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'Our Mother'

Our Mother - a sophisticated lady
Always destined for the top
You'd never see her walk on by
A top designer shop

So impeccably presented;
Amazing handbag, clothes and shoe 
Even perfume richly scented 
Numbered bottle gives the clue
Never more elegant a lady 
Than the stylish Mrs Mannell
Surely can't be just co-incidence 
That her name rhymes with Chanel?

For pleasure; Mum rode her horses
Liked playing hard and drinking gin
Slip in friends and glass of champers
And her heart you'd surely win
Of her job she could wax lyrical
And of work being her miracle 
A workaholic one might say
Toiled every cent of hard earned pay

Mum frequented finest restaurants 
If dined with Margaret you would discern
Whether lunching at the Ivy 
Or in Paris, of course; Jules Verne 

Mum once painted chairs and pottery
And boiled up fudge to taste
She made luscious chocolate mousse those days
And yoga trimmed her waist
Mum sketched and drew with creative flare
Gave her loving cats amazing care
She sung out loud never just a hum
Then taught me to be a Mum

We all knew different parts of Mum
But between us we all know
Her strength could be a barrier
"Dahhling, don't let feelings show"
No matter what we all admire in her
With love and pride we glow
At the sea of people facing her
Must not let tear drops flow

A formidable woman Margaret
Or as Peggi to many friends
Just 'Mum' to my sister and I
And where this poem almost ends
She was Grandma Peg to four granddaughters
And now a great grand-son 
Who knew she stayed and fought 
To become a great grand mum 

So to the 'bar', let's go raise glasses
For this tough old bird please grin
She'd hate to see sad faces
No tears while drinking gin


'Our mother' 
For Margaret Mannell's funeral 
By Victoria Payne

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