Heirlooms - Bryony de Lat

Mother was born, between wars, to a wealthy family
her Dutch businessman father died suddenly, she was eight
he'd left his Guernsey wife and 3 children unsupported
St. Margaret's Lodge soon gathered cobwebs, and rust on the gates.

My Mother was evacuated, but joined the WAAF's
when World War Two started, amid devastation and strife
her widowed Mother down-graded, still an ample town-house
keeping all the trappings, along with memories, of a much-better life.

Years later, my Mother still kept all the posh stuff
wrapped up in boxes, under her bed
she'd open it up sometimes, to check it was there
it was much too valuable to use, she said.

I think she was saving it, for when the 'good times' came back
or perhaps we were too common to use it
she probably felt it still belonged to her Mother
and she couldn't allow anyone else to abuse it.

And the lounge suite always had DOUBLE loose covers
a mahogany dresser hid some treasures, but she hid the key
an ivory-panel Chinese fire-screen, covered in hardboard
and original childrens' toys, that we never did see.

In a tea-chest, in brown paper, the Chinese Famille Rose
silver serviette rings, with engraved family crest
and Waterford crystal knife-rests, we'd used it all, when small
at Grandmother's for dinner, in our Sunday best.

Sunday Dinner, like a Dickens novel, or mini Downton Abbey
children, seen and not heard, it was torturous
except if asking to 'leave table', and saying Grace again
so we could go and pick fruit in the orchards.

We children were grown up, when our poor Mother died
all that priceless stuff, with which she couldn't part
was still in the loft, and under her bed
she'd preserved it, and amongst it, . . was her broken heart.

Bryony de Lat