, from famous writers such as Charles Dickens and Denis Wheatley, to the great poets such as Browning and Albert Lord Tennyson. He says this was also time he received most of his education, including his schooling in love. However, it wasnt until the early sixties, when, as a sailor in the Royal Navy he found himself sailing away from Englands green and pleasant land, to places unknown. He tried to explain this strange adventure in letters, but found he could put it better in the form of a poem or prose. As he put it in an introduction ..I find it easier to put what I am thinking onto paper then into words from my mouth”. Although he wrote many poems at this time, most of it was lost after his first divorce and his wife threw out any links she had of their marriage and his time in the Royal Navy. In the 1970s he turned his writing from poetry to creative writing. He had completed a 3 year postal course on Journalism and Creative writing but had had to give it up before the end for financial reasons It was whilst serving on HMS Eagle, a Royal Naval Aircraft Carrier that he took up writing in a big way. He had “adopted” a local school in Plymouth prior to the ships departure for the Mediterranean and Far East, and had agreed to write to several pupils on a regular basis telling them about where the ship had been, what he had seen, ect. About a month prior to their due return to Plymouth at the end of the commission, he received over 20 different letters from pupils from the school, all wanting to know everything about the trip, from how many eggs did the crew eat in a week, to what did you do when the ship was in Singapore?

As many of the questions were repeated in other letters, he decided that instead of writing to each individual pupil he would write a journal for the school. The result was The Year of The Eagle.. which he wrote, typed, printed and put together 20 copies, in less than a fortnight. Although there were some glaring errors in the end product, it covered the culture, history, people and anecdotes from each place they had visited. * A copy of this turned up 20 years later and he is now rewriting it and corrected the glaring errors, if not the proof reading. Just a year later, in 1971 he produced his first book of poetry entitled Just Me’. As for the title, he says- that is basically what my poetry is all about, an attempt to put down my thoughts and experiences on paper, so that others might understand, and in some way experience themselves, the things I saw and thought about during those many months and years away from home. ” It was to be twelve years on, in 1983 that he produced his second book of poetry. This time entitled From the Windmills of my mind which, he says, contained many of his deepest and most personal thoughts, in prose and poetry. Many of the poems from his previous book were rewritten and recreated in the new version. He left the Royal Navy in 1987 and after a succession of short term jobs, he finally settled down to work for a National Security Company, first as a Security Officer and rising to Vetting and Training Officer, which also led him from Southampton, to Reading, to Luton and to Milton Keynes where he then lived with his third wife June. Unfortunately his health deteriated during this time and in 1996 he suffered a stroke that left him partially disabled and unable to carry out any gainful employment. He has also been on the Internet for many years, and a lot of his later work has written during this time. He still lives in Milton Keynes but now lives with his lifetime partner Sue, who, he says, has finally made his life complete and that she is the best thing that ever happened to him. This latest book, Through The Years is, he says, his final volume. It is all his work and contains his favourite pieces and those requested by various friends. written over the last forty five years. He is heavily involved in local community work and has also still writing his autobiography, So I dont think that we have heard the last Of Allan Stewart- --- not just yet. David M May 2005