The village graveyard

The church bells chime no more
Guns have been let loose
We are now at war

Daddy has gone to fight
He had a brave face
Mother's filled with fright

She fears he'll not return
More than bombs that fall
Houses hit and burn

The smells of smoke and fire
Lack of food and fuel
Mum cries, things are dire

We chatter when alone
In bedroom tucked in
Hearing the planes drone

Want Dad to come today
Mum just shakes her head
Silent, that's her way

She fears we'll lose him now
Waits for phone to ring
Hope he's back somehow

He died on foreign field
All those months ago
His life unfulfilled

At funeral she cries
His face on leaflet
Tears in all our eyes

Image found at  https://www.ww2cemeteries.com/uk-bed-silsoe-st-james-churchyard.html

Fred's dead

I just heard that Fred was dead
What's more his funeral's gone
When there's much more to be said
Could have laughed 'bout what we done
So many years ago

Was the brother I never had
In long gone days yesteryear
Got boozed up with other lads
To stagger home full of beer
So many years ago

Drifted apart don't know why
I got wed, so lad's night was off
Rocked our baby lest he cry
If we met, he'd say "Hows the toff?"
So many years ago

At his graveside no words said
When I finally found the place
Funeral over, flowers dead
Would have said "Fred, you're the ace"
So many years ago

Lads love their mates but keep "shtum"
Trust them and stand by their side
We change when real life does come
But not dear Fred and now he's died
"Thanks mate for so many years ago"

Image found at https://www.quora.com

Grandpa's house

Us young kids were all playing outside Grandpa’s house after going to Grandma’s funeral while our parents and other visitors chatted inside as adults do after occasions like this in the country.

So we were tearing about the garden, seeing if the fruit was ripe on the trees which it wasn’t and trying to prize open the lid to the old well and while we were doing that Grandpa must have come outside without us hearing to have a smoke or use the outside toilet which he still had.

By this time I had crawled on top of the well cover and was trying to open it up when he must have seen me he shouted, “Keep off, I don’t want you to go near there”  waving his stick at me. I stiffened with shock and confusion and blurted out, “Why, is Grandma down the well?”

Hearing this Grandpa just collapsed in a heap bawling his eyes out causing my sister Win who had been watching us to run inside to fetch Ma. All this happened many years ago and here I am nearly sixty and as I recall that incident my eyes are wet with tears too..

Image found at www.pinterest.com

The Outcome

I went home that day of the funeral
A gray day clouds scudding the angry sky
Grained with sorrow weeping a thousand tears
I felt gutted having to return there
I had left nearly fourteen years before
The run down cottage looking just the same
Burlap flapping by the outside toilet
Not one thing had changed except just me
I opened the back door to the kitchen
Half expected bread and butter on the table
To feed us four hungry kids rain or shine
Always said I would never return but had

Left my long suffering mother alone
To live there abused by that hateful pig
I could never forgive myself for that
Curses followed me out that very door
Was my fault all the siblings had left too
Escaping the ferocity of his ire
Remembering only Ma's ingrained face
Tears hidden in her eyes leaving her there
Few at her funeral to say goodbye
None saw the tears running down my face
The holiness of the church comforting
Plus the fact he would never leave jail

Image found at www.dailymail.co.uk

The old dusty bottle

Edmund had kept the precious bottle of wine for many years in a cool dark place saying "We'll open that on our anniversary" to his wife Jean but sadly she sought the company of angels before that event.

Heartbroken, even he forgot that old dusty bottle now aged to perfection in the cellar and became a recluse living in the past.

Old Man Time's hand then too reached down for Edmund for him to pay his respects to those in heaven.

Edmund's family came down from up north to the funeral and dispose of the furniture and effects but there was nothing they wanted except a few family photos.

So they arranged for their father's next door neighbors, the Burke's to arrange the disposal of everything else and told them to take anything they fancied and even paid them for that service.

Jim Burke and his wife happily did that as they had been friends with the old couple for many years and soon the place was emptied except for the cellar and they were surprised to find a bottle of Australian Penfold Grange 1971 wine there worth the best part of $1000 waiting for them. 

Image found at www.winehouse.com.au

A dusty scrapbook

I’d been gone so long

But I was back home again

For the funeral

Forty years now passed

I had changed, the town had changed

But I still belonged

There was the old church

The park, the river of youth

There the market square

Once I was a choirboy

Always on my bicycle

Playing with my mates

No eulogies said

My mother’s friends now all gone

Her son a stranger

My back felt a tap

And the she uttered my name

“I knew you mum well”

She had a kind face

Worn by many a summer

“I’ve something for you”

After the service

She took me back to her place

“Why don’t you sit down?”

