Winter Visitor

Grandmother's Home
Kathy Ryder Personal Collection


The dog lay at the end of the kitchen

having been evicted from under the table by

the feet and legs of the card players. We


gambled our ‘wren day’ money out of the

‘Players Please’ purple box that was lined

with white tissue paper and held fifty un – tipped.


I didn’t mind missing Radio Luxembourg

on those nights, when the visitors had

a glass of sherry with a biscuit to soak


it up and stop it going to their head they

said. Reckless they peddled home with

only the winter moon to light their way.


Past the ghosts rustling behind ditches.

or by every gateway. The Quare Hawk

who spent his nights hidden at the doorway


of the wall that went nowhere, always

announced ‘Good night’ and the hands in the

hand-knitted gloves gripped tighter on the handlebars.


How was it all worth it, to play twenty-five,

drink a little sherry and have tea and

Christmas cake from the good delph.


K.R. Feb. 2018.

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