At the School Gates
Towards 3.30 a crowd gathers,
mothers – some have younger ones
in pushchairs or kangarooed in slings
with eyes alert and kicking legs –
grandparents, aunts, childminders,
many more fathers now – one jogs up
from his elsewhere looking rather dazed.
Above the greetings, gossip,
playdate arrangements, local politics,
a large woman gives a music hall belly laugh.
A graceful one in a hijab meets her friend,
still spick and span in office clothes.
Two scruffy grannies in low posh tones
boast of their own with discreet rivalry.
Babble of English accented in a hundred
different voices, the non-native speakers
from many a mother tongue,
this proper London mixture
is here for a single purpose,
all waiting for the iron gates to clang.
Then they surge in to get their children.
In the playground each class has its spot,
the little ones corralled by a picket fence.
Enjoying rhythm, wordplay and fantastic tales,
some are into insects,
others preferring furry animals.
Among the juniors, rangy nine-year-olds
from complex friendships, battles,
sometimes barbaric games,
may be reaching for reason and empathy
with an urge to gather and sort out
the world. They are the future.
A Londoner
On the bus a laden old lady
sat with her Jack Russell on her lap,
who looked as English as the famous Nipper
listening to His Master’s Voice.
‘What’s your dog’s name?’ I asked.
‘Archie,’ which came as no surprise.
Then she added: ‘Archimedes.’
I do a double take.
‘Eureka!’ She flashes me a smile
alight with the intelligence
of ancient Greece. Then I see her
standing with her dog in Syracuse
as that old mathematical philosopher
streaks down the street.
Both poems are published in Dinah Livingstone’s collection, The Vision Splendid (Katabasis, London 2014).