Sally

Following on from yesterday's entry - here is a poem I wrote for my Mother. Actually her name was not Sally.  Her name was Ethel but she hated it so much that, in her teens, she started calling herself Sally and that is what she was to everyone except her parents and brothers for the rest of her life.

SALLY

She was "Sal"

A good time gal, a roaring twenties child.

A flapper who was flighty

Changed her boyfriends nightly

And drove her Father wild.

She was "Sal" - always in trouble

And frothy as a bubble

And fooling like a clown

Til she met a man, quite sober

Who really bowled her over

And Sally settled down.

He was a "toff", she was "East End"

There did not seem a much worse blend

But to confound their families' fears

She was his bride for fifty years.

He was her pride, her whole delight

And the fount of all her joys

Soon to compliment their union there

Were born two little boys.

War came, they were divided

And many miles apart

They wrote their daily letters

Each in the other's heart.

On leave he came, a joyful time

When love renewed it's song

And out of war sprang life anew-

A girl child came along.

The years passed by and they grew staid

Before they knew, came middle-age

But "Sal" still loved to laugh and sing

And try her hand at anything.

She became "Sal" of the dramatics

And there indulged in antics

Playing mostly maids

But she would sell the programmes

Or maybe do the "props" when she

Wasn't on the stage.

Old age came and quietened Sally's song

But she never lost the twinkle or the smile

As she sat in her old chair

And brushed her greying hair

The young "Sal" sparkled through

Once in a while.

The world did not stop turning,

There was no National mourning

When Sally ceased to be

But I miss her golden laughter

And always will hereafter

For "Sal" was "Mum" to me.

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Always in my heart Mum, still miss you . I shall always miss you. xxx