Spinster Aunty

Ugly Aunty Amy, who lived past eighty,

favourite aunt and great-aunt to the tribe,

was hard to look at without flinching

but we knew we mustn’t show it

(well brought-up, the lot of us) –

and that allowed each one of us 

to discover the warmth and wisdom

behind the booming voice, the boots, 

the plain square serviceable clothes

and that mottled, misshapen face.

She read and gardened, cooked,

went to church on Sundays, treated

us children to home-made lemonade, 

talked with us about those things

we couldn’t ask our parents. Listened too.

'Is that an engagement ring?' I asked

of the diamond she wore – trying to be silly, 

trying to be smart. 'Yes,' she replied, forthright,

'as a matter of fact it is' and told me the story

cheerfully, of the widower who offered.

Both were middle-aged. He was lonely,

thought she must be too. 

When she declined, not feeling that way,

he insisted she keep the ring

along with her freedom. She owned 

her house, hers alone, called Elouera

meaning 'a pleasant place' – and it was,

with its airy rooms and warm kitchen

its pretty garden of tall blooms

and the view across Warburton valley.

Written for Fireblossom Friday: Looking Beyond the Obvious at 'imaginary garden with real toads', in which we are asked to focus on an apparent subject and slip in a detail that is really more important.

I have since Googled Aunty Amy (Amy Isabel Noar). Although there is little information, I found she lived to 89. No birth or death dates are given.  She was the oldest sister of my paternal grandmother, Alice Robinson, née Noar, who lived from 1879-1959. There were several sisters in between whom I never met: Grandma was the youngest. I last saw Aunty Amy in 1954 when I was 15. She seemed fit and healthy then, belying her years. I know she predeceased Grandma, but it's so long ago I don't recall the year.