Ellen and Georgina

Ellen Henderson

Of my father's mother, Ellen,
I have no memory at all
just one momento, a photo,
a smiling sepia governess,
composed, in neat Edwardian dress
and in her face I catch my own,
a mirror-imaged likeness, there
for all to see;
my father smiled with his eyes
and so do I and so does she.

Ellen died when Dad was seven - 
a rare blood disease in days of
donor to patient transfusion.
As strangers poured out their life-blood
into her veins then how much more 
must she have poured out her heart 
at leaving her young son and twins
whose lives were rocked
by their maternal loss,
cared for by friends bereft and shocked.

Of my mother's mother, Georgie,
I have a store of memories;
cuddles in bed, Winnie the Pooh,
stories heard sitting on her knee,
the saga of her rings, "This one 
will be your mother's, this one's for
Aunt Gwen but this one's mine alone
and I shall be
sent to my grave with it 
as on the day Taid* married me."

Old hands, young fingers together
chopping carrots and shelling peas,
nostrils tickled by roasting beef
or baking cheese and onion pie;
embroidery and lavender,
pinks, roses and piano
all treats to enthral, then earwigging
the grown-ups' talk 
of who was ill or dead
before an evening seaside walk.

But both have helped to shape my life,
their influence felt in subtle ways.
I still hear Nana Georgie's soft
"Keep going, always sing, each day
be brave to try out something new."
And though I never talked with her,
had no familiar name to give,
Ellen's wisdom 
shone in the words of all
who recalled and shared her vision.

©Janet Henderson March 2016

*'Taid' is the usual name for 'Grandfather' in North Wales.