Sheffield Trip April 17/19

This year for a birthday related excursion, we tried Sheffield. A fantastic train journey through Derbyshire's Edale on a sunny day brought us to, first, a rather stunning fountain outside the station complete with idiosyncratic ducks, one pair only, then a shop around, then the discovery of Leopold Square, once a boys' school, now a lovely plaza style set up of eateries. We lunched at 'The Botanist', complete with wooden panelling, of which a fellow diner at the next table confidently remarked to his friends that the trouble with original wood in Grade Two listed buildings was all the terrible termite damage it was so susceptible to. Strange, I never knew Yorkshire suffered from that. After a decidedly devilish pudding, complete with dry ice spooky mist, we visited the sublime, with a wander round the cathedral, small but with beautiful stained glass, both of ancient and modern design. A lovely trip.

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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.