She always drank her tea in a china cup
held delicately over the saucer
Told me stories of India and palaces
of hunger and hard work
Bouyant pure white hair, pretty blue eyes
her room was roses and paintings of swans
Her kitchen immaculate, her front step polished red
she worked in a house dress and Marigold Gloves
Still feared the workhouse
although they were long gone
At nineteen, she married a dashing young airman
with bright green eyes and a dazzling smile
Held steadfast as husband, son and
two daughters fought in global war
Loved me, her last grandaughter
raised me until I was four
Left a deep wound at her death
that I still carry buried inside
Copyright © 2023 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Writing this poem has been revelatory, as I nowrealise how much I have buried the loss I felt when Maude died . I was ony nine years old when we lost her to Diabetes.
I have written one other poem about Maude, 1939, which tells of her distress at the onset of World War two.
The Cheesesellers Wife 
This is a great tribute to your grandmother. I resonate with your writing as I love my grandmother dearly. :)
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Treasure every moment with her. My adult sons have recently lost their Grandad Hammond and it broke their hearts -mine too as I loved my father in law dearly.
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that is a wonderful poem Kim! <3
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Thanks Carol!
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a beautiful.sympathetic portrait, Kim —
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Thank you John.
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Such a sensitive, heartfelt, tribute
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Thank you Derrick
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Such poignant memories Kim, and a beautiful tribute to your grandmother.
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Thank you John.
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Grandmas back then really looked like grandmas. They seemed prematurely aged. My grandma had two housedresses, which she alternated. Never forgot the hunger of raising five kids through the Depression. Was the strongest influence on me, and is the reason I made it through my childhood. I resonate so much with your poem, as I see a lot of my grandma in yours. I remember the tea cups and saucers. My grandma would give tea parties, the women all came in hats and white gloves to sit in her tiny front room and play bridge.
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Yes, Grandmas did look the part then! Maude was only 64 in the photo on my blog.
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Your love for your grandma comes through in every word of your poem. She sounds like a wonderful woman .
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Indeed, she was!
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Grief can last for lives, a trauma passed down by generations … lives cobbled around loss (so sweetly here) pass the seed on to be felt by hearts far away. Those who lived through WW2 carried the trauma of the earlier war and its killing trenches, how feared the second collapse must have been. You’ve honored the wound in love and that makes for a poetry that can heal. I knew my grandmothers so remotely but I felt them through my parents’ wounds.
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I knew her as happy, although occasionally troubled.
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what a wonderful soul you describe here, a beautiful tribute. i know how you feel, my grandmother passed away over ten years ago, but i still can’t think about her, it’s as if the wound was inflicted yesterday. very well written
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Thank you Phillip.
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I feel I’m seeing a piece of your heart. I have a grandmother in mine as well.
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Thank you Susan.
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Your grandmother Maude looks like a lovely person. Interestingly, my grandmother’s name was Maude also! :>)
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You were very cute in that photo!
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I felt the pain of your loss resonate through your words. Our grandmothers were also our mothers… I can’t help but think we were lucky to have them as both. ❤️
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Yes, we certainly were!
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