My father came to England 

from another country. My father’s mother came to England 

from another country but my father’s father 

stayed behind.

So my dad had no dad here 

and I never saw him at all.

One day in spring 

some things arrived: a few old papers, 

a few old photos 

and – oh yes – a hulky bulky thick checked jacket 

that belonged to the man I would have called “Grandad”. 

The Man Who Stayed Behind.

But I kept that jacket 

and I wore it and I wore it 

and I wore it till it wore right through 

at the back.