Living On Three Continents: My Mother Believed In Miracles
Susan Siddeley’s mother believed in miracles on five days in the week, but on Thursdays and Saturday’s she faltered. Susan’s brief prose-poem vividly encapsulates a many-paged book of memories.
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My Mother believed in Miracles
Five days a week:
Mondays, when she fetched the prop out of the passage and flew her washing flag-high, despite the
clouds.
Tuesdays, when she greased her tins, mixed some batter and popped two date-and-walnut loaves into the oven.
Wednesdays, when she staggered to the co-op muttering 31832, a shopping basket on each arm
and a long list, written on a bit of torn packet, in her pocket.
Fridays, when she waited with a big teapot for Auntie Mabel to call with news about Rita in Pinderfields, Auntie Gertrude - often poorly, and Mrs Haigh, also in bed with the Doctor.
Sundays, when she put on her best coat – blue with a fur-trim collar – hat and matching gloves, and marched to chapel without an umbrella.
She faltered
on Thursdays, when Dad came home from work, early with a thin pay packet because there was no overtime. And again on
Saturdays, when she pushed him off to The Match with his blue and white supporter’s scarf round his neck, doubting any amount of cheering and “show ’em ’ow it’s done, Glazzard.” could push Huddersfield Town towards the wins they needed to rise from the bottom of the Second Division.
