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Everything clean and neat: Plain simple furnishings, No colour co-ordination. Plenty make do and mend. Seersucker tablecloth Provides the backdrop for Tureens and gravy boats, Carving knife and water jug, For the Sunday Lunchtime Roast. Mother in the tiny kitchen listening to the Archers Father in the garden or reading the paper Two young boys chase round the garden, Their sensible shorts a tribute To Mother’s Housewife Skills. Mother calls from the kitchen And her eager family troop in from the garden To wash hands and set the table. Father takes great pride in sharpening the carving knife. The carving and serving falls to him. Mother fusses in, with the Yorkshire pudding. Plenty of onion gravy, washes over each little castle Quiet and mysterious sit the vegetable tureens Round and fat and handled, too hot to touch The garden veg are flourishing. Peas and beans and carrots, All to pod and scrape and cut, parings go for compost. Garden mint is getting wild, visited by felines. Boil the leaves in with the spuds. No one will ever notice. Discarded in the kitchen the Garment of Servitude Aprons are not approved of at the Family Mealtime. Children’s rosy cheeks seek for the approval Of the Father Figure, guarded in his praise. Colin calls his mother Mum. Roger still says Mummy. Both have her attention, certain of her love. “May I have some water please, Mummy,” pipes the youngest, Roger. Promoted to glass this week, Daddy will be pleased. Roger feels a little pang after the water triumph Vegetables need to be handed out by Mummy Little fingers easily burn, want to be like Daddy. Chase the potato round the plate, veggies form and army “Eat your beans up, Colin, please, if you want some pudding.” In comes the stripy jug, known as Mr. Custard. Whose contents emerge like a pyroclastic flow. Gone are the trowel jokes or the hasty sieving. “What goes with custard, Mum,” asks Colin the Curious. “Think back to yesterday, then answer the question.” Yesterday is years away, gone and now forgotten. Hazy memories, country walk, oh yes, picking blackberries! Enamel dish like Mother used pressed in to service. Pastry leaves round the hole for steam, the edge a mass of crinkles. First portion takes a dive, summer fruits are soggy Mother takes the battered piece, perfect slice for Father. Don’t mind the floppy pastry. Spoons clatter in pudding dish, followed by a scraping. “You may leave the table boys.” Permission comes from father. Out in the garden again, too full now for chasing, Stand, and watch the clouds go by coloured by a watery sun. Many summers came and went for Colin and for Roger. Fathers both – though different from their father. Colin stands by the back door, listening for the noises. That tells him the kids are here for their Sunday’s access visit. Roger eats his hotel lunch, then goes to ring his family Back in England – achingly far, just another Sunday. Nothing now seems clean and neat. Nothing plain and simple: Co-ordinated furnishings, Un co-ordinated living.
02nd August 2000
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