When I was a small child – somewhere between 1945 and 1948 my father owned a plaster works. He hired a man from Czechoslovakia and this man lived in a caravan by the side of dad’s drying sheds. I remember being fascinated by his language and accent and his habit of saying ‘you know’ after almost everything. As I was curious about his life, I would go and see him and talk to him and ask lots of questions while he was cooking his meal. I was only a child and did not know of the turmoil in his home country – he never told me about that – in fact he didn’t really tell me much of anything. He just answered my childish questions very patiently. Then one day he was gone. I missed him but my dad told me that he had another job to go to.
Then this morning I woke up thinking of him and wondering where he went and why. Knowing more as an adult I now believe that my parents did not like me spending time with this ‘strange’ man. He was about my dad’s age so he would be long gone but I would like to apologise. I did not realise I was putting his job in jeopardy – I just wanted information . I can’t remember his name but I can still see him putting his skillet on the stove and preparing himself for the onslaught of questions. He was totally a gentle man. He didn’t deride me for stupidity and he didn’t touch me. He gave me my first experience with a foreign accent, the patience of a grand father and a wonderful memory to keep. Thank you kind sir.
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