Her Will (Poetry)
24th February 2013
Quite by chance I went visiting one weekend
(more than fifty years after they had sold the house)
when open to the public for this one event —
strangers welcomed me in to my old family home.
I knew it only from photographs and stories —
the history handed down — the aging reminicenses
repeated at weddings, funerals and Christmasses
with sherry on the breath and less than perfect recall.
In its way it was familiar, though smaller than I expected —
the rooms less grandly proportioned, the staircase more modest in
its sweep
and where, I wondered, had their servants slept —
the succession of maids and nannies, and the infamous gardener?
But there was no doubt that this was where the scandal happened —
this was the scene — the very spot — and I took a good look round
trying to envisage how it might have been in their day —
the last of the Victorians — rigid in their habits.
I had half-hoped for ghosts — the frisson of recognition —
déjà vu or something similar. But the air was unmoved —
failed to know me as some kind of prodigal drawn
back by shared blood — the echo of belonging.
But Great-Grandmama was not at home — I did not hear
a string of disembodied words — a whisper teasing at my ear.
No cold spot chilled me — no shiver of movement pushed past —
all was still — the modern-papered walls kept their secrets.
I had to conjure for myself the scents and sounds —
of smelling salts — the rustle of her wide-skirted bombazine —
her face — the beauty lined and faded sepia — (the only
images I carry) — a look of steadfastness — loss corsetted within.
The house still stands but I have no invite now —
and no reason to go back — she’s no longer living there in any sense.
I glimpse her in the mirror now and then —
a family resemblance — the settling of years into a shared
resignation.
Maybe there’s more of her in me than I ever guessed —
the blood-link just one tie — the spirit an inheritance increasing —
growing stronger
and the voice inside me tempered and well-bred —
a blend of hers and mine — identifies a trait and proves her will
survives.
(more than fifty years after they had sold the house)
when open to the public for this one event —
strangers welcomed me in to my old family home.
I knew it only from photographs and stories —
the history handed down — the aging reminicenses
repeated at weddings, funerals and Christmasses
with sherry on the breath and less than perfect recall.
In its way it was familiar, though smaller than I expected —
the rooms less grandly proportioned, the staircase more modest in
its sweep
and where, I wondered, had their servants slept —
the succession of maids and nannies, and the infamous gardener?
But there was no doubt that this was where the scandal happened —
this was the scene — the very spot — and I took a good look round
trying to envisage how it might have been in their day —
the last of the Victorians — rigid in their habits.
I had half-hoped for ghosts — the frisson of recognition —
déjà vu or something similar. But the air was unmoved —
failed to know me as some kind of prodigal drawn
back by shared blood — the echo of belonging.
But Great-Grandmama was not at home — I did not hear
a string of disembodied words — a whisper teasing at my ear.
No cold spot chilled me — no shiver of movement pushed past —
all was still — the modern-papered walls kept their secrets.
I had to conjure for myself the scents and sounds —
of smelling salts — the rustle of her wide-skirted bombazine —
her face — the beauty lined and faded sepia — (the only
images I carry) — a look of steadfastness — loss corsetted within.
The house still stands but I have no invite now —
and no reason to go back — she’s no longer living there in any sense.
I glimpse her in the mirror now and then —
a family resemblance — the settling of years into a shared
resignation.
Maybe there’s more of her in me than I ever guessed —
the blood-link just one tie — the spirit an inheritance increasing —
growing stronger
and the voice inside me tempered and well-bred —
a blend of hers and mine — identifies a trait and proves her will
survives.