Nick Halligan

Mum’s Bungalow

 

Clearing Mum’s home was an archaeological delve

The evidence crammed into cupboards, boxes, shelves.

With our hands we lifted each buried slice,

And layer by layer uncovered her life.

 

Photos of friends down for the day

Pictures of Nan, Uncle Alf, Auntie Kay.

Snaps of the beach hut and family fun,

Rubber rings and beach balls in the Tankerton sun.

 

Caps and old swimsuits with Merce at the back

And perched on a deck-chair her Dad with his hat.

All as familiar as the words of a song

But their world and their lives now faded and gone.

 

Mum’s engagement and wedding with letters, congrats,

The best man in uniform, those wartime hats.

Then her boys and their childhood – so much here to hoard

Nick’s cap, Charlie’s shoe – too much to record.

 

Weekly letters in envelopes all squirreled away,

Mum lay down life’s strata day after day.

Birthday and Xmas cards had to be kept

Postcards from her boys – treasured pictures and texts.

In the front room, Mum’s mantle was a pure fossil bed

Nothing was moved, nor anything shed.

An altar with objects of memories past –

The mug bought from Greece, the bell made of brass.

 

The carriage clock present that centred the line,

While objects each side ticked an earlier time.

A ship in a bottle, a black ash-tray owl,

A barrel for spills and a bent copper bowl.

 

Everything worthless, yet all worth their place

A friendly reminder, a familiar face.

 

We sieved and we sifted and chose things to keep,

But most of Mum’s treasures found the waste and spoil heap.

So little by little and day after day

We tidied Mum’s life and then put her away.