A Privy Remembered

A PRIVY REMEMBERED I remember the privy at the end of the path. Its roof held together with cobwebs and lath Twin seated it was, of old splintered wood Quite why there were two was not understood. Blistering paint on a handle free door Crumbling bricks and a bare earthen floor Neat paper squares on a bent rusty nail Carefully torn from an old Daily Mail Wintry days, air pungent and damp. Heady fumes from a hot Tilly lamp. Flaking whitewash in our hair, Unknown creatures scuttling there. We played hide and seek from this little room, Chanting loudly in the gloom. Sunbeams dancing through the gaps, Then ran shouting, “Coming chaps” Dark, misty evenings, full of eerie sound Walking up the dewy path, odd rustlings abound. Scary moonlit monsters lurking in the trees My heart beating faster, a trembling at the knees Relief to reach that room at night, the candles in their jars Looking upwards to the roof and gazing at the stars. Time to ponder, time to dream, a haven from outside. Pure magic, in my memory-this place I used to hide. Catherine Wilson written 1979