3. My Source

The sources, from which I have gleaned the history of my grandfather, as I said earlier, are almost exclusively through the gems of memories his wife ‘V’ kept so safe over the years. She was a bit of a hoarder but I am very pleased she was.

The collection includes postcards dating back to the early 1900’s, F.A.I.’s Seaman’s Discharge book from 1910, a raft of menus from hotels around the UK in the 20’s – 50’s and some scraps of letters. The biggest gem, however, is a battered A4 lined book, which is entitled

'F.A.I. RMS Carpathia Rescue Ship 1912'.

This contains his thoughts through poetry. Most are dated 1912 but there are a few later entries too.

It has been said to me, ‘they are probably not his work’, this I would dispute. I have transcribed most of them from his written hand and searched the Internet and other sources for the text and can find only a few that belong to someone else.

There is, however, pasted in the back cover a beautiful poem, ‘If Thou Couldst Know’ written by a Robert Murray (source unknown), which is a dedication to his mother Caroline Berenger. Her death obviously caused him extreme grief, as it must have done with all his siblings. His sisters emigrated to Canada, America and Australia. Only he and his brother Arthur remained in the UK It would seem that non-could settle anywhere. F.A.I. went to sea and even after he married in 1918 he worked away in hotels for the holiday season.

If Thou Couldst Know – Robert Murray

Mother! If thou couldst know
How often thoughts of thee
Across my spirit blow
Like soft airs o’er the sea.
In daytime’s placid noon
Or in the quiet night
Like some remembered tune
That wakens past delight;
Yet clouds the joy with throbs of pain
For things that cannot come again

The swift years fade away ;
Time backward winds his scroll
I trace through boyhood’s days
Thy impulse on my soul,
I know again the wile
That set my vision high;
I see again that smile
That gave it gravity
I hear thy voice, thy presence feel

So close my inmost senses reel

Mother, thou livest still!
I can not think thee dead
I wait with patience , till
Thy hands shall touch my head
I grieve for faith unkept
I fail on every hand;
My soul too oft hath slept
But thou will understand
And through my stumblings faint and weak
Wilt see the goal for which I seek

When life’s last toil is done;
When sunshine comes no more
O swift my feet will run
To meet thee at the door
The angels, that on guard
Surround the shining throne
Shall have my high regard
But thou my love alone.
And then, at last, my soul shall pray
The debt that grows from day to day