for my Grandmother

granBetty Widdop
15th March 1916 – 3rd August 2015.


She is rose petal wine, mandarin jelly,
toad in the hole, the cottage in Newby.

She is liquorice, oxtail, lipstick.
She is Lowry and Bennett and rosehips.

She is syrup, she is treacle,
She is Camp coffee, flapjack and trifle.

She is mulberry, anemone, cactus,
She’s The Dalesman’s secretary; she is corsets.

She is the pen on the Telegraph puzzle.
Granddad was dominoes, she is Scrabble.

She’s the half pound of lard, hardened for pastry.
Rub, crumb, crimp – pie, pudding, pastie.

She is raspberry cane and she is jam.
She is Haworth, Studfold, Clapham.

She is two and six for seven,
selling Woodbines in Merthyr at eleven.

She is Ulay and velvet.
She’s the castanet snap of her Max Factor compact.

She’s the ring I turn on my knuckle;
she’s my daughter’s smile and each of her freckles.


for my dearest Grandmother, who died today.

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