I stand and watch Lettice with collie
curiosity stare into our wildlife highway of a hedge.
Lettice a while ago... she's now greyer of face and deaf of ear
The meanest pricks of snow pepper her back,
oblivious to all, she sniffs...
A rat, a too soon awakened hedgehog,
a passing squirrel perhaps?
All wildlife using our ancient hedge as Pilgrims Way
to a warmer Easter world.
Ted slumbers on; the table's laid:
while I wait I spread a piece of toast
with half Marmite and half Bovril,
in remembrance of my mother and father.
For the life of me I can't think why now,
I remember them and am sad.
Was it the white feather on the stair last night, as I climbed ever higher
in our cottage of rooms on rooms?
A message from My Mum, my lovely mum
gone since 1971.
This morning a long forgotten memory springs back
of me going to a Happy, Hippy event
in London a few years ago.
(No surprise there LL!)
In an audience of hundreds I sat carefully listening to a
talk on angels...
I wanted to believe I really did.
However the more people that put their hands up and asked if this American woman could tell if they were accompanied by angels, the crosser I got.
I think mainly because the angels names got more and more wacky and far-fetched.
I could feel it building up inside as I glanced round at the exalted faces.
Before I knew it my hand shot up, smiling graciously she turned to me.
'I'm sorry but I think this is a load of codswallop and I can't bear to stay
a minute longer!'
Imagine the shock horror of all around me as I tried to
limbo-dance away without spoiling the moment of her other
I got to the door just as one of her acolytes gently grabbed my hand
'Your mother is your angel, you are safe in her hands!'
Shakily I wandered away...
Happy or sad I really couldn't say.
Just what was the significience of the spread on bread, when
all I remember of mum is
her love of Haig Dimple whisky and Hacks!
She always said
'If you want to live and thrive let a spider run alive.'
She died at the age of 48.
Her little theory didn't hold up; however I have never killed a spider,
thinking always of her when I carefully scoop them up and free them from the bath.
Or more more honestly get Ted to do it for me!
My father's great saying was moderation in all things,
I often think of him when I apply butter to my toast with the help of
a builders trowel.