12

I've never been so cold;

But that's not true.

Fifty years ago there was no heat

Except the kitchen fire

That my mum lit

Each morning

When I went out for a wash.

My bedroom window frosted every day.

Inside the glass and out,

The lino burnt my feet

If I missed the slip mat

Made of old nylons

By Mrs Bright upstairs;

And even this was mild

Given the dash across the yard

Round past the shed

To the outside loo

Where the wind whistled in the bottom

And out the top.

Cold?

You don't know you're born!

Brian Hick 2010

©coyright Sally Hick 25.11.22

 Lavender

Glanced from the window of my evening train

Near Sevenoaks, the lavender's in bloom

And suddenly I am a boy again

Dancing with Mrs Bunton to a tune

I now forget but pop in fifty-eight

When we were all on holiday in Devon.

The waft of lavender almost knocks me out

As, hardly reaching to her Edwardian bosom

My innocent boyhood reels from the sweet spray

Sprinkled on hankies from the pixie pair

Bought as a souvenir earlier that day

While on the tour to Ilfracombe and Beer.

          Sensuous memories; far beyond my ken,

          For I am older now than she was then.

Brian Hick 

©copyright Sally Hick 11.10.22

 It's weeks since we have walked upon the Downs

And there's more work to do before we can

Take the train to Shrewsbury for a break

To wander on the Long Mynd and the span

Of Wenlock Edge, Caer Caradoc and the hills

Which softly fold around  Church Stretton's streams.

As a boy I took the bus from town

To spend Good Fridays, lulled by Easter dreams,

Along the Cardingmill with family friends

Whose names have long faded from my memory

- David, our Aunt Dolly, and the rest -

Exposed to the expanse of my forgettery.

          This poem needs an open end, for how,

          Half a century on, will they seem now?

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 8.7.22