With a cup of tea

She offered a piece of cake

“Forgive me” she smiled

“She said this is yours

It’s so full of photographs

Her dusty scrapbook"

Rapata's work at the mission is over (No. 85)

The continuing story of Ahu and Ahuahu her husband in a Maori village in Aotearoa before European settlement of New Zealand. (Missed an episode? Click on Ahu in the labels bar for previous posts.)

For a year or two Rapata the pakeha priest continued to work at the mission for the Ngerengere settlement and as he became older he was assisted and finally replaced by a younger priest Father Anaru who Rapata had described as just the ticket to replace him. Hinewai didn’t understand that but could see that his mind was wandering. He told Hinewai he would stay there as it was nearest place to home for him after spending so much his life far away from his place of birth. She knew of course that he just wanted to know that she was close by and she was happy that she was.

Every month or so she would visit and talk to him; telling him what was happening in the villages and with her family. He was nearly blind and as time went on she knew that it mattered not what she said, but merely that he knew she had been there. Then one day she received a message from the young priest Father Anaru at the mission to say that he had died.  

When she went up there she said, “Did he tell you that he wanted to be buried down at Black Sands?”

He shook his head, “Normally he would be buried here at the mission.”

“Some time ago, he asked me if he could be interred in our burial ground closer to the sea,” she said. “He asked me to get Ahuahu’s permission to do this.”

“And you have done this?”

Hinewai nodded, “He sees no reason why he should not be buried there. Ahuahu will say a poroporoaki or traditional farewell there.”

“But he should have Christian burial, Hinewai, he is a priest.”
“We will merely say goodbye to him. You do what you have to do here and we will do it our way at Black Sands.” Hinewai said.
Father Anaru thought about this and finally agreed that he would hold a funeral service at the mission then his body could be taken down to Black Springs for the burial.
When the arrangements had been made for the service the next day, Hinewai then set off down to Black Springs to talk to Ahuahu.
As soon as she had left the mission she was overcome with emotion and cried all the way down to the village.

When she got to Black Sands she headed straight for Ahuahu’s whare. Hatiti rushed up to her and saw that her face was covered with blood where she had cut her face as a show of mourning.
“What has happened, Hinewai, why did you do this?”
“Rapata is dead, Hatiti. I need to talk to Ahuahu.”
“He is at the meeting house; do you want me to fetch him?” Hatiti thought for while then continued, “No he should be back soon, let me wash your face.”
Just then Houhia came in and started to smile when she saw Hinewai then frowned when she could see what she had done. She knelt down in front of her and laid her head on her lap and hugged her.
Hatiti then got up to fetch some water and said to Houhia. “When I am cleaning Hinewai’s face, go and fetch your father. If you see Ahu tell her to come home too.”
Later Hinewai explained to Ahuahu what she had arranged with Father Aranu.
Ahuahu looked closely at Hinewai, shook his head but smiled and said, “You had planned this all along, hadn’t you? What if I do not agree?”
“You will agree, won’t you Ahuahu? You do not want me to be singing my tangihanga with the pakeha priest up at the mission do you? It is better I remember him in this village among our own people.”
Hatiti then spoke up “Hinewai, this is your village too, please come and live here again.” She then turned to Ahuahu, “She can return can’t she?”
Ahuahu nodded, “Hinewai has always known she could return here. I told her some years ago. And Torangi has no claim to her anymore. We will find somewhere for her to live.”
So after Father Aranu had held a service at the mission, Rapata’s body was brought down by the men of Black Sands to their burial ground and Hinewai sang her song of goodbye to the only man she had ever loved.

Aranu           - Andrew

Ngerengere         - Leper

Poroporoaki        - Farewell address

Tangihanga        - Mourning song

Whare              - House

Forgive the change of font size, Blogger is playing games with me! Spammers are on my tail too!

Mandy's magic mirror

The drizzle had not let up for days. When you feel sad, you need some sympathy, even if it's only from the weather thought Mandy. Mandy's Gran had died two days before. Mandy just couldn't believe the rush to get her buried, clean out her house and tie up all the ends. It almost appeared that she had never existed.

"RELATIVES RAVAGE RESIDENCE". Mandy pictured the headline in an imaginary newspaper in her head. How callous all her Gran's children were. Her aunts and uncles on her Mum's side descended on the sadly empty unit even before the funeral and squabbled over the pickings. Uncle Ron with his beaky nose and a head as bald as a badger had brought tools with him to pull up the nearly new carpet in the lounge. As Mandy watched she pictured a wildlife documentary of vultures pulling at a carcass. She revised her headline, it now became:

"SAVAGE SONS SYMPATHY STINKS".

So Mandy alone of all the relatives, cried in church. The others anxious for the service to be over, fretted in their pews. Mandy went to the cemetery and shed more tears as the coffin was lowered into the ground. A few friends and neighbours stood in the rain and the final words were said to a clutch of umbrellas and the bare headed Mandy. Rain and tears streaming down her face.

