YOUR POEMS

Tea

It was our second visit to Harrogate Mother and I had grown older Our hats remained intact My grey, felt Homburg Her impressive creation of autumn colours Women’s hats didn’t have names

Just presence We both agreed late morning should involve tea

At the tea emporium At Betty’s

I found us a table by the window There was a draught, she said

We can move, I replied Moving draws attention, she whispered

We’ll stay put then: I smiled

A young lady of Eastern European extraction Approached the table, inquired of our order Mother looked at me quizzically She’s not local; she’s from Leeds I think?

A bit further than that, I offered Where then, Lancashire? Maybe Warsaw, I stated Walsall? She exclaimed Maybe, I replied

I’d got used to her hearing loss Sometimes comical, occasionally annoying, Always very sad What about a pot of Earl Grey? I asked

No, that’s become very common, said Mother

Even Brenda at the bingo buys that What about Yorkshire tea then? That’s not a going out tea, is it? She haughtily remarked Very dark and strong though. Mother,

A reliable type of tea I always think, I added

She looked around the room Observing all the other hats on show

We both looked out of the window At a world that was unable to remain still

And people and lives and times that overlapped

And forked and twisted

At a world where straight lines snapped

Would you like cake, Mother? Not before midday, was her quick retort

No?

Cake’s for afternoons, she stated I smiled and wiped my glasses That’s becoming a habit of yours, she said

What, Cake? I inquired No, wiping your glasses every five minutes Is it?

Yes; you don’t know you’re doing it Really? I asked

The tea arrived via the efficient girl from Walsall Mother sipped silently, Placing the cup gently on the saucer

I smiled and didn’t wipe my glasses Quite ironically the window cleaner arrived Soaping up our view of the outside world

Typical, hissed Mother

He could have waited until I’d finished my tea

All rush now, she continued Only doing his job, Mother, I offered He smiled at us both

I raised my hat

Then wiped my glasses Mother finished her tea, and smiled.

In loving memory of: Pauline Holloway: 1932-2021 Stephen Holloway West Bridgford