Gran

I had a Gran in the old days
When Grans sat in chairs by the fire
And brewed tea measured from the caddy
Then poured from teapots into china cups
Which rattled on saucers and everyone took
'Two sugars please."

I had a Gran when all Grans had grey hair
And knitted big and baggy jumpers
Or crocheted rugs they wore on knees
And told you off with a twinkle in their eye
When you forgot to mind your Qs and Ps.

I had a gran in the old days
When you only shopped in the High Street
And bought potatoes by the pound,
A nice piece of beef from the Butcher,
"Two herrings for Mrs. Simpson, please"
From the Fishmonger
Then carried them home
In the finger-slicing string bag.

I had a gran in the old days
When tables were draped in chenille
And mantlepieces wore fringes framing coal-blacked fires,
The kettle singing on the hearth
And paper bags of gigantic toffees
Hid away in knitting bags.

And a visit to the toilet
Was an expedition down the garden path
Overlapped with uncut grass
That wound its way around your ankles
Leaving you cold and wet from the feet up
And the creaking door -
Entrance to the cobweb-laced dark and aromatic room.
You prayed the door wouldn't shut too tight
Or swing open wide whilst you hovered above the pit
Filled with monsters
Smelling like death itself.

Then back to the cosy fireside
And a plate of sizzled sausage and mash
With a special treat of tinned peaches
Sweet and yellow
Smothered in Carnation milk to follow.

Now I wonder
As I sit in front of my laptop
In my centrally-heated home
Where all the Fireside Grans have gone.