Poetry in The Community 2008

Poems from the Life Lines Project

Moonlight Mass by Paula
I remember my first time at midnight mass;
Christmas and moonlight – what could be better?
I was there with my parents; so adult, so grown,
But I couldn’t help asking: Do you think we will see Father Christmas, on our way home?

Truro Isolation by Jim
It was Christmas Eve, and my throat was sore.
Tonsillitis, we thought, but the doctor was sure –
Just one look at my chest: scarlet fever.
Truro Isolation was all he said.
I was nineteen; it was during the war,
And I was stuck in a hospital bed.
At lunchtime they asked what they could bring me.
Turkey and beer, and pleasant company.

Fancy Stitches by Doreen Davies
I really can’t knit in the afternoons.
It seems like laziness, to me –
I’m used to working in the day,
But seven to eleven at night, I’m free
For baby jackets, in lemon or white,
Blue for boys, or pink for a girl;
Aran jumpers, and the fluffiest scarves;
But I just cannot do plain and purl.
I’m 81 now and I’m still going strong,
And I think that my knitting’s the key,
But please don’t ask me to do plain and purl –
It has to be fancy for me.

Two More Here by Vera Morris
We started off in Mabels Furlong;
Tin huts for houses for us young ones,
Where the prisoner of war camp was.
But the huts collapsed around us;
Gaps appeared in the partitions.
We all knew our neighbours’ business -
When they had baked beans next door,
My hubby shouted “Two more here!”

But we could sit outside till late
And never thought to lock the doors.
Brick walls and proper plumbing’s fine,
But Ledbury’s filthy now.

It Sounds Like a Story by Joyce Farr
To be honest, I didn’t know
What I was letting myself in for.
It’s a hard life, as a farmer’s wife.
I dressed poultry, brought it down for sale
In the Barrett Browning, that’s the library now.
And I could tell you many a tale.
We had a lady, picking up potatoes –
Leaves the field and off she goes
To have her 14th baby by the hedge!
And then straight back to work.
My hubby sent her home. It wouldn’t do.
It all sounds like a story, but it’s true.

Winter by Molly Greening & Violet Davies
Winters were harder then,
Colder. Snow six feet deep,
Piled up on road edges.
Walking on hedges;
Cutting a path to the toilet outside;
Children scared because the way wasn’t wide,
And snow stood high, waiting, falling.
My husband dug his way out
To the sheep, and then dug back
Through snow unmarked by any track.
He was gone for hours, I worried, and cried,
Gave up, almost, stood calling
Out his name – James! – then he came.
He might have died.
Winters were much, much harder then.

City Summers by The Evergreens
Hopscotch and skipping ropes,
Playing in the park and climbing trees –
We did all of these,
And all the things we didn’t ought to:
Like knocking on doors and running away,
All the things we’d been taught not to do –
Scrumping apples, falling in the pond;
I’d go home soaking every day,
Clothes hung up on the grate to dry;
In trouble – my new knickers ripped
By branches, knees scraped where I’d tripped.

We learned to take the knocks; and I
Believe that kids are over-organised,
Protected, sterilised and paralysed
Today. We had the freedom, then,
To take a risk;
We were at liberty to play.

Country Seasons by The Evergreens
Day trips to the seaside,
On parade around the town
In a new dress our mam had made;
Making castles out of sand,
And splashing in the water;
Or playing in the fields
Out the back.
But
In summer there was haymaking,
Fruit picking, planting veg;
Gathering apples for the cider;
Hop-picking and the housework –
Monday washing, Tuesday ironing,
And filling up the boiler
With soft water from the rain butt.
Then potatoes in the autumn;
Swedes, and mangels for the animals.
Planting in the spring.
And we never thought a thing
Of this never-ending labour.
It was a different life
Entirely, and sometimes I have to wonder
If it ever really happened.

I Lost Him in the Summer by Doris Parker
I had a boyfriend in the winter,
But I lost him in the summer –
There wasn’t time for that,
Running a guest house in Skegness,
Where I waited and washed up,
Serving four good meals a day,
Charging three guineas a week.
We were open all year round,
Only Christmas on our own;
But the summers, they were busy –
I had a boyfriend in the winter,
But I lost him in the summer.
There really wasn’t time for all of that.

New Procedure by Anne Robinson
They’ve got this new procedure.
We don’t know if it will help,
But they all marched to the doctors –
Six of them went in procession,
And the doctor said he’d write
To the surgeon and find out;
And so we’re waiting.

We know what’s wrong;
He can’t come home,
But if this new procedure works,
If it will do for him –
Well, it depends.
But it’s difficult, waiting.