Our first home on the Camp
(Millwey Rise, Axminster)
By Dick Sturch
Our first home was a Nissen hut near Weycroft's farmyard buildings,
The last in a row of asbestos sheeted half round empty schielings.
No busy roads just a concrete path that led right to our door.
While all around was open space, the greenest grass, and so much to explore.
The journey to Devon and our new dwelling, fades in the mists of time,
I remember the path, a furniture cart, and a day that shone so fine,
My new stepfather who carried my mother into our strange new home.
While outside I waited, a small case in hand, many miles from the people I`d known.
Our few belongings were soon discharged into rooms that dad created,
A kitchen, lounge and two bedrooms, by wood walling separated.
And at the heart with pride of place, the thing that I remember.
The rust`ned old combustion stove, white ash and burning ember.
To warm the house and water boil, heat stew and toast the bread,
Never before and never since my thoughts have e`er been fed.
To sit and gaze caressed in warmth while fantasies they flew
To snowy lands where blizzards raged and icy winds blew through.
And when the day had slipped away and night crept quietly in
Then candle flame and mantled lamp were there to light the dim.
And eventide would tick tock by while wireless dial searched stations
For the Light or Home Service of BBC, with news from across the nations.
A spluttered choke and acrid fumes as lights were doused for bed.
Then `neath a mound of blankets, sheet and coat, by lamp a comic read.
Whilst sleep enticing echoes of the night train's whistled warning
Defeated eyes that battled `gainst the long dark hours 'til morning.
Primus purr and rattled cups prised dreamy eyes awake,
Sounds of household life astir night's sleepfast hold would break.
Breakfast's cup of sugared tea, set down on bleached wood table
Bread doorsteps spread with margarine and golden syrup ladled.
For a Shropshire lad of five years old, life changed in a few short days
From family and friends and a bustling town to solitude faraway.
No bathroom now or kitchen sink, just outside tap and loo.
With country sounds, the birds, the cows and a silence that was new.
Reflecting now on those far off years of plain and simple fashion,
Reminds me how our life does change and childhood memories ration.
The people, the places and things now forgotten, like the wick burnt out on a lamp,
Tho' in memory's rich treasures I'll always recall, our very first home on the Camp.
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