You with your tidy box of tales
a potted journey spanning wars
momentous histories pocketed
like clean handkerchiefs into the day
by days, by decades; all eight of them.

Big hands that defied the devil's work
frequently floured, lathered or  gloved
(always wool or cotton for excursions).
Conjuring home in steamy odours;
cooking pots with rattling lids
Monday's soapy boiler, and cakes
sponged with jam, that magically
rose in time for tea.
Evenings we sucked peppermints
and learned to sew and knit
whilst you cabled jumpers, darned holes
pushed yards of cloth through the Singer
which chugged like the sound of trains
tracking behind the park.
From the library came books, stacks of them
nothing too highbrow; histories, biographies
mostly travellers' tales for crossing the globe
by rocking chair.

Sucked into the silence
of a husband's small, deaf world
pouring out snatches of song
childhood chronicles and a love
that had no voice. Only the feel
of a blanket, cosseting and warm
against the harsh realities we all knew.

47 thoughts on “Our Gran”

1. Oh, you know that grandmother peppermint taste as well… so much to love in this.

   1. peppermints or treacle toffees – thanks Born. A poem about love

2. Clean handkerchiefs – I remember them! We used to give them to my grandmother at Christmas with a little bottle of her favourite scent, Your gran is so similar to mine, Laura. I love this poem

   1. boiled and ironed on Mondays before tissues – thank you Kim – they were a generation I wish we had not lost

      1. Me too.

3. Oh, I loved this poem so much. The sound of the Singer as your Gran sewed… that really took me back.

   1. before electric!

      1. Yes, it was a treadle peddle. I can hear the clickety-clack… at least my gran, old machine sounded like that.

4. I love this Laura. Such a vivid, sensory portrait. That final stanza is especially poignant.

   1. thank you Merrill – I think my grandmother would appreciate it because I strived for a lack of sentimentality!

      1. You’re welcome, Laura.
         And that just adds to the portrait. 🙂

5. Well, near an engraving for its dimensionality and ability to invoke that iconic person – grandmother. Was many years afore I realized not all grandmothers were as ideal as was mine. Rude realization. Yours here fits that first engaging silouette. Nicely done.

   1. you were fortunate too then Neil – I particularly liked the notion of an engraving for this poem – thank you

6. I love that ending. My granny offered that warmth and safety, too. How lucky we are! I liked those big hands “defying the devil’s work”.

   1. thank you for the prompt Sarah which enabled our grandmothers to live again here

7. Beautiful Laura. I am conjuring up the grandmother I never had, borrowing from the memories being shared for this prompt.

   1. a sad lack Rob – thank you for your comment though

   2. Me too – I have to invent my grandmothers, the London one from novels, and snippets from my mother. The New Zealand one left no tales – but a thank you letter for a journey together before my father emigrated (to London …

8. I remember when handerchiefs were cotton, and girls and women wore white gloves. All the proprieties back then, before the world spun off into life without any at all. I enjoyed every line of your poem.

   1. many thanks Sherry – these were more genteel times

9. Everything a grandchild could wish for. (K)

   1. indeed! especially small ones in need of a home

10. Echoing K., your grandmother left you with the sweetest (and most industrious) of memories. Lovely, Laura.

    1. yes that struck me as I wrote – the industry of her days

11. I like the textured fabric of your telling, Laura.

    1. nice way of putting Lisa – thanks Lisa

       1. My pleasure!

12. sucked into the silence…

    Wow. I totally get this. My father was almost deaf…

    ❤
    David

    1. I could write volumes on what that was/is like for him and the family around but managed 44 words way back here:

       Pray Silence

       1. Thank you for sharing this – it’s very vivid, emotionally. Beautiful.

          1. and thank you for reading – you will inevitably understand and resonate

13. Oh! this is lovely, Laura. 🙂

    1. thank you ❤

14. I love the last stanza.

    1. thanks for your appreciation Reena

15. Such a heartfelt poem Laura. I could visualise your grandmother. Sadly only one of mine was alive when I was born and she died when I was six so I have no real memories of her. I remember as a child I was always envious of my friends who used to visit their granny for Sunday tea.

    1. I’m glad you can picture her Jude – her teas were some of the best I’ve tasted even though I’ve had quite a few at Fortnum’s since!

16. The handkerchiefs were folded in triangles 😊
    Luv your grandmother poem Laura

    Much❤live

    1. and ironed!

17. The books, the peppermints, and sewing lessons…how wonderful to remember her well!

    1. prompted so many memories Lynn

18. Grandmothers are the best for children. The gap stays as a favorite memory for ages to come. Singer Sewing Machines. That pedal sound: I know it so well from my mother’s sewing that lulled us to sleep. thanks for sharing this loveliness. Blessing you

    1. my pleasure Selma – thanks for your feedback

19. Oh the images this poem evokes! Both imaginary and ones from my own grandmothers; just wonderful.

    1. thank you so much Kiki- just goes to show that grandmothers/großmütter are the same the world over

20. Full of warmth and love!

    1. thank you

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