Grandmas Cottage

Grandmas Cottage

An amber glow flickered all around the room
the smell of fresh baked bread filled the air
In the darkened corner among the old heirlooms
Granddad slumbered in his rustic rocking chair.

The fat cat lay purring softly on his lap
the shell finish pipe lay waiting on the rack
hanging on the hatstand was his worn flat cap
next to the immaculate Gaberdine mac.

His watch ticked quietly neath his black waistcoat
worn over the striped collarless shirt
dappled and splattered, with spots of Creosote
beneath, the polished boots of the old introvert.

The room was dominated by a black lead grate
with its side oven and trivet for the kettle
lying there on the rug, the dog would patiently wait
for his owner and master to wake and unsettle.

Out the back, in the kitchen, Grandma slaved away
pounding with a dolly in the aluminium tub
at the clothes which were gathered religiously on Monday
for Monday was wash day and made to wash, to scrub

The fireplace lay unlit, against a whitewashed wall
its mantlepiece enhanced with pelmet neath a fringe,
a tin contained the rent, should the rentman call
old iron on the hearth, too cold to press and singe.

Sleeves rolled up neatly and net upon her hair
Gran carefully fed the sheet through the mangle
once good sheets had now become threadbare
forced through the rollers they inevitably tangle.

Black on the concrete where Granddad polished boots
with brushes and brooms, or with any other means
trays of dirt on the windowsill, showing tiny shoots
hopefully lovely carrots and award winning beans.

The parlour was the best room, Grandma’s pride and joy
it housed her three piece suite and oak dining table
next to a massive aspidistra which would lie
atop an old sideboard, always rocky and unstable.

At the bottom of the garden was the loo
with newspaper squares hanging neatly on a nail,
it was a terrible place when the north wind blew
or when you had to use it in the snow, sleet or hail.

I remember it as though it were only yesterday
In my mind’s eye – I see them standing there,
my reminiscences no-one will ever take away
but money talks and people now don’t care.

The dust stirs in the memory of my mind,
a silent tear falls from my misted eyes
as I watch the cottage demolished, redefined
to make way for another great high rise.