Features and blogging

Thank goodness for National Poetry Day, scooting in to rescue this poor empty blog from my recent writer’s block. It’s not often I neglect my blog, and I’m not proud when I let it slide. Sometimes I get stuck for a while – until a nice story comes along, like Dad And The Mizpah.
My father holds a framed poem in this picture. It is a Mizpah – that’s a Hebrew word indicating a strong bond between two people, and/or a connection and desire for both to be watched over. Hard to describe, easier to see when you read it and hear the background. In my family we don’t really have a faith, though I’m sure many of us have prayed in times of need.
The poem within the old frame is floral and feminine, yet it sends a strong message of togetherness.
The man who owned it was my great-grandfather and, says my Dad, was not a floral man at all. He saved it from a ship that was about to be abandoned in 1905, somewhere off the coast of China. When he returned from that adventure, and years at sea, he married the girl with whom he shared the poem’s sentiments. They had been in love since they were both teenagers at school and wasted no time once he was back on dry land.
The Mizpah then made its way down the family line, at one stage hanging on the wall by the bathroom in my parents’ flat, before finally ending up in my care. I use that word loosely, because when I was packing to leave for Singapore in 2012, the Mizpah went under wraps again and then vanished for a while, tucked into a box in storage up the A40.
Last year, at a time in his life when he probably needed a prayer or two, Dad asked me where it was but I couldn’t put my hand on it, or any particular packing box for that matter, strewn as our belongings were between London, Marlow and Cornwall. Then this week the Mizpah suddenly reappeared, theatrically timed just as Dad came to London for a visit: it’s as if the thing knew he was in town.
The poem under glass is saccharin and florid, but after a year like this I think anyone would welcome its return, and want to re-hang it on the wall. I certainly do. Dad was thrilled to see it, and over coffee in the park he told me the full story of why his grandfather attempted to scupper his own ship. But that’s for another time. For now, we make do with the tiny pencil scraw, on the back, ‘Saved from the SS Oldhamia’, and give thanks for its most recent salvation.
Happy National Poetry Day, and safe travels to those who need a wing and a prayer:

(PS my cousin tried to find out more about the poet but there’s not a lot out there. Sorry about that, Miss Baker)

Mizpah by Julia Aldrich Baker

GO THOU thy way, and I go mine,
Apart, yet not afar;
Only a thin veil hangs between
The pathways where we are.
And God keep watch 'tween thee and me;
This is my prayer;
He looketh thy way, He looketh mine,
And keeps us near.

I know not where thy road may lie,
Or which way mine will be;
If mine will lead through parching sands
And thine beside the sea;
Yet God keeps watch 'tween thee and me,
So never fear;
He holds thy hand, He claspeth mine,
And keeps us near.

I sigh sometimes to see thy face,
But since this may not be,
I'll leave thee to the care of Him
Who cares for thee and me.
“I'll keep you both beneath my wings,”
This comforts, dear;
One wing o'er thee and one o'er me,
So we are near.