Cherries
A poem by Janet Dubé
In eighteen hundred and ninety nine
Catrin’s life was on the line
Came fourteen and no work here
She left her home in Ynyshir
For English work in an English town
And an English language, not her own
She got work as a scullery maid
Bleeding hands and not well paid
She got work as a kitchen maid
Fires and tables cleaned and laid
Learning her work by heart not book
She got work as a household cook
She got work as a soldier’s wife
Flood and babies were her life
Babies died but four kept living
God only knows what Gran was giving
Four grew fast but she was able
She put hot dinners on the table
She cleaned the house and cooked the food
And taught the children to be good
She went to chapel, cleaned the house
Used her vote and used her nouce
When the war came in due course
One got work in the Royal Air Force
Three were clerks and none were cooks
Gran took charge of the ration books
When the war died down again
Things got better, life was plain
All those years
All that life
A heart so strong
You’re a friend
You’re a mother
You’re a lover
You’re a wife
Then the children had their babies
Gran went cleaning for Chelsea ladies
Grandad died, she took a flat
And stuck red cherries in her hat |
to hear track