The Girl Who Lived In The Fire

The Girl who lived in the fire lived a life often mirrored in fairy tales,
But for her neither Fairy Godmother nor Prince Charming was ever seen.
Aged three she learned how to play with matches given to her as toys
She must have been a quick learner and more co-ordinated than the boys
The match was struck, engulfed in fire the charlady heard her screams
Rushed to put out the blaze, leaving her alive, but very badly burned
The once attractive little girl now just a memory in her mother’s dreams
For the girl the charlady was both saviour and an object of guilt learned
Who lost her fingers in the fire and with that her job, and her livelihood.
The years went by and as life went on the girl from the fire would
Look out from her window and watch as people came and went
Banished to her room she would sit and wonder why she was sent
On her own to watch and wait until the coast was clear,
The guests were gone, and her mother need no longer fear
The shock, the horror, the pity – or the blame and censure
The best she could stand accused of was bad judgement.
But the scars and pain from the fire left the girl undeterred
She snatched a life; her school days were filled with fun
At home she swam long distance, canoed, and learned to shoot a gun
Gained National colours with her marksmanship and prowess,
She would settle for nothing less than to be always the first and the best.

Those years must have been strange indeed – locked away from public gaze
But still a cherished daughter, beloved by family – living out isolated days
Her wonderful jet black hair, curling across the partially ravaged face
The laughing dark green eyes always looking slightly out of place
Taunted by her mother and elder sister for her scars and lack of grace
But the bond between her and her father ran strong and very deep
His unfaltering love and unconditional support
Encouraged the tomboy, taught her to excel at sport
Praised her school record and nurtured her brain
Convinced her to enter the world, learn to live again
Carve a career, break convention’s borders, a leader in her field
The war came and she soon signed up for active service
With the horrors of the burnt airmen came an ironic bonus
Plastic surgery made great advances because of special need
At last some treatment was at hand – countless operations later
The horror was diminished – a sad comment on what had been.
Wrapped in bandages which tied on her head like bunny ears
She celebrated freedom and self respect, fought for and gained.
Towards the end of her life she showed me photos of those years
She didn’t even see the bandages were there to show how she was maimed
Her pleasure in recalling the new found “normal” brought me close to tears.

A man came her way, she married and for reasons I was never to know,
From my earliest recollections, her hate for him just continued to grow.
Two children came, first a girl, and then two years later came a boy.
Her bandages now just a daily chore to put around her neck,
Holding the scar tissue from tearing loose around her face
We grew up with her and to us the ritual was commonplace.
Her husband loved her dearly and taught us tolerance and respect;
That the outer appearance was not how to judge, but to look
For the beautiful and the pure that resides in each of us within,
And we never noticed the scars the ravages of fire had left on her skin
She lived a new life through me and I though tried to bring her joy
Aware of the burden from my early years of her hopes and dreams
I always realised I was not destined to succeed, or so it seems
Never quite pretty enough, not adept at maths, no singing voice,
Always the ugly duckling, the loner and maverick from choice
Beset with guilt and always aware that I was causing pain
Unsure how to balance living in my present and living in her past
I tried too hard to please and tried in vain to make her pleasure last
But in the end we all live our lives and a life can’t be lived again
A child, try as she might, will never be able with an adult’s voice to speak
I did what I could, tried to be someone else and always knew the reason why
It was beyond my ken to heal the wounds that ran deep in her soul
Dress the part, learn the talk – I tried what I could to make her whole.
After her shuttered childhood, labelled carelessly as a sequestered freak,
Bearing taunts and ridicule from her mother and sister that made her cry
What she needed and what I could give, were too diverse for me to envisage
But through our roller coaster ride, I admired her tremendous incandescent courage
To live as she did, face up to the world, and make a life in the public eye
And now, when I with soul-searching pain think of all that she went through,
I look back on the life of the girl who lived in the fire, now ended at last,
It’s with a smile I look at the two of us and how we finally learnt to face the past
All the joy, all the heartache, the laughter and the tears, taught me something new
That there was not one girl who lived in the fire, but there were really two,
And the one standing in the shadows, trying not to cry, was I.