Eighty years she lived;

through two world wars,

and the ‘Troubles’.

There wasn’t even standing room

in the church;

the overspill crowded outside the door.


Mother of six children,

and all their friends and in-laws.

My Granny,

and grandmother to all my cousins

and their friends,

and their friends’ friends.


A hub for transfer of all the news

when phones were a novelty,

and a letter in the mail

would be passed around

so everybody knew.


It was a shock when she left us,

she that was a constant in our lives.

After the funeral, I heard she’d been asking;

where’s so-and-so these days;

when will Trevor be home;

is Brian back yet.


Waiting till we were all there

before she slipped away.

◄ Laurence Olivier

Pablo’s Progress ►


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jennifer Malden

Sun 9th Jun 2019 16:19

Great poem Trevor. Glad you were all able to be there for her. In my life all the older generation have gone now, and my mother was a hub for transfer of the news, which I don,t get now and which I miss.

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