The times I saw my mother cry were few and far
between; in the kitchen once when someone dear died,
and late October ’66. She couldn’t say
what she’d just heard, gasped, turned away to stir
the scrambled eggs, her eyes not meeting mine.
Wirelesses in those days had to warm up,
the country switched on early for the news,
heard the broadcast bells emerge, if not,
as then, we’d lose the latest, miss the headlines.
Still it only took seconds to link slag heap
and school; she came from Sunderland so knew
the smell of the slag heap and the sound of the school
that day had joined.

Catherine has lived with her family in Benbecula in the Outer Hebrides, for twenty years where she has been busy with various arts jobs, events and groups. She also writes music which you can hear here, and has been published in booklets, Northwards Now and on the StAnza map.