In the post war fifties of
expensive clothing, stay at home
Mums made clothes, darned
and mended holes and tears.
Bus trips to town yielded fabrics
of low cost from huge department
stores with garment patterns
reels of cotton, needles, pins
tape measures, tailor’s chalk.
Also twists of darning wool
to be unwound, twisted into
smaller balls for knitting into
socks, jerseys once rescued
from the cat’s sharp claws.
After daily visits to butcher and
baker, dressmaking days began.
Cloth spread out on the living
room floor covered with pinned
on pattern pieces, cut out, pinned
together sewn at the knee lever
sewing machine on the dining
table. Partly made garments tried
on homecoming children finally
checked for length with the
wooden skirt measure.
Hemmed by hand at night after
dinner cooked and eaten,
dishes washed and dried.
A long full day for a fifties
stay at home Mum.
Previously posted May 2018.
Days of the Week
Monday house linen wash day
Tuesday Wednesday house cleaning
ironing unless dressmaking needed
Thursday big wash again
Friday walk to shops and back
several times to stock up for
weekends when shops closed
5.30 Friday to 9 am Monday
for housewives carless in our
fifties post war shortages.
Then smaller clothes washings
by hand or in the copper daily.
Smaller daily shopping walks
to the little shops clustered round
our big local intersection: baker
butcher greengrocer stationer
chemist draper hairdresser shoe
shop for both purchases and repairs
post office hardware and gift shops.
Home to bring in washing, fold
dry clothes, put away, air still
damp washing over wooden
dowelled airing frames.
Prepare dinner start it cooking
on the stove and in the oven.
Sit down for pre dinner
sherry and cigarette. Aaaah !!
Previously posted May 2018.
Hard Of Hearing
With your ears full of infected
gunk you don’t hear much at all.
People’s mouths move you don’t
hear the sounds coming out.
Mum moves around the living room
you don’t hear the vacuum cleaner
or things being moved around.
Mum cooks in the kitchen you
don’t hear the pots and pans or the
fork mixing food in the bowl.
In your bedroom playing little
cars you don’t know if people
are in the house unless they
come along to your room.
At night in bed you are told
to go to sleep but silence is
scary, you need big sister.
Little cousin had many ear
infections at two, then three.
Trips to the doctor brought
repeat medications yet his ears
kept being horrible to him.
One desperate Friday night Dad
took him to an emergency doctor
who prescribed new medicine.
those ears knew they were beat
they got busy hearing again.
At four little cousin is getting
to know the world around him.
Previously posted May 2018.
Going To Sleep
After gymnastics the girls did
homework with Auntie Jo
ate dinner dished up by Grandma
and strawberries she brought down
from the bay. Auntie Jo ran a bath.
Bathing was fun as always then
Auntie took little brother to his
room read his bedtime story.
After goodnights all round she
put out the light, waited in Mum’s
chair for him to go to sleep.
“Mummy ! Mummy !” through
the dark. “Mummy’s coming
home from the city. “
“Daddy ! Daddy !” “Daddy’s
bringing Mummy home.” He
asked several more times, at
last little brother fell asleep.
His parents had messaged from
the city, were on the way home.
A news clip had shown a two year
old in a bomb blasted airport
crying for her dead mother.
A friend’s old grandfather at
two years old asked the neighbours
for his mother – newly died.
Little brother’s parents came
safely home that night.
He was blessed.
Previously posted May 2018.
Baby In The Phone box
One cold dark morning at 5.30
in 1960 an energetic milkman
on our main street in the centre of
town heard faint mewling sounds
from a phone box as he delivered
milk. He rushed the tiny baby in
its shawl to the police station.
Police enquiries in our little city
yielded no leads. Fostered then
adopted the baby grew up happily
with good family, good job.
In time he married. As his children
were born he made public enquiries
as to his origins through the media.
No one came forward.
As his grandchildren arrived he
went public again on radio, TV
newspapers, social media. One
person came forward but DNA
produced no biological match.
Local police in 1960 and to this day
say someone would have known
something, come forward if the
baby’s mother lived locally.
Until 1964 the railway line ran
alongside our main street, the
station a few minutes from that
phone box, the overnight express
paused there at 5 am, That night …
… it carried a mother with the old
shame of illegitimacy who left her
baby in the dark then reboarded a
carriage at the rear of the train.
( 2020: a company researching through
family DNA samples got lucky. They found
that the baby’s mother was 17, his father,
and her partner, was her 33 year old uncle.
