Christmas Eve

My sis and I had attic rooms

and cold they were on winter’s night

and I was certain in that whispered gloom

hid bogeymen intent to do me harm

once I had lain my head

on cold feather-down yet hot water-bottled bed.

So the ritual:

heart in throat I looked in wardrobe first,

gingerly opening door then scanned the floor

neath wooden cot with metal springs

and then the most awful thing:

pull the curtains back check window ledge

that large enough could seat a man

and phew   phew
no-one there.

And so it was on Christmas Eve

envelope(d) betwixt the sheets

I lay in fitful sleep

dreaming the dream of Christmas Fare –

turkey (yum yum) and all the trimmings

plus the most important mushy peas –

and stockings brimming

with gold-wrapped chocolate coins

and satsumas tangerines –

and of course beneath the tree

wrapped treasures of Judy doll,

magic set, books,     sweets and smellies.

And so it was on Christmas morn

to celebrate the Christ Chikl born

we children came sleepily down the stairs

yet in excitement of the presents waiting there

beneath the tree, in room 
with blazing fire warming

even coldest nook and nose
pressed into Bunty book

how glad was I to be alive.

And I didn’t want to go to church…

Anna :o]

Gay at dVerse has us writing of ‘Hearth, Home and Common Speech.’  I attempted to write of my life now – but whatever I wrote, because of present circumstances appeared full of gloom – and my life is not like that.

So I decided to return to my childhood.

My parents hailed from Yorkshire and though having its accent were not broad Yorkshire, although did use some of its dialect.  Flower and luv are Yorkshire terms of endearment and I can remember having moved to colder climes, my dad calling the milkman luv…(dint go down very well.).  I too had a slight Yorkshire vernacular – dint=didn’t and cunt=couldn’t - the latter caused much amusement and sometimes offence…

I loved my parents so much and hope they have found their place in Heaven – if it exists.  Despite being brought up in a (non-oppressive) religious household – I hold no beliefs – never have, too much time in children’s wards as a child…  But I do love Christmas and the closeness it brings.

The rhyming thing is not false.  Although my mother never wrote poetry – most of the time (except for but sometimes including serious conversation) we would speak in rhyme – often with hilarious results.  Lovely lovely mother.

And so I offer the above as my contribution to the dVerse prompt and when doing so offer my heartfelt thanks to all at dVerse for making my life so much richer.  Merry Christmas to my friends there and look forward to joining in the fun in the coming New Year.

Kind regards

Anna :o] xxx

Image: courtesy of Wikimedia Commons– I couldn’t locate a Christmas(y) one