Nan, I’m calling. Recalling to you,

Watching me being born at the QE2

Where you cleaned, when word passed

Down that Kath was in the labour ward.

You were the first to see me emerge,

And mum said I had a big head

(“Nothing much has changed” she said).

You had me in the kitchen sink at five;

Washing me, scrubbing at the dirt on me

When mum was away

Convalescing from a hysterectomy.

You fed me with Sunday dinners, leaving them

At the back door to cool, filled me with

Hearty nourishment on school days, then

Alex’s fish, chips and mushy peas on Fridays.

In the ambulance, you came with mum because

You heard I was hurt at the park and no-one

Knew where Dad was.

In the dark I ran up to your house

And cried I was afraid because Dad

Was on our phone talking to a woman

That didn’t sound right.

You took me with you on holidays with Auntie Nellie,

To Broadstairs and Margate bed & breakfast,

And it never rained.

On the eve of your birthday in 1978

You wept, hating to think Fate had swept us up,

So that under Australian skies your great –

Grandchildren would be born without you being around.

Getting to know her Great Grandchildren.

(c)copyright, Julie McNeill Feb 2006

all rights reserved



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s