Mum picked a lost photograph
From the Mirror covered kitchen floor
When rolling up the oilcloth.

The Dove Row bash
Celebrating war’s end
Dad in uniform holding my hand
And the flag
And in her arms
Proud as punch Ma
With baby Cissie
Who died of diphtheria.

They rowed at the donkey stoned step as
We were moved out
Mum wanted her prized framed jigsaw
Of Trooping the Colour
To be the last thing out the door
But dad said the Queen was a parasite whore.

Mum took umbrage
Clipping dad's ear
For blasphemy.

“No point in locking the door, Ma
There’s nothing in there to nick no more."

Mum sighed, “S'pose you're right”

And went inside one last time
To breathe deeply of
The mist of memories.

With the canary cage in one hand
And the Queen in the other,
Mum rode serenely
Perched proudly
Atop the Clydesdale drawn wagon,
Crunching over shimmering
Shards of crystal glass
That wall to wall carpeted
Dove Row E 2
Past waving upstairs windowed neighbours
Whose turn to leave
Was soon to come.

"Filthy, sturdy, Infants of the very poor."
Indestructible
Bound to inherit the earth.
Swarmed
Lobbing cobbles through panes
That once displayed
Window silled succulent dusty aspidistras
And crisp lace curtains.

Leaving bared for public disdain
The naked shame of
Tobacco stained
Puppy dog patterned wallpapers,
Yorkie stoves in need of blacking
Rusting tin baths
And sculleries fit
For mice or rats.

Our brand new council maisonette
Was clean, bright and airy
On a clear day we could see the river
Nearly

The playground built
Where the ‘Dog and Duck’ once stood
And dad played the piano Saturday nights
And mum sang "Roll out the Barrel"
Is no fit place for children

But ideal for dealers,
Vagrants and vandals.

Mum and Dad preferred to stay indoors
Drinking off license Mackeson
Watching "Take your Pick"
"Jukebox Jury"
And Hughie Green on ITV.

Mum said the adverts were
"The best things on telly"
They sang the jingles,
“The Esso sign means happy motoring,”
"Murray Mints.  Too good to hurry Mints."

Holding hands
“Never alone with a Strand”

Mum never got over dad dying
Choking on a Christmas tangerine.

I told her, “Mum, you're free at last.
You can go anywhere
Do whatever you bloody like.”

I think she heard me,
She mumbled, kind of incoherently,

"Free?  Do what I like?
All I want is Dove Row back
Me own front door
Sunday roast with me family
And a canary bird what sings."  

“Bye mum, gissa kiss.”

I left her
On the sofa
Watching Rediffusion
Mindlessly humming
"Beanz Meanz Heinz.”

Opening another bottle
Of free prescription Mogadon.

And looking down from the magnolia wall
The Queen still trooping.