Childhood Memories of my dearest Grandmother

By Deborah Charles

Summer days out to London were such a treat

On the bus we would rush, to the grab the front seat

Destination, the National Gallery of Art

Where our Impressionist education would start.

No matter where we were, a little health lecture arose,

How to breathe in through your mouth and out through your nose.

The only problem was the pitch of her dear voice,

So loud all travellers listened without choice !

Sunny afternoons passed on Jocelyn’s beach,

Where the dear French mistress would begin to teach

French prepositions :Mon, ma, mes, ton, ta tes,

When all we wanted, was in the sun to lay.

Chaos in the kitchen, no, no, just a little clutter

Grandma baking with her favourite round butter.

Back door wide open, pieces of paper all of a flutter

Grandpa yelling, never one to mutter.

Great smells of cooking wafted out of the door

Yellow Quince on the side, ready to de core.

The kettle whistling, until it was hoarse,

While Grandma calmly prepared the next course.

Only Grandma would have such a chest of treasure,

Under her bed, by now we have her measure

For hidden here, was her Harrod’s treasure

Delightful foods to choose and give us pleasure

Someone so special, what a source of inspiration

She has given us much joy and cause for celebration

So here we are now, simply to say au revoir,

For from our hearts she will never be far.