It's not so fashionable nowadays, but fifty or so years ago many families used to grow their own fruit, with apple, pear or plum trees in their back gardens, and oftentimes currant and gooseberry bushes as well. Maybe we need to make a return to some degree of self-sufficiency in fruit and vegetable growing? That's my thought for the day.
A shorter blog this time on account of the Seasiders' bruising away trip to Sheffield! This latest poem was inspired by the memory of our unconventional near neighbours when I was a child growing up in Peterborough in the early 1960s. Some of the larger Victorian properties in the road had two sets of stairs; (not ours). There was the main staircase from the hall up to the bedrooms, but also a back stairs down again to the kitchen and scullery, a legacy from when even lower middle-class households would have employed a maid.
The afore-mentioned neighbours, who had quite an orchard in their back garden, used their back stairs as a place to store their fruit, it being cool and dry (and uncarpeted). Every step was filled with either apples or pears. We'd help with the fruit-picking and they'd start storing them from the top down, and would gradually consume them from the bottom up over the winter and spring months. The aroma on that staircase was complex and delicious.
I didn't know, aged nine, that apples and pears was cockney rhyming slang, but I wonder now if it was a common practice and if there is the remotest possibility of a practical truth behind that particular choice of rhyme.
Backstairs
Gently New Age decades before its dawn,
in that summer as we small boys fretted
about world war three and nuclear winter
they sat calmly in the kitchen's dull glow,
he with Jesus beard and pipe and sandals,
she barefoot, braless and Bible-backed,
assuring us that God would speak his will
to Khrushchev to Kennedy, Christians both
and all would be well. I thought of Hitler...
We'd picked a fruitful day in their orchard
and afterwards that layering of the harvest
from top step down with care not to bruise
a piece, disturb the dust of departed maids
or harm the webs that laced limecast loam.
Twilit with happy smiles, that odd couple
promised peace by Christmas, plentiful pies
and the love of the Lord as they dispatched
us weary youngsters to our ordinary homes.
That night, I dreamed about the backstairs
to heaven, heady with the cider of love and
shining with radioactive apples and pears.
Thanks for reading, S ;-)
An interesting blog and a lovely poem. Sadly it's all supermarket fare these days.
ReplyDeleteExcellent poem. Love th tought of growwing fruit.
ReplyDeleteTop blogging Steve. A brilliant poem. 👍
ReplyDeleteA lovely blog and a stunning poem.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written as ever. I'd never heard of stairs being used to store fruit before and loved the speculation about the origin of the rhyming slang. The poem is a delight, clever and touching. Bravo.
ReplyDeleteWhat a great word bruisier. A fascinating read and a lovely poem - the last stanza a real winner. 👏
ReplyDeleteI love the photograph of the bruised pear. I loved reading about people storing fruit on their back stairs. Above all I really enjoyed your perfectly weighted poem. A delight. 💚
ReplyDeleteI can smell that fruit. What a fascinating recollection and a great poem.👍
ReplyDeleteGreat blog Steve. Nothing but books stored on our stairs. I thought the poem was tremendous.
ReplyDeleteI assume the late summer of 62, Cuba missile crisis brewing. It's a great poem. I liked your thought for the day, too. Where did all the fruit trees go?
ReplyDeleteWhat a great blog - wonderful poetry.
ReplyDeleteFabulous. My parents had a greengage tree. I used to eat myself sick.
ReplyDeleteI remember them. I think they had a daughter and then he died when she was quite young, had a heart attack. You'd moved to Cambridge by then. It's a great poem Steve.
ReplyDeleteWe do still have an apple tree in the back garden, though it's a bit past its best now. I loved the poem.
ReplyDeleteExcellent. I love the poem.
ReplyDeleteTerrific that Steve. I loved the poem.
ReplyDeleteFascinating about backstairs storage and your odd couple. I loved the poem, especially the way your memories of the day transformed themselves in dream. Wonderful.
ReplyDeleteThe best thing about people having fruit trees in the back garden when I was about Steve's age back then was sneaking up back alleys and scrumping.
ReplyDeleteExcellent poem
My neighbours have an apple tree in their garden. Every year the fruit falls to the ground and rots or just perishes on the tree. Such a shame. I loved your account and the poem is wonderful. That last verse is just inspired.
ReplyDeleteThat's a fabulous poem, perfectly pitched. 👏
ReplyDeleteYour commentary brought back memories and the accompanyy poem is a perfect class. Love it - one of your best
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem, Steve, particularly the last two lines.
ReplyDeleteI would LOVE to have a house with a garden decked with gooseberry bushes, raspberry canes and pear/apple trees! It takes money I guess but you are right - there's too little of this yoday.
Genius poetry! 👍
ReplyDeleteI loved this Steve. What a fabulous poem.
ReplyDeleteJust a lovely blog and a brilliant poem. We planted an apple tree in our garden after lockdown but I'm told it will be a couple more years before it produces fruit, so we've not thought about storage yet - and we don't have a back stairs!
ReplyDeleteVery good Steve, such an evocative account. I'd rate that poem among your best.
