The little things in life.
A piece of chunky bread toasted over the open fire,
Then, freshly churned butter running between sticky fingers,
Dripping from a mucky chin falling on a tatty V-necked jumper
Little eyes staring and waiting for another slice to come
An old cat and collie looking up with begging eyes too;
as if saying; ‘What about me? Mother shooing them away
Old Rex skulking away and Benny’s tail swishing in feline disgust.
Both banished to await the leftovers from dinner and the scraped pot.
.
The range’s oven door slightly ajar drying draped trousers for morning
Sacred Heart looking on from behind His little red light, Cross illuminated.
Mary and Joseph on the wall unit accompanying The Child of Prague
The ‘little fella’ safe in the protective arms of the carpenter
.
Little toes peeping out of socks in need of darning,
Holes in the backsides of short trousers awaiting patching,
Scuffed shoes, well past their lifespan but would last another while.
The penny sized hole dealt with by makeshift linoleum insertions
.
Equality for all in abundance, all akin to the church mouse, poor
Happiness reigned for we knew no better, unaware of our parent’s prayers.
‘All will come to those that wait’, mother would say, She was always right.
Off school to work the land, enduring frosty mornings was a necessary pain.
.
Mrs Mc Crory made the best tea and sandwiches in Co. Donegal.
In the field at ten the morning, again at three
she fed us, dinner in the farmhouse at one,
Little labouring hands devoured the gracious bounty before us,
Then like athletes we bounded onto the trailer until the six o’clock hour.
.
We swallowed a little clay at times when the heartburn tried to better us.
At six we were on the trailer again, going home for more
buttered toast.
We handed our Ten Bob Notes to mother, the second-hand shop beckoned.
She walked us to a Strabane shop in the back street. A poor child’s Harrods.
.
Long trousers, a new jumper, a multi coloured S-belt and socks
The back breaking days of potato gathering produce a yearly reward.
I saw this photo today, it brought a tear and I thought of ‘mammy’.
It could have been me sitting on those steps in that moment of joy.
Joe Canning April 2023©
Gemma Hill Writeyou Writeme 