All the men, in their skinny, black ties;
my dad – uncles I’d never met before.
Mum, in her beaver-lamb which stank,
to high heaven, of mothballs. Funny,
how no one ever told me – not outright,
Gramps was dead. They just wept a lot;
spoke about him in the past-tense.
Drew the front-room curtains; sewed
black diamonds on their coat sleeves...
I felt confused...So, where was he –
the one who’d spin me stories? The one
whose lap was the warmest I’d known.
He died of TB, so I learned in later years;
‘hush-hush’, as it was then. I tried
to find him that day; searched high
and low; even in the coal-hole
underneath the stairs.
Went up to Gran’s and his bedroom.
Expected he’d be there – smoothing
his hair, by the window; but no. And so
I climbed right on top of their snow-white
bedspread, buried my face in his pillow,
and my sooty, patent shoes, left
a message, said, ‘Rebecca was here’...
but then, as they said to us, ‘Children
are meant to be seen, and not heard.’
Comments
Highhat | March 6, 2011 - 14:47
a heart rending poem Tina. I like the way you break the lines up and make the message short and effektive
;)Pia
skinner_jennifer | March 6, 2011 - 14:52
Hi Tina,
My grandparents used to say those words,
'children should be seen and not heard.'
I suppose it was a sign of the times,
it is amazing what was kept from children
years ago.
I like the way you describe climbing on top of
the snow-white bedspread, burying your face in
his pillow, I did something similar to that when
my grandfather died and guess what? I had a black
pair of patent shoes, so I could relate to this
poem quite a bit.
A very interesting read Tina.
Jenny.
Silver Spun Sand | March 6, 2011 - 15:14
Thanks, Pia...for noticing the 'little' things. Glad you enjoyed;-)
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | March 6, 2011 - 15:22
Hi there, Jenny;-)
Yes - that line you quote is etched on my memory, chatterbox that I was told I was.
I lived with my grandparents, plus an aunt, and my mum and dad, till I was eleven. We were then given a council flat and it was great to be able to share a bedroom with my sister, instead of my parents.
I was four when my granddad died, and it was exactly how I described it; as you say, so common then 'not to tell the children'. I would have been far less confused and frightened if I had known the truth, but I didn't for quite some time, and then, my sister and I had years of X Rays and checkups, but fortunately we were both fine. These days, treating TB is quick and relatively simple, providing it is caught early enough. Times do change for the better, on occasions;-)
As for 'patent shoes'...every girl had to have them then, didn't they?;-)
Pleased you enjoyed and that it brought back memories for you.
Tina;-)
MistakenMagic | March 6, 2011 - 16:22
Really love this one, Tina! Especially these lines:
'They just wept a lot;
spoke about him in the past-tense.
Drew the front-room curtains; sewed
black diamonds on their coat sleeves...'
My grandpa died when I was eleven, my only real experience of a family death thus far. I still vividly remember the morning we got the phone call, so, in a way, I can very much relate to this. Well done! :)
Magic xxx
Silver Spun Sand | March 6, 2011 - 17:24
Thanks, so much for reading this one, Magic. Pleased, that even though this poem is set way before your time, you could relate to it.
Hope you have a good week;-)
Tina xxx
fatboy74 | March 6, 2011 - 20:05
Wonderful poem. :-)
Silver Spun Sand | March 6, 2011 - 20:06
fb - you're a star;-) Tina
JoseHdz | March 7, 2011 - 05:34
beautiful.
Silver Spun Sand | March 7, 2011 - 13:32
Thankyou;-)
insertponceyfre... | March 7, 2011 - 16:59
Tina - I really like the way you pick out the odd things a small child would notice in this poem
Silver Spun Sand | March 7, 2011 - 17:21
Funny, the things that 'stick' over the years. Usually, it's the seemingly insignificant things, that linger longest.
Many thanks for reading, insert;-)
edwardo | March 7, 2011 - 17:59
Thank you for the good read, it was very descriptive which I like so you get the thumbs up from me.....Eddy
Silver Spun Sand | March 7, 2011 - 18:21
Eddy - you're a star too;-) Many thanks.
Tina
barryj1 | March 8, 2011 - 20:06
Really liked the vivid, pictorial quality from beginning to end. This was a poem that the reader could 'see' as well as feel.
Silver Spun Sand | March 9, 2011 - 17:45
Thanks, barry. Much appreciated.
Tina