Legacies

I very much empathise with the poet Seamus Heaney's remembrance of his mother in this poem, where he writes of his feeling of closeness to her as they prepare Sunday lunch in the kitchen.

"When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other's work would bring us to our senses.

So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives--
Never closer the whole rest of our lives."         

This poem evokes all kinds of memories for me of Granny in her kitchen,  not least the literal scenes from my own youth of the preparation of Sunday lunch while my father was in church.  I think of the camaraderie between mother and daughters as we helped get numerous meals ready for the incessant flow of people who gathered round her table over the years, our common bond and the sharing of our lives, over the preparation of  roast beef dinner.   My memories fast forward to later years, as I stealthily join her early morning in the kitchen, and we sit resplendent in nightclothes to chat about babies, husbands and homes, with cups of tea and pancakes defying our desire to diet.   As the grand-daughters grow up their initiation into adulthood include tea and chat and pancakes with Granny at her kitchen table during their visits to Waternish. 

In my remembrance poem we sit early morning bereft at her kitchen table with her legacy -  the freshly-made pancakes -  which we eat in silent, tearful tribute.

                            Granny and her five grand-daughters - another legacy