The Real Aunt Lizzie

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   'Aunt Lizzy' was the first poem I posted on this blog and also one of the two published in Little Epic. It's a loose, rather morbid and arguably unfair portrayal of a real women: my paternal great great aunt. I always loved hearing my grandmother talk about Lizzie Tait (not, I've since learned, 'Lizzy' as spelled in my poem). From what I understand she was kind, stern and eccentric. She carried a long umbrella to ward off potential attackers and read tea leaves with alarming accuracy.

   I hesitated before giving my grandmother a copy of Little Epic. She's always been remarkably supportive of my writing, my poetry in particular, but I'm often reluctant to inflict my darker scribblings on her warm and summery soul, especially when the scribbling in question concerns a fondly remembered relative.
   I really needn't have worried. Gran was so delighted with the poem that she presented me with two lovely old family photographs and a short pheasant-feather cape. Lizzie used to cook for a very wealthy family who went hunting a lot. During pheasant season she was required to pluck and roast the unfortunate birds. Instead of throwing the colourful feathers away she made the cape. It's still in excellent condition. She was a very talented lady.

   I don't currently have a picture of the cape but I scanned the oldest family photograph. It shows Lizzie flanked by her two half sisters, Mary sitting down to her right and Georgina in the white dress on her left. I can't say they're eerily similar to anyone in my family still living but I do recognise the shiny dark hair and soft but robust features I share with my father's three sisters.

   Georgina sadly died very young of tuberculosis but Mary and Lizzie lived together in their old age. Mary was by all accounts very sweet and caring. My grandmother remembers her giving my grandfather quinine to cure a cough from which he was suffering. The quinine, unfortunately, made him sick and from that day on he, rather brilliantly, referred to poor Mary as 'Arsenic and Old Lace' after the play by Joseph Kesselring.

   I hope to write a better, more accurate poem about Lizzie Tait. I hope not to have red paint thrown over me when I wear her cape.