The Lodgers

In middle age my dad was made redundant Laid off, put paid to, thrown upon the scrap heap No cash kiss off for loyalty back then Daily he trudged to the newsagents and back Scanning the job lists, writing applications In his copperplate script, while the wolf sat at the door Licking its chops politely No call for managers. Ma stepped up to the plate ‘We'll take in lodgers, clever folk, nice students Paying guests, ' she said in her best clipped vowels A flaxen haired young Saxon public schoolboy Studying law, blue eyed, with teeth in braces Stood with a scholar's stoop and pressed the bell. A Classics man, he got an upper room ‘He'll suit, ' ma said. ‘Yes, he'll do very well.' Nest month our local minister came calling. Apologetically, he framed his question ‘Would you object to colour, Ms M? The gentleman in question's a chief's son Malawi-born, and studying for the church.' Church was the clincher. Saindi was next in. Third to the household, Murray, reading Physics With pebble glasses, sniff, and halitosis Freckled, with ginger clump of scrubby beard Distastefully my mother washed the sheets (Those easy-care bri-nylon, slippery things) ‘Who'd think a scientist would have wet dreams? So often, too, the carnal little beast.' (His eggs and bacon shovelled on his plate, Not nicely placed like those of lawyer James, No toast in quarters like God -loving Saindi Last in, the teacher trainee, moustached Maisie The clothesline groaning with her corsetry And every mealtime soggy with her memoires In tremulous falsetto, of lost loves. Ma always handled Maisie with kid gloves An unexploded bomb in furry slippers Each room was fitted with a locked slot meter Each bath hour was allotted, towels dispensed No late night stop outs. Never any visitors ‘It's a real home from home, ' my mother said Lights out, the house was quiet as the dead.