Violette.

My beautiful friend,
The very first person I struggled to walk to
When I was an infant.

So little remains, books littered with snapshots,
Blurred shadows printed on flimsy white paper,
Two girls standing in a doorway.

No where can I find your authentic smile,
The waves of laughter that shook the house
When you came to tea,

The vibrancy of your hug.

But these are the things that haunt me always,
Not the print of your name in a slab of marble,
Nor the honours heaped on you after death.

In my mind I still see the girl with dark hair
Who swung me up high onto her shoulder
To kiss my forehead.

I could not imagine that you were a soldier,
That in less than eight months the Nazis would shoot you,
Crush your ashes into the rubble

Under the road into Ravensbruck.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
May 10th. - 11th. 2015.
Rewritten April 25th. 2017.

Violette Szabo was the first person that I ever walked unaided to when a small child. This was at my maternal grandmother`s council house in Cricklewood, North West London. Although I was so very young I have never forgotten her vibrant personality.