The couple were ordered off the family farm
and went into hiding in a remote logging camp.
Both had died by 2019 when they were finally traced.)
Previously posted April 2018.
Birth Certificate
Uncle was born to a spinster mother
during WW I in a town far from her
home. A friend there supported her
during her stay then she moved to
the big city to work. Ten years
later she took him back to her
family home briefly, that was all
he ever knew of them. All her life
she was vague about his father.
In his fifties after she died Uncle’s
employers wanted him to visit Fiji
so he sought a passport. The main
government office had no birth
recorded for his names and dates,
none in his mother’s home town.
After long processes with school
records and WW II Army service the
government office confirmed a date
of birth, issued a certificate, his father
stated “unknown” . He obtained his
passport, now travelled for work.
Years after Uncle’s death grand
daughter took her father’s DNA,
sent it away, contacting resulting
links in New Zealand and Australia.
With their help Uncle’s father was
found, a married man living with
wife and children near uncle’s
mother’s home in her home town.
A photo in newspaper archives
showed a man looking like Uncle
killed long ago in WW I.
His family are glad at the answers
sad that he never knew his father.
Previously posted April 2018.
Holiday Road Trip
On Easter Friday the family
set out to stay with cousins
living several hours south.
After the boys complained at
it taking longer than usual
Dad stopped in at a service
station for coca colas to
lighten the mood in the car.
As they waited to turn back on
to the main road a huge truck
roared past. the boys complained.
Dad turned out on to the road
behind it … slow ! … boredom !
They followed the truck in slow
holiday traffic till stopped by
road works ! The truck passed
through the family were stopped
while traffic went past in
the opposite direction.
At last the “GO” sign allowed
them to carry on down the highway
till they saw their truck on a
crazy angle smashed into a car
smashed into truck coming
from the opposite direction.
They pulled over and stared.
following traffic slowed down
gradually all turned, drove back
the way they had come, heading
for the long route round to the south.
Previously posted April 2018.
Repairing The Road
Miles of coastal road lay
deep under the earthquake’s
vast landslides at the foot
of steep slopes and cliffs.
Abseilers dislodged loose scree
along the uppermost ridges
secured these rocky ridges.
Heavy machines at perilous
angles shifted boulders, loose
earth, packed soil dumped
boulders at the water’s edge.
Road workers built up the road
surfaced up to the concrete
barriers above the rocks
at the edge of lapping waves.
In front of concrete barriers
on rocks and water’s edge
wildlife workers with staves
and boards held at bay furious
bull seals guarding territory
for females and pups. they had
returned just after the earthquake’s
booming roars had ended.
Thirteen months later to the day
after the earthquake ended the
coastal road opened to human
traffic while the seals enjoyed
rocks and sea beyond
their concrete barrier.
Previously posted April 2018.
Wash Day
My retirement activity fills
my life I I plan for friends
relaxation and writing.
Yet my washing machine
had a computer meltdown.
I hauled sodden washing
into the tub rang the repair
man then waited … waited.
Eventually he came, replaced
the computer unit, my wash
cycle completed, my washing
was pegged on the line. Phew !
Yet there crept into my mind
thoughts of great grandmother
140 years ago newly come
from a distant land with
husband, five young children.
Her husband after a very liquid
lunch fell from a great height
to his death leaving her to
raise them on her own.
The welfare scheme of the little
colonial town gifted her a
mangle to take in laundry
feed herself and her children.
Daily she filled, boiled the
copper, washed clothes, wrung
and hung them out, ironed
returned them to their owners.
Then scrubbed floors and
doorsteps of the fortunate.
I should be thankful
for what I have.
Previously posted April 2018.
Carpet
Steeling myself I face
dust hair crumbs paper scraps
comfortably settled on the carpet
of this flat so cosily small
until I vacuum clean it.
Cleaning off open surfaces
I move all furniture sucking
up loose fluff until all is
done …… until next time.
My mother cleaned carpet
in the early fifties for three
young children and two parents
with a manual carpet sweeper
pushing to and fro as its inner
brushes gathered up crumbs
hair dust, though not thoroughly.
My modern electric vacuum
cleaner does its job thoroughly.
Less fortunate women earlier
on pushed back furniture
lifted loose carpet off the
floor hung it over the clothes
line, beat it amidst
hairy crumbly clouds … cough !
Previously posted April 2018.
lifecameos 