The shopping had been tedious, and
the rain
Came pelting down as she turned home
again.
The motor-bus swirled past with rush and
whirr,
Nought but its fumes of petrol left for
her.
The bloaters in her basket, and the cheese
Malodorously mixed themselves with
these.
And all seemed wrong. The world was
drab and grey
As the slow minutes wept themselves
away.
And then, a thwart the noises of the street,
A violin flung out an Irish air.
"I'll take you home again, Kathleen."
Ah, sweet,
How tender-sweet those lilting phrases
were!
They soothed away the weariness, and
brought
Such peace to one worn woman, over-
wrought,
That she forgot the things which vexed
her so:
The too outrageous price of calico,
The shop-girl's look of pitying insolence
Because she paused to count the dwindling
pence.
The player stopped. But the rapt vision
stayed.
That woman faced life's worries unafraid.
The sugar shortage now had ceased to be
An insurmountable calamity.
Her kingdom was not bacon, no, nor
butter,
But things more costly still, too rare to
utter.
And, over chimney-pots, so bare and tall,
The sun set gloriously, after all.
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This is an excellent choice for a featured poem by this author. Fay Inchfawn is actually a Pseudonym of Elizabeth Rebecca Ward. I have always been fond of her work. My grandmother seems to have liked her as well although I have no idea how she found Elizabeth Rebecca Ward. My grandmother showed me some poems when I was 16 when she was 84 in 1964 (the year she passed). I remember her fondness for poetry and this must have really touched her deeply as she re-wrote it into a “collection” of poems into one of her notebooks; this one and several other different author’s poems (along with a couple Robt W. Service’s poems). I know that my grandmother never saw herself as a traditional woman or housewife at all and what I think she saw in this poem was a rise above what society, then, saw what women were supposed to be, housekeepers, wives, mothers. But my grandmother was none of those and would have identified strongly with the lines “Her kingdom was not bacon, no, nor
butter, But things more costly still, too rare to utter”. That probably would have fit right into her view of life and her role in it. If you read this author's work, I think you will find within her lines a more "traditional" view of the woman's role, then...in the early 1910's to 20's...odd that my grandmother would have re-written this poem, I can only think that it was for those lines I qouted. ~richard
oh, a "bloater" is a salted or smoked fish like a small mackeral or large sardine. ...(just in case anyone cares) I love the images she uses and how the smells of the city mingle together.
Edited on Oct 05, 12:52 because ''.
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