came around to our house,
and in deep tones and in her smock,
talked and laughed about whatever it was
that women talked and laughed about,
when the sun was shining,
and when they were shut in
and we were locked out.
And when I on an errand
went around to Miss Mills house,
and stood in her kitchen
bathed as it was in soft evening sunlight,
and returned home perplexed,
and telling my mother the news,
that Miss Mills was icing a wedding cake!
My mother told me that Miss Mills was getting married.
Miss Mills lived in "Belvedere":
"A house on a height with steps up to it
and a beautiful view".
So when in the cool of evening
and with the see behind me,
I climbed the steps to Belvedere,
It wasn't as a wedding guest, but a fledgling,
thoughtfully invited to the remnants of the feast.
Always in her apron and always busy,
Miss Mills, with her deep tones and hearty laugh,
was always welcoming and always kind.
And her home, always a place of order.
No prying questions were ever asked.
No prophetic judgments given. Nothing
that could disturb the peace of a small boy's mind.
To Miss Mills, you were always you.
As when in the dead of night,
and fearing torment from alcohol,
we were roused from our warm beds
and in the darkness, climbed the steep steps
to that house with a beautiful view,
and passed like shadows into the floodlit stairwell,
to warm beds in safe rooms,
Miss Mills was elsewhere.
As when our mother cried in pain,
and the priest sent for, came to countermand the lie,
and all of them were "bitches -
the whole bloody lot of them."
And when every bottle had been dredged and double-dredged
and the boy guarded the man, lest he fall into the fire.
Then, I knew in my stoical brain, the true worth,
of that house on that height, with steps up to it,
and its beautiful view.
A policeman, Chris was as tall as Maud was small,
and quiet, and gentle, and soft.
Maud was a Protestant.
Maud was an ex salvationist.
And Maud was a saint.
__________
© Cormac McCloskey
N.B. This poem is set against the backdrop of the sectarian and tribal society of Northern Ireland, where Catholics and Protestants lived separate lives. Miss Mills had been a member of the Salvation Army. By marriage to Chris, a widower, Miss Mills became Mrs Johnson.
This poem was amended by me on 18th December 2010 / 2nd July 2011
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