It seemed like another of my mother’s

mad missions. We left at the crack of dawn,

caught a snorting steam engine

at Boulogne, the like I’d never seen before,

cleaned our teeth under a tap

on the platform at Abbeville.

Boarded another train for Le Treport,

a train that stopped everywhere.

 

The taxi driver said: ‘Which cemetery?

There are two.’ We struck lucky, found

the grave of mum’s grandfather

at Mount Huon, south of the coastal town,

in three-quarters of an hour.  Francis Treble.

Company sergeant major, Royal Engineers,

17 October 1917. He died before

she was born, on a Wednesday, aged 51.

 

Back then I had no thought of what it meant,

or who he was. Le Treport, north-east

of Dieppe, had been a hospital centre.

Three cheers for mum’s determination.

She took a photo, in her eagerness

another one on top of it. We rushed back

to the station. When they came back

from Boots you couldn’t quite read the inscription.