'Hiraeth' by Kathy Hoyle

Nanna is cockles dipped in vinegar, lardy bread, sugared tea, warm stottie cakes, cold feet on stone hearth. Nets whitened in the bucket on Sundays, same bucket we piss in through winter to avoid the outhouse. Peg dollies in flowered scraps, skipping rope counts in the back yard, and a one and a two, pinny pocket with a cotton hanky for bairn’s tears.

Grandad is black and white cowboy films, cold arse on stone seawall, waiting outside with crisps and pop, smoking rollies, thick foamed pints, Shhh, don’t tell nanna we popped in. Thruppenny mix ups, bring the change! Bellowing at the horses, unluckiest bugger alive, Polished gramophone, crackled music, and a one and a two, small feet balanced on wool slippers, this one’s called the foxtrot.

Mam is blue eyeshadow and sling backs; Dad is donkey jacket and muck. Waving, on Friday nights, from the good room window, car taillights blinking in the dusk. Bristled kisses and perfume, lingering. Sister is dark curls, tossed in the wind, kicking burnt orange leaves with shiny new school shoes, matching woollen hats, trying to keep up, wait for me, Kidda! Crabbing on mossed rocks, wet socks and wellies on the back step, keep that step clean, it’s just been scrubbed!

Home is shrieking gulls, amble cobles, masts clanking in the harbour, buggying down slag heaps, the biting North - East wind, rub your hands together like this. Milksnow skies, furious crashing sea, sand dune picnics, Sunday night baths, drinking hot chocolate, watching the coal fire dance while Mam brushes out the knots.
Fear is ‘Maggie thatcher milk snatcher’, Dad’s face, pale and worn, Mam selling her best rings, counting out ha’pennies on the kitchen table, and a one and a two, pit wheel halting, bellies rumbling, hearts breaking... lives crumbling.