She returned to Gran's unit the next day to tidy up. It was as though a bomb had hit it. Every room had been ransacked and in the small back yard was a heap of debris. The relatives had come, had seen and had scavenged. Now they were gone.

Mandy had lost her parents when she was barely sixteen. A few years with her dad's brother's family made her quickly independent. She lived by herself but had always managed to visit her Gran once a week, had a meal with her and did a few chores like cleaning and shopping. Now even that was over. She now felt very much alone.

Her Uncle Bert had spoken to her after the funeral. "Clean up after we have gone", he said. "Then take a set of keys around to the real estate agent. He will arrange to put the unit on the market. A second hand dealer will give you a ring during the week to pick up what is left."

Despite her indifference to her mother's family Mandy did tidy the place up. Gone were the cosy flowery brocade chairs she and Gran sat in by the fire and where they ate their meal off trays on their laps. Gone were the little ornaments, the china shepherd and shepherdess, the ebony elephants and the Royal Doulton tea set in pride of place in a walnut china cabinet. Gone were the old pictures from the wall; the Stag at bay, the Laughing Cavalier, and Bubbles, the little curly headed boy with a soap blowpipe. All gone, all those memories wrenched from her heart. The pain was terrible. Mandy sat down on the floor, wept a little and blew her nose noisily into a tissue. She had checked every room. The few sticks of furniture left would fetch nothing. She hoped the dealer would charge Uncle Bert to take it away. Again she wrote a headline:

"DEALER DIDDLES DUMB UNCLE".

Mandy laughed at that one herself.

In the back yard there was an untidy heap of bits and pieces. Some would go in Gran's little bin but the rest she would have to take back to put in her own wheelie bin. There were plastic bags of rubbish, a broken wooden chair, bits of carpet and matting and a picture frame.

"What picture did they throw out?" Mandy murmured to herself. She turned it over. It wasn't a picture at all. it was the old mirror that Gran had on the wall in her Bedroom. The gilt frame was coming apart and the silvering of the mirror was worn away in one corner. To Mandy it was a precious find.

"You are coming home with me," she said.

She packed as much as she could in the dustbin and jammed the rest into the little boot of her Mazda 121 and then placed the damaged mirror on the front passenger seat with a seat belt holding it. Later with a little patience and skill Mandy glued and tacked the frame back together, bought some gold paint and repainted the frame, refixed the wire to the back, polished the glass and hung it her own bedroom, with a scarf draped over the faulty silvering.

The mirror had so many memories for her. Her Gran had owned it for ages. She remembered her own mother brushing her hair as she stood before it when she was eight years old. Her Gran had given her a pink ribbon that day and they had gone into the bedroom to tidy her hair before placing it on her head. Then she had run out to show her Gran and then had turned to look back in the bedroom. Her Dad was brushing her Mother's hair as she sat in a chair in front of the mirror. It was not his brushing that touched her, it was the way they held hands as he did so.

There were the times that after her parents had died she used to talk to her Gran, tell her about college, clothes, boys, and her hopes and fears. Her Gran would listen and nod, and hug her when she was down and laugh with her when she was happy. She recalled the smell of her Gran's place. It was a clean, tea-potty, chocolate biscuity smell.

She remembered too, only a few weeks previously when she herself brushed her Gran's hair. It was no longer the full flowing dark brown hair it had been. Thinner now, mostly grey, her Gran closed her eyes and appeared to doze in the chair as she gently brushed it for her. The expression on her face was peaceful, half smiling, contented, beautiful. As Mandy looked at their faces in the mirror she felt that indescribable feeling of warmth and satisfaction as the link between her, her mother and her Gran was shown in the reflections.

Now the mirror was hers. Each morning when Mandy awoke, the mirror was bright and reflected the light from the window. As she looked in she could see herself, soft and drowsy, waking from sleep. The curves of her body and the sunlight in her hair, made her glad to be alive. In the evening, the fading light gave her reflection a more mysterious glow, the interesting shadows cast a feeling of exotic allure to her face, her hands seemed to wend and wave in seductive ways and she saw, that despite her earlier teenage fears, she really was quite attractive. When she looked at herself she was proud and confident, wrapped in a warm blanket of love.

She found she talked to the mirror, and in her mind, her Gran would tell her what to do. She would reassure her, guide and comfort her and was her true mentor. Now, when she looked back to the day of the funeral, the hideous family and their greedy claims for the remnants of her Gran's past, she felt content. She knew the most precious possession she had received that day from the scrap heap was the memory of love and affection that was kept alive by the magic of the mirror.

"MANDY'S MAGIC MIRROR MENDS MEMORIES".

"That's the best headline yet", said Mandy.