At No 31 Manton Rd in the new town of Abbey Wood,

Peggy, slight of build, sleight of hand, mind revolving

like a Spinning Jenny, was bent all hours over her noisily

whizzing sewing-machine until her vertebrae stiffened

and the usually punctilious stitches ran into themselves.

When Peggy lifted her screaming infant to becalm her,

she felt no dividing line between their warm bodies,

mother and daughter were seamlessly inseparable –

she knew their paths would be overlocked forever.

PEGGY

I POUR dreams onto Ellen like syrup on treacle tart,

she’s growing up a real lady with her bows and ruffles.

Her manners are impeccable, she minds her Ps and Qs,

there are no temper tantrums in public or private

and no playing in the street – she’s not common.

A little on the clumsy side, she’s given to stubborn moods

but I’ll iron that out of her over the next two years.

She’s at St Saviour’s Primary, then she’ll pass the 11 Plus,

get a scholarship to St Joseph’s private grammar in Erith,

then university, God willing, and a successful career.

I’m one of life’s triers. I don’t give up. My home is spotless.

A quick flick with the duster each morning keeps dirt down

then a thorough going-over of a Saturday gets at the invisible.

I detest sloppiness, there’s not a thing out of place in No 31.

From the bay window in my living-room I see ninety degrees

of clear sky. In the summer at sunset it’s so beautiful –

the purples, reds and golds, all smouldering like a coal fire.

If you work hard your dreams do come true, I’m proof.

The neighbours are a bind, a nosy lot, as soon as I step

outside nets start twitching. But I’m no cause for complaint.

I make sure my windows are as spotless as anybody’s.

MY HUSBAND Leslie walks like a subaltern on parade,

stiff as wood and sticks his chest out like a peacock.

German, on his mother’s side – the Wilkenings.

As for his father’s side: uncouth with no table manners.

Leslie’s a Master Dairyman, clippity-clops

his horse and cart at dawn. Likes the silence, he says.

He wears thick glasses so I can’t always read his thoughts.

He’s sweet but ineffectual. No ‘Get-up-and-go,’ I tell him.

One of his sisters, Vera, died before he was born.

Always one who dies. Our Edna went at twenty-three,

When I visited the hospital with little Ellen, Winnie

cried because she couldn’t cuddle her. Contagious.

We were all screened. It was a terrible time.

I’m closest to Violet, she works in the Gillette factory.

Dora’s the youngest, we pay her fees for teachers’ training college.

She’s being courted now by Jacob: a doctor, a German, a Jew.

You should’ve seen Ma when she met him. She almost fell