AILSA
“After a short illness” - the local paper wrote -
the old man died and the carnival began.
The rituals of interment and of grief
swiftly followed, and
the family gathered; a daughter, two sons,
three grandchildren, to clear his home
of his sparse possessions - old furniture,
an answering-machine-cum-phone -
(for use when gardening), a new T.V;
some ornaments, much kitchenware,
old photographs and books, a fridge
and army medals, several rare
and valuable L.P.’s. The adults
shared the stuff out equally,
to keep or sell, the choice was theirs,
and each one picked their legacy.
The kids were told to choose one thing
to help remember Grandad by.
The two boys shared the old man’s telly.
Ailsa, though it made her cry,
picked Grandad’s old flat cap to keep
and wore it at the angle he did,
jaunty, tipped-back, rakish; which was
all the memory that she needed.
Trevor Hewett
Ailsa knew that the cap made the man. The angle of his cap showed his nature: easy going, friendly, simple and with a sense of humour. My great-grand uncle Fred used to look so different when he took off his cap that he wore all day. It just was not him anymore.