II

Nothing is so unforgivable as your father’s innocence.
Chairman of the City Council Finance Committee,
Life Member of the RSL and of Legacy,
Dad filled his life with ideals of Public Service
and personal aspirations.
Only a few times would Mum provide Dinners
for Important Contacts. She had no conversation
and her cooking skills were adequate. One night
Dad offered the guests whisky before the meal
(the bottle sat in its cupboard forever).
Neat, Dr Patterson instructed. When he sipped
he looked up. Then he saw me watching,
sixteen years old and caught out. He turned to my father
and said: You’re not having one yourself, Harold?
My father’s innocence was undiluted.

III

At their marriage Dad’s father-in-law gave him a book:
A Man’s Duty to Society. Grandpa’s background
was dour Presbyterian. Dad must have read it
because I remember most week nights we had dinner without him.
Meetings and Committees. When he was head of the table
he was Chairman. Mum, I guess,
remained Chief Cook And Bottlewasher.
But it was Mum who refereed our debates
and arguments around that table. She egged us on
or called a halt. Sometimes Dad seemed a visitor.

IV

Under the house
Dad kept his workbench
and the black tool-box
that had been his father’s
(a meticulous Pattern-maker).
There was a clumsy swing for my young brother
that could hang from a hook by the stairs.
But Dad’s time of glory down there
was when the grandchildren came
those many years later.
Thick wooden toys in primary colours
and no one to criticise.
Children can never forgive their fathers
neither can they be forgiven.
Time only incubates the virus.