ReplyDeleteGreat blog. I agree about home-grown fruit. It will become more important as the price of everything goes up. so we are seriously thinking of an apple tree and some raspberry canes. Your poem is tremendous. I loved the allusion to 'Under Milk Wood' (with its "starless and bible black"). A clever and delightful poem.
ReplyDeleteWhat at ace poem. Well done.
ReplyDeleteAnother fine post Steve. Peterborough eh? I worked there briefly in the 1980s. It's a beautifully worked poem. 👏
ReplyDeleteFascinating. My family emigrated to New Zealand in 1963 (I was 3 at the time) and my mother told me later it was because they thought it would be a safer place to bring a family up than in England with the threat of a nuclear war hanging over everyone, so indirectly I can relate to your poem.
ReplyDeleteFab! 🤎🤎🤎
ReplyDeleteI loved this Steve, the background (never heard about back stairs), the stunning photograph and the beautiful poem - so many delightful touches.
ReplyDeleteFabulous poem. It's a shame we don't have fruit trees in our gardens anymore.
ReplyDeleteYes we all get bruisier! I was shocked to see the Queen's hands in those photos where she met Truss. Your odd couple sound like fore-runners of The Good Life, with evangelical overtones.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely blog and poem. I remember being told that in the 1950s the Chinese planted fruit trees along their city sidewalks so the people could enjoy blossom in the spring and have free fruit in the fall. I don't know if that's true, but it's a wonderful concept. We only have one stair so we store our fruit in the basement. I agree about the aroma.
ReplyDeleteTop blogging Steve. Do you think your childhood exposure to proto-hippies had a formative influence on your world-view? It's a tremendous poem. Well done.
ReplyDeleteIt's a treat of a blog and the poem is a delight. Just regarding your speculation about Cockney rhyming slang... not because fruit was stored on people's stairs, but closer than you might think: to the Cockney, the phrase "steps and stairs" describes the idea of gradation. Every good costermonger had skill in displaying the front of his stall. The selected samples of fruit and vegetables were expertly graded in "steps and stairs". Apples and pears, when in season, were common on each barrow and, when polished, created an arresting display.
ReplyDeleteWhat a fabulous poem. ❤️
ReplyDeleteThat's made my day. A lovely recollection and fabulous poem - and I'm going to get a fruit tree for the garden come spring.
ReplyDeleteA terrific read. My grandparents used to have lime trees in their garden (the fruiting variety) and granny made lime pickle. I loved your poem. 🍈
ReplyDeleteWhat a delight that poem is. Thank you so much for sharing.
ReplyDeleteSomebody else has already commented 'Genius poetry!' but it is. I love it.
ReplyDeleteBack stairs a new one on me, but what a fascinating blog and a brilliant poem.
ReplyDeleteI loved this! From the opening "Only the living bruise" through to your beautifully weighted poem. The information about storing fruit on back stairs was a bonus. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteWonderful read, like the original English hippies. Your poem took my breath away.
ReplyDeleteA great read and a fabulous poem.
ReplyDeleteIt's a great idea to plant a fruit tree in the garden. Will certainly think about that. We gave up growing courgettes and tomatoes because the yield was low and they were so cheap at the supermarket but a decent supply of apples, pears or plums might be another matter. I loved the blog and the wonderful poem.👏
ReplyDeleteBrilliant, evocative poetry.
ReplyDeleteI thought the way in which a bruised pear linked to other topics and memories was really good as was the poem.
ReplyDeleteA gem of a blog Steve. one of your best perhaps. I enjoyed the backstairs info and your childhood anecdote and love the way you've turned that into your poem. The child's mistrust ("I thought of Hitler") and the way impressions fuel dreams in that last verse - quite brilliant.
ReplyDeleteGoodness. Reading your lovely Backstairs poem gave me goosebumps.
ReplyDeleteThat's a brilliant poem. Fantastic.
ReplyDeleteI loved this blog. What a great idea to plant a fruit tree in the garden. Your odd couple anecdote was fascinating, I had no idea houses even had back stairs. As for the poem, brilliant! 👏
ReplyDeleteThat's an excellent poem.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful read. Your poem is brilliant.
ReplyDeleteSuper blog/poem.
ReplyDelete"I thought of Hitler..." - you had a razor sharp mind for a 9 year old! It's a great poem.
ReplyDeleteThat's very good. I didn't know about back stairs. What an excellent poem.
ReplyDeleteLovely!
ReplyDeleteThis was fascinating. I didn't know ordinary houses had back stairs. I love how you've woven all those recollections into your wonderful poem.
ReplyDeleteThat's a cracking read. What a great poem to come out of the experience.
ReplyDeleteBackstairs. What a treat.
ReplyDeleteA clear evocation of the kind of characters the people in the poem twere. The last stanza is particularly enchanting and uplifting. Yes, I agree, there should be more moves towards self-sufficiency and The Good Life lives- anyone remember that TV series?
ReplyDeleteA fascinating read. Proto-hippies in Peterborough. It's a clever and delightful poem you've made of it.👏
ReplyDeleteMy poem 'Backstairs' that first appeared in this blog is now published in 'The Salt Margin', an anthology of poems by Blackpool & Fylde Stanza Group.
ReplyDelete