WORDS ABOUT MY MUM, WHO WOULD HAVE BEEN 99 TODAY...

My Mum…

(Birmingham, born in 1920)

Naïve in the purest sense, it surprises me 

That I was ever conceived by her at all.

Parents with separate lives,

One married to his occupation, the other to his home;

One expecting service when he returned,

The other responding as the wife of wives.

As my mother, I recall her keeping me clean;

Yet seeming moody, quiet and tending her chores.

Her week was methodically adhered to:

Washing, ironing, vacuuming, cleaning brasses and windows.

Despite my presence, in ignorance she worked,

Mindlessly housekeeping, as her introversion grew. 

Changes to the norm were generally unwelcome,

Unwilling to alter her behavioural pattern:

Tutting, sighing, resorting to silence.

Uneasiness often ruled the environment,

As her volatile husband barked his anger

And in her stubbornness, one perceived an insolence.

Company could soothe her insular nature.

Her smile, once gap-toothed, reassured and endeared:

Agreeable, non-argumentative, non-contentious, just nice.

She laughed along with others at jokes misunderstood,

Upset no-one, drank no alcohol,

Gave and yet accepted nobody’s advice.

Superficially stern and uncaring,

Maybe she harboured loving feelings for me;

But I was always kept at an arm’s length,

And her heart remained neatly beneath her sleeve.

Reportedly she worried, hoped I’d be happy,

Thus providing me with massive emotional strength.

Downtrodden maybe, exploited no doubt,

Yet her power lay in her extraordinary ability

To turn off and wallow in her own single mind,

Thus frustrating my dad until she wore out her heart,

Depending on him with a frown and a grimace,

Embarrassed still by his touch, however kind.

If a few traits of my mother stand out in my mind, 

One would surely be her passive smile.

Going with the crowd, uncharismatic,

Her ‘eyebrow-sigh’, withstanding arthritic pain,

Arrowed frowns at her charismatic husband:

A busy woman, transformed into static.

She was often pleasant, if intolerant.

A clean, decent sort of a girl.

Accepting of the role of a channelled life:

Caring voluminously, if surprisingly for her grandchildren:

Just wanting to get better, to skip in the garden again,

Once her family broke free from its constant strife…

Pete Ray

She lived her life in Washwood Heath, Ward End and Shard End.

She died in 2000.

She would have been 99 today…