Our Walter fired the lot

I know almost nothing
of the rich and varied lives
of my mother's family

a deserter father
feckless and cruel
Backstreet poverty

her flame haired sister
who married 'Mick the Gyp'
because he looked like Elvis

a ghost half-brother
no one really knew

a burned out farm
complete with mad uncle
and Victorian great aunts

I met one once
in Teeside General
a tiny woman in a bed

pin sharp and bright
with silver braids and rings
'Who's this bonny lad?' she said

and pressed a silver Florin
in my hand