Season of Surprising Goodwill


The craft shop sits cutely on a corner,
At the north end of the high street,
In the pretty Scottish village, Loch Mer.
It’s winter and it’s where a few locals meet.

Sarah McColl’s income, depends on summer tourists.
She was preparing to close for lunch time
And walk Paddy, her guide dog, down to the cove.
She packed away her knitting, then heard the door chime.

Sarah had wed Fergus when steam trains ran.
During courtship, they would kiss under a gas light.
She lost him to cancer, ten years ago, a month later
She was mugged, beaten and lost her sight.

She’d always made jewellery, so didn’t need eyes,
And her business thrived, Sarah survived.
Always carried a picture of Fergus, to feel,
Memories cherished, maybe memories contrived.

“Is it Joan Dougal, for her knitting pattern?
Or Andrew Jones for the newspaper bill?”
No answer, only footsteps to the counter ……
She sat rigid, anticipatory, in her chair ……… until ……

A hand pushed her face, she fell to the floor,
And she thought of Fergus as lights went out.
And as her consciousness was fading,
She remained devoted, devout.

Martin Jones had one objective, as he entered the shop;
To grab Mother McColl’s wristwatch.
Story was – it was ‘er old man’s, worth a bit.
She lay still, on the floor, Martin needed a scotch.

It was Martin’s sixteenth birthday tomorrow,
He knew his drunken slut mother wouldn’t remember.
School was history, spent his days caring for the slut.
His birthdayChristmas week, and a freezing lonely December.

Martin, always bullied, needed respite
From his acned and souless years.
But mother McColl looked so white and still,
He held the hand, of the wrist, of the watch and spilt tears.


Sarah McColl came round and opened sightless eyes,
Felt the hand that held her – “You’re Josey Jones’s kid?,
Did you do for me or did you save me, Marty lad?”
Silently, Martin stroked her head, and hid behind closed eyes.

In the kitchen area, Martin made Sarah a cup of tea.
Sarah sat and sipped and listened to Martin’s tale.
Martin told the truth and feared the worst,
From Sarah McColl, who looked so lovingly frail.

But Sarah had insight to Martin’s bleak future,
And she said she would teach him her trade.
And if it and him gelled and he found happiness,
Then this business was his, his debt repaid.

Martin sobbed quietly into Sarah’s ear,
“I’m nowt but a selfish brat, I ain’t got no reason!”
Sarah smiled, whispered, “Perhaps you haven’t,
But you’re our future, I’m your victim,
And Martin my lad, you picked the right season.
God bless you Martin.”

You truly astound me how you weave a story into poetry, Rusty! Beautifully done, I can see the entire scene as it plays out...

It's good for us to remember that others have a different Christmas than those of us with children do. I have a bachelor friend who is planning to spend Christmas day and night alone, won't come over for a family Christmas dinner, so I'm going to take it to him tomorrow evening after all the family has eaten here {he doesn't know that, I'll surprise him}. The older kids will be here to take care of the young boys, and they'll all be so full of turkey and good things they won't be able to move much anyway - and then I can make sure this friend has a good meal too! Sorry I can't just walk a couple of blocks and bring you a Christmas dinner too!

Here's hoping you have a wonderful holiday no matter what you'll be doing - do you have anyone to have a Christmas dinner with? I hope so!!

Love and Hugs,

Alice

Your bachelor friend and indeed many others, sadly too many to count, encounter such lonely/sad Christmases. I have many sad Christmas anniversaries, (but as Pam said earlier, the brain is a remarkable thing), I can remain sad and rejoice at the same time. In fact, I know so much but remember so little and maybe that is a blessing in itself - my sparse memories are so very sweet and tender but so very fragile, I feel they could easily be lost ................ but Hey! it's Christmas! and Christmas is for all the little men and women out there ............... the little rascals that unknowingly carry so much hope ...............