Who - Rosemary Dobson

Who, then, was 'Auntie Molly'? No one now
Can tell me who she was: or how it was
She and my Mother shared a rented house
One summer for a fortnight - we took a train
And from the station trudged a country road.
I know she worked year-long and lived alone
Somewhere with a strange name, like Rooty Hill.

Postoffice-Store-in-one sold bread and milk.
Returning to our house we scuffed along
Coth-hatted, sandalled, kicking at the stones.
Mother and Auntie Molly walked ahead
And suddenly Mother stopped, threw back her head
And laughed and laughed there in the dusty road.
We were amazed to hear our Mother laugh.

The fowl-yard fence sagged with ripe passion-fruit,
We bought cream in a jug. At night we sat
Around the lamp-lit table, colouring in.
In bed, near sleep, we'd hear the rise and fall
Of their grave voices - hers, and Auntie Molly's,
Whom no one now would know; who made my Mother
Laugh joyfully in the middle of the road.