Ruth Marden
Musical Education
Gone are the Days, boomed Paul Robeson
when my own had hardly begun.
“I’m comen !" I’d echo
with confidence, scaling the stairs,
proof as yet against sadness.
Red Sails in the Sunset next, and Isle of Capri,
my taste for romance.
I could sing whole verses
as I now ranged the house—
found my mother’s dressing table,
blue enamelled hairbrush,
powder bowl
of Lalique glass.
Then abruptly, the war, the cottage,
our music the rousing hymns
of the Baptist chapel. Varnished pews
and organ pipes, everyone
in hats.
And those choruses I’d practise
among the gooseberries:
I am Jesus’
little lamb.
Sunday nights, Anthems
of the Allies—
military brass
surging up through my bedroom floor.
I did what I could:
rigid, arms by sides,
on my feather bed lay strictly
to attention.
Page(s) 47
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