Yesterday Len popped round with Lashes and Munki, as is their wont. Lashes was looking for a ‘thing’ she made at school as a 5oth birthday present for Boofuls. It’s a bit like Pac Man but really there’s no other way to describe it other than to call it a ‘thing’, she was very proud of it and he loved it so ‘thing’ lived happily on the shelf in our bedroom for some years.
So yesterday the question,”Have you still got that ‘thing’ I made for dad?” was answered positively. “It’s in the drawer in the bed.”
Here’s the very ‘thing’.
While we were going through the drawer in the bed we found all manner of family memorabilia. I’ll be copying and posting some of the photographs we found in there as I know at least one of you will enjoy them. It was a happy and quite emotional half an hour we spent in there.
Among the things we found was a folder of items from when my Mum died. Among all the stuff was this poem. I don’t think everything in it happened in the same year but the time scale was quite short and I was obviously feeling the pain.
Apologies for the lack of spacing, WordPress won’t let me do it today (??). I’ve underlined the first lines to make it easier to read.
What I did in the Holidays
What did I do in the holidays?
Well, just let me have a think.
Lots of things went on this time,
Enough to make you drink.
Well first there was Son’s Wedding
My eldest child, you know.
Oh, we all looked forward to it
He’d be the first to go.
The wedding day was looming
The stag night for the four
Oops, one too many drinkies,
Son two collapses on the floor.
They call the paramedics,
They take one look and leave.
Is this the way it’s meant to be
On my Son’s wedding eve?
The wedding day was lovely
A grand time was had by all.
The photographer took pictures,
Of people – one and all.
She insulted all the guests,
and the prints were really bad.
This memento of the wedding
Just makes Gemma really sad.
Well, the next week, the excitement
To Amsterdam we’ll go,
To celebrate B’s 50th.
Amsterdam? I don’t think so!
Well first he gets all sweaty,
Then the pain set in.
It’s yet another ambulance,
This is looking rather grim.
Then soon he’s out of hospital
The smaking has to stop.
It’s healthy eating and no drinking.
No, really. Not a drop.
So B’s not really happy,
I’m thinking bear here- with sore head.
The cigarettes soon start again.
Would you really rather be dead?
So now we move to Lashes
The trauma’s just too much.
Her skin explodes, her fingers hook,
It’s not a pretty look.
My lovely, lovely daughter,
Turns to friends to help her cope.
I can’t bear to see her suffer.
She’s sixteen, she can’t lose hope.
And all the while there’s Tony
He taught us how to fly.
The cancer now has spread too far.
He said he’ll teach us how to die.
He always did inspire us all,
To the end – and then beyond,
Tony Wells, our Uncle Dumper
We’ll always have a special bond.
Your humour and your dignity,
Your smile, your jokes, your fun.
When it comes to special people
You’re right there – at the front.
Somehow I don’t think I’ll be getting a Pulitzer prize anytime soon. But you know what?
That doesn’t matter.
What matters is that this badly penned little ditty brought back all those memories as sharply as if it was yesterday. I’m not totally sure that’s a good thing actually, now that I come to read it, maybe I should just try and forget it all!!