THE CRACK OF LEATHER ON WILLOW

[Maureen K Clifford]

It’s Christmas time again and all the family are here,
Mums’ basting the Turkey, Brother is stacking beer.
Sis is making mulled wine punch, Dad’s playing Christmas tunes
while all the kids are in the backyard, running around like loons.
The day is cold and grey and we could do with coats of fur.
There's storms predicted later, a cool breeze begins to stir.
Outside autumn leaves flutter. This is Christmas in July
and we’re having a hot dinner, Turkey, chook, roast pork and pie.

The kids are playing cricket, with a beer carton for stumps,
old Blue the dog is fielding he’s the best at flying jumps
to retrieve the ball that’s heading out to the far boundary,
but he’s not keen on returning it and makes it slobbery.
The crack of leather against willow, can be heard by those indoors
who are putting food together, along with other mundane chores
that must be done if all intend to feast this Christmas day.
Then the kids can do the washing up and put the stuff away.

There are cherries on the table, towering in a scarlet mound.
Main course dishes are all empty, just a tad of gravy round
the edges of plates to show a feast was here before.
Not a skerrick left for poor old Blue, save one pea on the floor.
A bowl of Christmas trifle, with jewelled colours all around;
topped by strawberries and kiwi fruit with light whipped cream surround,
plus yellow creamy custard, caressing sponge with jam;
is placed upon the table, beside the leg of ham.

The blue brandy flame flickers as Mum lights the Christmas pud.
Bringing Oohs and Aahs from all the kids. Don’t that look bloody good.
Brandy custard in a crystal jug, resplendent with a sprig
of plastic Holly now resides beside that Christmas pudding big.
There are Bon-Bons on the table, full of gaudy paper hats
and plastic trinkets, corny jokes and crackers that don’t crack.
Someone is taking photos, the flash is bright. It blinds,
but a digital image is retained of all our happy times.


Repast finished, the table cleared, a beer or two is drunk,
a walk around the block suggested if you’ve got the spunk.
We’ve more yet to look forward too for underneath the tree
are ribbon bedecked presents, some for you and some for me.
There’s a rubber bone for Blue, and a new dish for the cat
Some fancy scent for Mum and Sis, and Dad got a new hat.
My big brother is happy. He’s the biggest kid of all.
Loves to hear leather on willow. He got a new cricket ball.



Maureen Clifford ©

[Neville Briggs]

Please Maureen. Not in July as well Don't say it too loud Woolworths and Coles and Hallmark are listening.

Interesting poem. Lots of detail.

[Maureen K Clifford]

Actually a Christmas in July is something I can totally embrace and enjoy. It was very popular around the Stanthorpe region where of course the weather in July gets pretty cool, but taken that aside the commercialism of Christmas is not there and so people tend to get together then for the genuine reasons of friendship and sharing and having a good time together. It can also double as a pretty good money raiser for local charities and because it is cooler it is far easier to frock up and make it into a really festive occasion. Your mascara tends to stay on and not run in rivulets down your face and you are not mopping the make up job of with the sweat every 5 minutes. It is IMO far more civilized and for all the right reasons.

We actually did have a cricket match out there one year in the middle of sleet - despite the driza-bone coats, jumpers and jeans it was pretty freezing but no one really seemed to mind overly much.

[Neville Briggs]

Sorry to be a pain Maureen. Have a nice Christmas. Enjoy the plum pudd.

[Maureen K Clifford]

Don't do Plum Pud Neville, we do Mum's trifle - her speciality and she is the only one who makes it - just hope though that she has not forgotten how to do it. She was going to make rissoles for tea the other night and it ended up as spaghetti as she forgot how to make rissoles - poor old lovey is failing a bit these days. It will come to all of us no doubt though over time.

We are all trying (with the exception of one part of the family ) to make this a special Christmas for her while she can still remember her Grandies

You have a lovely one as well Neville - buon Natale

Cheers

Maureen

[Neville Briggs]

Thanks Maureen. A bit of plum pud with custard and a glass of port. that's enought luxury for me for Christmas.

If you ever get a chance to read or hear John Clarke ( alias Fred Dagg ) on his A Child's Christmas at Warrnambool.( a send up of Dylan Thomas's A Child's Christmas in Wales ) it's a classic. You'd enjoy it.

[Maureen K Clifford]

The name Fred Dagg rings a bell Neville but can't say I have read this - something to keep an eye out for though.

Cheers

Maureen