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Philips Park
Philips Park
Errwood Road
Errwood Road

Late Autumn seems to show off our urban Victorian specialities rather well. Here, the bare bones of Philips Park identify it as being amongst the first publicly financed parks created in Europe.  One of those glacial boulder anomalies adorns the gateway entrance.  I did feel a little guilty when a hopeful band of ducks launched themselves across the desertedly misty park pond towards me, to be met, not with treats but only by a minor photo opportunity.   Down Errwood Road is a clear, rarely car free vista of trees holding on, just barely, to their colours. The cat, Margot, in matching tortoiseshell, surveys our street, also created by the Derbyshire Errwood Hall family, from a suitable vantage point. You know what time of year is coming, though, when your garden centre becomes a grotto for poinsettias...

Philips Park

Errwood Road

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall 

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And  my own ted  must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds, 

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.