Her portrait hangs darkly in my brother's front hall, <br />an ugly likeness, in oils, framed in heavy gilt. <br /> <br />We used to call her Dickie. <br />She hated granny or gran <br />- said it made her feel old. <br />In truth, she wasn't old at all, <br />just ten years older than mum <br />who always referred to her as <br />'Poor old Dickie'. <br /> <br />Poor old Dickie indeed! <br />Poor old Dickie did her best to stop the marriage. <br />(They'd met on board ship <br />on their way home from the Middle East) <br /> <br />She even hired a solicitor <br />'But Malcolm, you can't marry her. <br />She's too old for you! ' <br />Malcolm was her only child. <br />His father had died two months before <br />of throat cancer - horribly. <br /> <br />We used to stay with her when we were small <br />(she had locks on all the doors) . <br />We'd watch her getting dressed <br />fascinated by the ritual <br />of corsets and suspenders <br />and hundreds of hooks. <br /> <br />She was talented, my grandmother, <br />though she couldn't read much. <br />She knitted for miles <br />on fine silver needles <br />at lightning speed. <br /> <br />Her fine silver hair was permed <br />and she wore hats with flare. <br /> <br />Mum told us she had a boyfriend once <br />'but your father soon put a stop to that! ' <br />So she had tenants instead, <br />always male, mostly gay <br />who were clean <br />and 'didn't bring women into the house'. <br /> <br />Every couple of years or so <br />Dickie would 'go a bit odd' <br />and swallow too many pills. <br /> <br />They'd cart her off to the mental hospital <br />for shock treatment. <br />It certainly cured her depression <br />but ultimately killed her - <br />She never recovered from the stroke. <br /> <br />The funeral was small. <br />The coffin looked lonely, somehow. <br />Just two bunches of flowers, <br />the large one from Mr. Shield, the gay tenant.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poor-old-dickie/
