Recollections

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Recollections

By

Herbert Grimshaw, Makasser

July 4th, 1942

 

Dedicated to my good friend Mr C.A.de Jong

for whose guidance & friendship I shall remember with gratitude.

 

When the sun rises , o’er Makasser’s isle

Frequent surmises raise in me a smile

To think of the days most happy and free

So will I always a friend to you be.

 

You need not explain your disadvantage

I feel far from vain when my ills I gauge

If we two were free and gathered no moss

How strange it would be, how great thus my loss.

 

For we should never have met so it seems

Yet I shall ever remember our schemes

To consolidate the Dutch and English

Why all this hate? Is this what we wish?

 

We will not digress, hate thrives in our fold

This gross wickedness seems increased tenfold

Yet, we are fine friends, perhaps we inspire in others, amends?

Of this please enquire.

 

I am so grateful that you I have met

And ever thankful til my sun shall set

All you meant to me throughout those long years

In my memory steadfastly adheres.

 

Remember those days we argued in vain?

Folks thought from our ways we were not quite sane

But we knew just the great importance

Discover we must the big difference

 

Between you and me, your country and mine

And so try to see some promising sign

Warmer unity, with each from now on.

Cordial entente between everyone.

 

As we found content, comfort, pleasure too

Fond thoughts with intent I fostered for you

Succour & wisdom, honour & pure trust

When all’s said and done, confess it I must.

 

And you were not slow, not unresponsive

To the transient glow that my heart can give

So think of me when the years have rolled on

And think of me then as more than “someone”

 

Think of me kindly & without restraint

Seek such thoughts blindly, your soul they’ll not taint

Of as mutually with mine they remain

So eventually we’ll both feel the gain.

 

And what should befall, it matters nought

We gave each our all—such friends are not bought

Nor staunch yet their zeal, nor pregnant their zest

Of things they can’t feel deep down in their breast.

 

Herbert Grimshaw July 4th 1942

 

 

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