Women of a Certain Age

By Silver Spun Sand

Wed, 07 May 2014
  • 2237 reads
6 comments
 
The year is nineteen-forty-seven...
through the smog I can glimpse it. 
It’s summer – one of the hottest
on record.  Women are waiting
for life to get better.  Almost noon
and a storm threatens; the sound
of distant thunder rumbles down
the chimney...a cat on the hearth
and the air is as thick as the soot
in the black-leaded stove.
 
My mother, and hers – sit round
the kitchen table.  It is Monday...
the day for cold meat, and jelly...
each week the same. Both in pinnies –
hair tied up in a scarf; it’s washing day
and there’s a blow on in the yard.
The Corona Man – cart and dray,
knocks on the door; as ever,
they buy one bottle of lemonade.
 
The clock on the dresser strikes
twelve – a Westminster chime,
still unwinding from my mind...
the rent man knocks, and the pig-bin’s 
been emptied, and Roger, the St. Bernard’s 
been round for his customary bone 
from the Sunday roast. Until now
an unsurprising day; then, her pains begin;
the gin and cold bath hadn’t done its stuff,
and knitting needles, not the panacea
they’re cracked up to be.
 
All I might have been, and she to me – 
inhabited those sheets – blue-bagged,
purged,  and pristine, drying on the line.
A new life, and all it meant to them – yet 
another mouth to feed. So, from then on,
I go it alone in the world, with no thanks
owed to women such as these, who saw
the whole damned, wonderful shebang
as nothing more than merely marking time
in the mad march of days; shelling peas
at just turned seventeen, and it’s 
ninety degrees in the shade.
Certificate 15
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Biography

Comments

Submitted by jeand on

Wow, this is a powerful statement, Tina. I started out thinking it was going to be a lovely reminiscence about family life long ago, but it turns out to be so much more than that.

Very well done.

Jean

Jean Day

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, Jean.  Much appreciated

Tina

 

Submitted by Starfish Girl on

Cold shivers and goose bumps.

A great social statement of the time. I was born in 1947 and can remember pig bins, washing day, rent man etc.

I was luckier than you, wanted, even by my brother eventually, five years older than me whose first comment was 'are her little blue eyes open?'

'sheets blue bagged purged and pristine'!!!!!

An extremely well written and emotive piece of work.

Lindy

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Lindy - so pleased I'm not the only one here with memories such as thesesmiley  Many thanks for your lovely comment.  It meant much.

Tina

 

Submitted by skinner_jennifer on

Some stirring memories here Tina.

No matter how much time passes,  we cannot forget our roots,  the places...smells...tastes all have a place in our recollections.

Like you said in a previous poem,  I wouldn't want to go back to those hard times,  but then people knew no different then. 

You gave a perfect fleeting glimpse of hardship in 1947.  Though I wasn't born then,  I could relate to the second stanza perfectly.

Great read.

Jenny.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Much obliged to you for reading, Jenny.  Pleased you got something from it, even though you weren't so much as a a twinkle in anyone's eye way back thensmiley

Tina