My granddad would put the Mail
on the beeswaxed table,
and reach for his pipe to point his opinions.
‘Anyone can afford a bit of veg.’
I’d murmur ‘ Cheap vegetables
starve the poor of Africa’
Grandma would sigh,
straighten her housecoat
and dust the mantel-piece clock.
‘He’s right you know, in our day,
a man did a day’s work and then
got out in the garden to dig.’
They looked blankly at my joke
about the Archers’
High Rise market garden.
Then pipe wagging, he’d say,
‘In my day the streets were our playground.’
‘Yes but what about the cars’ I’d say
and they’d agree
and say it’s a disgrace they had cars.
Granddad would then
blow a kiss at Grandma,
and tell him to stop being so daft.
I’d reach for the Kipling’s cherry cakes
and ask after cousin Betty.