• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 09

My Gran’s Brolly

Walking through the front door
into a tiled veranda,
ornately beckoning you in.

The three-legged brolly stand
perched in the corner,
next to my Gran’s walking stick
which was ornately decorated with
miniature metal shields
from bus journeys
and train trips;
bygone holidays of yesteryear.

The umbrella always placed
end tip down,
canopy collapsed.

Even after the heaviest downpour
it could not be left open
to dry indoors.
Superstition precluded such an activity,
although I never discovered
if it was on par with spilling salt
or just a mild misdemeanour!

The 70’s floral designs,
oranges, yellows and browns,
I suppose today they would be
described as vintage.


My Gran’s Brolly

I wish we’d kept one,
but I daresay that’s true for so many,
and why we hoard from our own history.

To be honest,
I’d rather see my Gran again,
if only to hear her voice
call me ‘Our Simon’.