Family ties, and occasional separations,

On this road in Lethen
in 1949 (I am five), my Mother, late for church, is driving fast.
My Sister and I are in the backseat, fighting. Then silence.
My Mother shouts (noisy engine), "Are you two ok?"
My Sister says, " Donald's gone ".
My Mother stops, looks back, sees, far behind, in the middle of the road, a wee bundle....

But, nevertheless, today I'm still here. So that's alright (for me anyway).

And you're asking the right question. Even though it's been sixty one years.

'Did he fall or was he pushed?'

But I love my Sister. Most of the time.