Sunday, 24 January 2016

Attic Trunk





Dear Reader,



                                                                                   A Spanish Fan



There has been much discussion about de-cluttering lately, and busy people who are keen to tell us how to live our lives think that we should get rid of most of our things.    We should pop them into large black bags and take them down to the dump, they say.  We would then have a new and wonderful feeling of freedom and our hearts would soar with happiness.  In my opinion, this is not at all the case.  Years ago when I did an Open University course I kept all my essays and notes but threw them away when I moved house.   I am sad about this now, and would love to know what the tutors said about my work and what grades I got.  I do know they weren't much good, but still...   However, I do have a box of precious things, old photographs, a Valentine card or two, my children's first drawings, three pound coins in an envelope, a payment for my first published poem, and a ring belonging to my nanny.   These things are my history, they stitch together my life, and will stay in my cupboard until I am no longer in charge.

Incidentally, we are also, this month, advised to drink little or no alcohol.  So, it seems, we can look forward to sitting in our near empty houses, a drink of water by our sides, waiting to enjoy a long and rather boring life.

                                                                        *

Attic Trunk

Searching through her mother's attic trunk
she recognised a dusty, broken cricket bat,
saw a tiny knotted shawl that must have shrunk
and a youthful photo of Aunt Dora, looking fat.
She found silver shoes wrapped in a crimson gypsy skirt
and a purple box housing a worn-thin wedding ring,
a Spanish fan trimmed with lace and a grandad shirt
embracing faded love letters, tied with ageing string.
From sepia postcards she studied unknown folk,
and pulled out, lovingly, a greasy-tweed cloth cap,
her father's penny whistle, a badger carved from oak,
and brass rubbings, rolled up in a parchment map.
Precious things we keep are candles on our life's tree,
their discovery tells secret stories, provides a key.

                                                                         *


Very best wishes, Patricia

PS.   In case you didn't know I write this blog every Sunday.









































































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