TUESDAY, 1 OCTOBER

Back in London

The train chugs into Euston Station.

I glance eagerly down the platform,

hoping for a familiar face.

No one.

No one has come to meet me.

It’s okay.

I know my way home.

Then

I hear my name.

“KEN!”

It’s my dad,

MY DAD!

I hobble as fast as I can

into his outstretched arms.

He hugs me hard

and try as I might,

I can’t stop the blasted tears.

Harry Peard would be disgusted.

“What a lot of rot,” he would say.

Dad laughs, wipes his own eyes and nose,

stares hard into my eyes,

and says, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m safe, Dad. I’m safe.”

Arm in arm,

leaning on each other,

we make our way home.

Together.

Homecoming

Back in Wembley,

I turn the corner

to Lancelot Crescent,

where a crowd lines the street!

The rest of my family

stands at the gate to our house,

flanked by people on either side

clapping and cheering

beneath Union Jack flags

hung from every window.

My little sister gives me a kiss.

“You’ve made us proud,” says Mum.

The neighbors crowd in around us.

The mayor of Wembley

steps up. “Ken,” he says,

“we took up a collection

to buy you a welcome home gift.”

He hands me a small box.

“Open it.”

I look at the smiling faces

and lift the lid.

Inside is a silver watch.

“There’s an inscription,”

says the mayor.

“Read it.”

I turn the watch over and read aloud:

PRESENTED TO KENNETH SPARKS

BY HIS NEIGHBORS IN ADMIRATION

OF HIS DAUNTLESS COURAGE

WHEN TORPEDOED IN

SS CITY OF BENARES

SEPTEMBER 17, 1940

Dad says to my stepmum,

“He’s really home.”

“Now we can look at his bike

without crying,” she whispers.

Crying?

I look up at her in surprise

and, maybe for the first time,

notice how weary she looks.

I turn to see two houses across the street

have been bombed

and the sidewalks are full of rubble.

They’ve had a tough time of it here, too.

I turn back to hear what

my mum is saying.

“When we first heard

that the ship had gone down,”

she tells our neighbor,

“we read that boys

in one boat were heard singing

‘Roll Out the Barrel.’

It’s Kenny’s favorite song,

and I knew he was in that boat.

I could see him standing up

and singing in his new grey overcoat.

Every time I thought about the singing,

it made me go on hoping.”

Hoping? What?

She wipes a tear,

an honest-to-God tear.

For me.

I try to cheer her up.

“Look, Mum,” I say.

“I still have my coat.

I went back to get it.

That’s how I missed Lifeboat 8.”

“Missed it for a coat? Oh, Ken!”

she says.

“Newspapers say Lifeboat 8

had no survivors,”

our neighbor says softly.

“I went back to get my coat,” I say.

“That’s how I ended up in Lifeboat 12.”

“Oh!” Mum cries, covering her mouth.

Slowly she reaches a hand to me.

I reach right back.