Before World War I our Dad was
born sickly. retained little food.
“Arrrh !” said Uncle Jimmy
“they’ll never rear that one !”
He told the family often, Dad’s
siblings reminded him too,
baited him as he grew stronger
throughout his school days.
Lean and wiry, he survived
long weeks on naval rations for
six long years of World War II
…… scant limited rations.
After war’s end he mostly ate
plain food, no sweets, cakes or
biscuits, no ice cream or fruit.
Sometimes he craved fried foods,
on Friday nights out with his
mates he ate fish and chips,
pies and fritters, then made
long dire sounds in the toilet
at home, late at night.
At 87 Dad wanted to tell
Uncle Jimmy he was still
alive, but Uncle jimmy
had passed away at sixty
such a long time ago.
Some of Dad’s grandchildren
and great grandchildren have
serious dietary disturbances.
Was he lucky to survive ?
Previously posted September 2017.
Night Time Phone Calls
From city to town to city
I moved over the years,
“Our address books have
so many entries for you !”
friends and family exclaimed.
Some of them moved often !
I used to visit long distance
now energy and funds curtail.
Instead I travel in cyberspace
on skype and long distance calls.
Late night chats strengthen long
time bonds as we talk of those
we know, share our news, come
up to date with each other.
Children, grandchildren, funny
moments in daily lives, sadness
and grief for those around us,
genetic time bombs taking
us by surprise.
So we build each other up
take strength from those
late night network connections.
Previously posted September 2017.
Handwriting
My newly purchased town
house stood on its back section
in newly built splendour.
Its letterbox read “114A”.
After unpacking, settling in,
weathering Christmas and
new year, my rates bill
was truly overdue. The
council office was puzzled
on the phone, so I took my
documents to their offices.
A senior man checked their
records, assured me
my number was … “116A”
In those days of handwritten
documents over thirty years
ago a hurried “6” could
become a “4”. We agreed
that this had happened here.
If I change my number
again, I said, my mail will
all be “returned to sender”.
At the council Man’s
suggestion I wrote a
letter to the council.
One month later I was
officially …… “114A”
Previously posted September 2017.
Bathroom Window Sill
Toothpaste shower gel shampoo
line up along my bathroom
window sill with the bath plug
to remind me that I bought them.
My previous bathroom purchases
were forgotten all tucked in
around the large pack of toilet
rolls, boxes of hair dye, packet
of razors jammed in against
the outlet pipe in the tiny
cupboard under the hand basin.
Now they all stare at me
as I enter the bathroom.
I know I won’t forget them.
Previously posted September 2017.
The Last Roses
Having heavily pruned the
large bush by my front door
I gathered up the last few
roses, stood them in water
in a tall glass beside family
photos on the side board.
For two days they enhanced
them then all the petals
dropped in a crumpled heap.
Next day they were all
dry paper sepia brown.
Previously posted September 2017.
Son Of The Household
As his ward raised in the
elderly bachelor lawyer’s
house brought up by servants,
the boy was clothed, fed,
attended church and school
well brought up in nineteenth
century Calvinist Glasgow.
On his seventeenth birthday
he was put on a ship to
New Zealand forbidden to
ever return to Scotland on
pain of severe consequences.
For he was the son of a house
maid and a wealthy mill owner
client, bred of Hogmanay’s
celebratory tipple.
Kirk and parish condemned
the breeding of illegitimate
brats, demanded unwed
mothers name the fathers
for financial support. No
question of marrying the
house maid. The mill owner
satisfied minister and kirk
elders by paying the boy’s
keep to the lawyer.
They kept his name out
of the parish register.
On his seventeenth birthday
the boy sailed away to the
ends of the earth for ever.
Previously posted September 2017.
Tenant Farmers
From the stony barrenness
of northern Scottish soil
its young landless sons
signed on for mercenaries’
wages in neighbouring
Europe’s frequent summers
of hand fought battles.
Until the fateful 1850’s when
Europe stayed home each
summer except on distant
Russian borders. The landless
sons now brought no wages
into Scotland but looted
tenants’ subsistence farms,
such as remained after
landowners’ clearances.
Family men went down onto
mines until depleted seams
closed down. Starving
highlanders crammed into
rundown tenements seeking
desperate sparse employment.
One by one Agnes and her
five sisters with husbands
and children crammed into
sailing ships for three
months, started life again
toiling on the distant soil.
Previously posted September 2017.
Gumdiggers
On sunny Adriatic shores
on picturesque villages, vineyards,
stony farms, vegetable gardens,
the ancient Ottoman yoke
sat heavily on its poverty
stricken people as the conflict
loomed that would shatter it.
At first families, villages
joined to pay fares for their
menfolk to seek fortunes
abroad until later uncles
sent home fares for nephews
to join them, then later again
young girls for brides.
In the southern reaches
of the vast Pacific
they laboured for riches
digging up fossilised sap
for varnish, and polish
working long hours in
cold muddy swamps.
Scorned by other settlers
they toiled on resolutely.
In time their hard work
freed them to buy land,
plant vineyards, orchards
market gardens, set up
shops for their produce
in a prosperity unknown
in their beloved homeland.
* “gum” was the fossilised sap of ancient
fallen kauri trees later covered by vast swamps.
Previously posted September 2017.
Charwoman
Young Cornish widow Bessie
after two months in a faraway
land grieved for her husband
struggled with her five children.
New settlers around her pitied
her plight, bought her a mangle
to take in laundry, found her
charwoman’s work scrubbing
rich people’s floors and stairs.
Baptists took her to heart,
became her family, held her
close in her grief. Each day
her tiny frame lifted wet
laundry from copper through
mangle to rinse tub through
mangle then hung it to
dry in her tiny back yard.
For the rest of each day she
scrubbed floors and doorsteps
while her children attended
school as demanded by law.
Young Minnie wrote letters
to family back home.
Young Tom ran wild, was sent to
reformatory, later taught to farm.
Bessie swallowed her grief, put
her daughters into tailoress
apprenticeships when they
left school at twelve.
They were as small as their
mother but were spared her
burden of laundry and charing.
Previously posted September 2017.
Cornishman
Cornish lad Tom found work
in Redruth town at the inn as
an ostler like his horse loving
forefathers. They were drivers,
stable boys, ostlers working
with horses, teaching their
sons their horse loving skills.
Young laundry maid Bessie at his
inn caught his eye, his fancy
his love. Soon she was pregnant,
they wed. Later little Tom was
joined by a sister, a brother.
Hard times came to Cornwall.
Unemployed Tom joined the
desperate ranks at the mine
head daily, grasping odd
days of work as two more
babies arrived. In despair
at the mines’ darkness, in
grief for his stable days,
Tom wallowed in alcohol,
blotting out his pain.
His sisters in New Zealand
married to farmers, set up
his family’s passage there.
But alcohol now gripped him
hard despite his new job in
the livery stables, caring
for horses. His drinking
continued, lost him his life.
His widow and children now
faced life in a new land without
him after two months in their
distant new homeland.
Previously posted September 2017.
lifecameos 