After you’d chided me for planting pansies
in the rose-beds, and drunk your tea,
but too sweet for your liking, you said,
you told me of piglets that had run amok
in the lane, fronted this place in the old days.
How, as only a kid, you’d picked them up.
How solid they felt; not soft and ‘squidgy’
as you thought, and how kin-folk spurred
you on. I could see it all...
Like that first time we met. You showed up
at my front-door, the day after I moved in;
thrust a bunch of chrysanths at me – crimson,
as your face was. Said, tough shit, but
I’d inherited you, along with this cottage,
and how you’d tended the garden here,
for all but fifteen of your eighty-five years,
then, apologised for swearing, attributed,
as you admitted, to partaking of ‘the odd,
swift pint, or two’...
Not your fault, you insisted, if, as a rule,
your missus threw you out of a Sunday
afternoon when you’d had your lunch; you
in your best bib and tucker, Timmy the dog,
snapping at your heels. Then you took
my arm, and we went outside; you winked
at me – hat, cocked over one eye. Spaded
your brand-spanking-new crop of Jerseys,
for, after all, it was ever your garden.
Wasn’t it, Ernie?
Comments
skinner_jennifer | January 10, 2012 - 15:44
Good afternoon Tina,
I have a strange feeling, this was written about
your gardener.
I loved the bit about the pigs, and how he told
you, that he came with the cottage, but I'm sure
you wouldn't have been without him.
Lovely read, very endearing, I think that's the
word I'm looking for. Anyway I really enjoyed
your poem.
Jenny.
Silver Spun Sand | January 10, 2012 - 15:46
Thanks, Jenny. It surely is about my gardener, Ernie.
He died a good few years ago now, and we have since moved from 'Holly Cottage', which was where he 'plied his trade', bless him. He was very special, and my husband and myself will never forget him.
Many thanks for reading...and remembering;-)
Tina
scratch | January 10, 2012 - 20:12
Salt of the earth planting and harvesting the earths bounty; no doubt with some exasperations caused along the way...
Silver Spun Sand | January 10, 2012 - 20:15
No doubt...scratch...like the day he nearly cut off his toes with the 'new-fangled' lawn mower;-)
scratch | January 10, 2012 - 20:27
I can just picture the scene silver, good for poetry or prose :-)
Silver Spun Sand | January 10, 2012 - 21:22
Just so, scratch;-)
jennifer | January 11, 2012 - 01:25
Oh God, am trying to suppress the urge to seek out piglets to cuddle!
A great story told, as ever, in well-written verse!
J x
Silver Spun Sand | January 11, 2012 - 08:09
Thank you, jennifer.
Tina x
Highhat | January 11, 2012 - 17:53
He must have been lovely to have around Tina- nice poem- described him well.. some beautiful lines..
;)Pia
Silver Spun Sand | January 11, 2012 - 19:21
Yes, Pia...indeed he was.
His health failed him in time, of course, but we continued to see him regularly, as he was in an old folk's home just around the corner from us.
He, and Mrs Ernie, as we used to call them, were wonderful people, and I'm really pleased I managed to convey this in my tribute to him.
He was such a character, believe me, and it really was HIS garden;-) One of those people you feel richer for knowing.
Many, many thanks, Pia, for your words;-)
Tina
blighters rock | January 14, 2012 - 18:38
A great thought-conjurer full of love, joy and beauty.
sue dinum | January 15, 2012 - 16:01
I loved it too, Tina. Loads of positive comments too - nothing to worry about here. As you were, SSS.
sue
Silver Spun Sand | January 15, 2012 - 16:06
sue, and Richard - many thanks. Means much. SSS;-)