I remember mother’s beauty and her coal stained and cracked hands
Each little line was etched in black, like a map to other lands
She always wore an apron that she made from an old dress
How I loved my mother,I did I must confess.
I remember mother’s beauty and the row of nappy pins
She always wore them like a brooch, while we kids made a din
The baby had her rusks and milk, she had a little pot
She slept inside a cradle then she moved into a cot
I remember most Mum’s cooking, the apple dumplings steamed
The kettle too sat on the fire , I played and then I dreamed
She had a tin of buttons, she was ace at making clothes
She knitted like an acrobat to forget her many woes
Her daddy was a miner till he had a heart attack
He came home black and dusty, then he filled his old tin bath
When he retired he got a dog, he loved her very well
He called her Lassie for her name, she was beautiful , my belle
Her daddy came to see us after our own daddy died
He help my mother with odd jobs, then we all ate cake and cried
How my heart sings 
Thanks.
I am pleased you liked this.I used to love my mother;s hands very much
I lived in the Appalachian coal country for a few years. I could really see your image.
I still those square hands more beautiful then a fairy queen or even areal queen.I may follow this path of memorues while I am able to.My grandad was widowed and brought up 6 children alone.He never complained.He was a quiet man… very good at mental arithmetic.
My grandad raised three girls alone. My grandmother died young of polio during the worst part of the Depression. He was a great guy, but he complained about everything, got in fights, lost jobs for fighting even though he was a master carpenter.
That sounds as if it would be hard for the girls not to mention he must have suffered a lot emotionally;j.My mother was 15 when her mother died and so she wasa ble to help a lot but he worked nights.She was always nervous as the baby was quite small.I bet they’d be amazed to see how we live now,even having hot water was a luxury then.I rather liked the tin bath but obviously as one grows up it is a bit difficult without privacy.Everybody is different.Maybe my grandad let it out with other men.He could also speak a dialect like Danish but it was already dying out by then.I heard him talk to an old workmate and it was incompreehensible.Aha, he was bilingual!!
I’m glad you had him in your life. Folks like that are like quirky saints — they throw a lot of light around and help us get through things. The Depression was very hard for Mom’s family. She was only nine when my grandmother died. There wasn’t much work for a carpenter because all of the farms were bankrupt from the drought. Bad times.
We don’t know the half lf it.My mother was unlucky as my dad died after 11 years leaving her with 5 children to bring up.She never recovered but she did manage to keep us from the orphanage.I have been frightened in a way all my life
Those were hard times. My folks did better, stayed together through all kinds of stupidity. Daddy made it to 67, Mom 87. But all of that pain from the Depression (and WWII) was always in the background. It colored everything.