Evening crept – liquid chocolate...
dark and soft like the fur of a kitten...
the kettle – singing on black-leaded hob
while an old tin bath groaned on its hook
in the shed, as another Friday night
rolled around again.
Nan, in the kitchen; the slip and the slop
of a wooden spoon as she stirred the stew;
Mum working nights at the bag-wash,
as she often did. Beloved Aunt Rene –
sewing a pocket on a new pair of navy-blue,
school knickers, and soon it was time
for my weekly dose of Syrup of Figs.
Then Dad would get home from working
the late-shift; the smell of coal-dust
on his hair, and on his clothes.
He’d tell me to get a move on,
as he’d strip off for his turn in the tub...
cuff my ear, more often than not,
then sod off down the pub,
and how I hated him for being dirty...
still rubbing, like mad, smuts
left by his hand, from my cheek.
What did I know, then...
of the many faces of love?
Comments
Rhiannonw | August 3, 2012 - 14:08
Makes me feel I'm there [you manage to cram in so much detail to bring it to life like a photo] in one of those South Wales' valleys' kitchens of the mining era. And yes, it does seem there's a closeness and rough love often unknown where homes are so much more roomy and wealthy, though I know we wouldn't really want to go back to the tin bath.
Rhiannon
Silver Spun Sand | August 3, 2012 - 14:35
Thanks, Rhiannon. As always you summed things up, beautifully. And as for the tin bath, I use my old one for growing herbs in these days. A far better use for it;-)
Tina
Sooz006 | August 3, 2012 - 16:05
Hi Tina, is this one a re-post? I think I've read it before. And it's still as good second time round. Yes, some lovely images that young 'uns will have no memories of.
I'm sure you're perfectly happy with you title but I thought the last line was so good that it would also make a good title for this.
I have one of those great big, hard plastic curved dog beds. I was going to put it on the hedge with a sign on it saying 'help yourself' so that a neighbour might get some use out of it. But I hit on the idea of filling it with summer flowers. It's in full bloom now and spilling all over the edges so that you can't tell it's an ugly dog bed. I think it's a lovely tribute to my Kali.
Silver Spun Sand | August 3, 2012 - 19:41
Hi, Sooz...No it's not a repost. A touch of 'deja-vue' possibly;-)
I like your idea for a title, very much, so I shall have a good think about it. You are inspired, and many thanks. That 'dog-bed' idea is a winner, too. Maybe it will catch on.
Tina
Parson Thru | August 3, 2012 - 21:00
If only we knew then what we know now. Nicely set scene Tina.
Silver Spun Sand | August 3, 2012 - 21:49
Ah...if only, PT.
Pleased you liked, and thanks for telling me;-)
Tina
Sooz006 | August 4, 2012 - 00:50
Sorry Tina, It was the old tin bath thing that made it seem familiar. I think it may have been one of Moya's a couple of months ago.
Overthetop1 | August 4, 2012 - 18:59
I liked this very much. It was beautufully written (as ever) and so evcotive that you felt you were in the room with the family. I was particularly interested because my Grandad was a coal-miner in Fife, and I know that he said he could never get completely clean. There was no bathroom, so I imagine they must also have had a tin bath, and broth or some kind of stew was always on the stove.
He was a tee-totaller though - so no going down the pub or my Gran would have given him what for! However he was just happy to sit teaching me how to roll his ciggies with a wee machine. It wasn't as if ciggies were going to kill him, because he had already contracted severe silicosis of the lungs from the mines. There was no suing for damages then. He lived with it, and died with it. So for me this was bitter-sweet, but I am very glad you evoked his memory for me, because that , for me, was definitely a different, and I too wish I had known that then. Thanks for evoking his memory.
shoe | August 4, 2012 - 19:20
Those first three lines just draw you in...superb, reminded me of 'those winter sundays' by Hayden,( one of my all time favourites) times have changed so much it's hard to imagine these memories are not that far away, for me it was frost inside the windows, mum lighting the fire in the mornings and once a week baths. Beautifully written.
Silver Spun Sand | August 4, 2012 - 19:23
Sooz - nothing to apologise for at all. I am only so pleased that you take the time and trouble to read and comment on my stuff. You are quite something else...profilic writer as you are, and I admire you, greatly;-)
Hope you have a lovely weekend.
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | August 4, 2012 - 19:31
OTT - I thank you so much for sharing your memories about your Grandad, and I am so sorry about his illness. As you say, there was no suing for damages...not then.
The Durham I knew in the late nineteen-fifties doesn't exist anymore, and even though they were hard times, I still can't help but look back with a kind of fond nostalgia.
Thanks again, and I'm pleased this poem 'struck a chord' with you, and that you took the trouble to tell me, so very evocatively.
Tina
Silver Spun Sand | August 4, 2012 - 19:33
Thanks shoe...and you are making me shiver just thinking about that ice on the windows I used to scrape off every morning before getting dressed for school;-)
Pleased you enjoyed.
Tina
skinner_jennifer | August 7, 2012 - 14:53
Aah! Tina,
I'm sure that as the seasons continue to change, you will always beable to move the reader with your cherished memories that you write so clearly, I can
picture them so well.
Loved the bit about the tin bath, we had one which
hung in the kitchen on the wall. One bath a week,
seems an impossible thing to imagine now, but that
was then and this is now.
Anyway really enjoyed.
Jenny.
Silver Spun Sand | August 7, 2012 - 19:31
Hi again, Jenny...and one bath a week does seem possible to imagine these days, you are so right;-)
Mind you, so does not having running hot water, or central heating for that matter. At least some things have changed for the better, anyway;-)
Pleased you enjoyed and, as always, I really do appreciate your lovely comments.
Tina
Nathan Bednarek | August 30, 2012 - 10:46
There is a voice of maturing wisdom in this poem, encapsulated in the last line.
Each character is a thought giving birth to more understanding and insight on life.
This poem has a humbling effect on the reader.
Nathan ;-)
Silver Spun Sand | August 30, 2012 - 13:19
I am so pleased you took the time and trouble to read this one, Nathan, and that it made such an impact on you. More than appreciated;-)
Tina;-)