Victoria Day poem (version for Dad's memorial service)

Heather's work at pulling together the photos from Dad's memorial service reminded me to track this down. This is the version of the poem I used for the service. I changed a few things to make it more understandable for general consumption (the original has the schoolhouse burning and not the fire, for instance, and I added a few more names to the players). I have an old copy of a fax from June 18, 1996 for the original version, which I amended. The original says to Dad--Hi--Haven't quite got this finished, but...Happy Father's Day (sorry I'm late). The 'sorry I'm late' was (is?) a pretty regular feature of my messages, unfortunately. Ditto the 'haven't quite got this finished, but...'


They named it for Victoria, born the 24th of May,
And our family celebrated every year the same old way.

The weeds were dug from the base paths on the field across the road.
The folding tables were carried and the infield grass was mowed.

Our faces flushed with excitement as we settled in to play,
For Daddy always joined the game on the 24th of May.

I would stand on the left field side where a long-forgotten plow
Had furrowed the grassy meadow with a wrinkle on its brow.

Donny would stand by the beech tree and Janet would take first base
And relatives and neighbours all would settle themselves in place.

Joanie and Jeanie and Billy and Clifford and Pharolyn, too.
Eleanor, Sandy, and Sheila, and Elaine and Mary Lou.

Mommy stood in as catcher. Uncle Roy pitched as we all
Looked up to Daddy like Casey as he waited for the ball.

Daddy would hit the ball so hard, sometimes it flew past the tree.
Sometimes he hit it to Donny; sometimes to Joy or to me.

After the game and the picnic, after we'd taken our turn
At racing about with sparklers, then we'd watch the fire burn.

Daddy would bend by the fire, face all aglow in the light.
I could have stayed there forever; I wish I could be there tonight.

They named it for Victoria, born the 24th of May,