Oil on canvas c.1926*

I suppose the catalogue tells all
about this painting on the wall.
It had pride of place
in some private collection.
Now, shielded by an electronic guard,
deemed precious, it’s unusual and large;
an early work, when (she said)  ‘I was
full of painting those around me’.

Here they are, my Warwicks:
Joe, Enid, baby Paul
and just in the corner
Auntie Liz.

They are substantial folk
these Warwicks, and have
eaten here a substantial tea.
The firelight’s purple shadows
make a mask of Joe’s wind-scoured face,
and next to the milk jug, look,
his great wedge of fingers lie at rest.
Enid, softly centred in woollen cream,
a wide-eyed Paul on her wifely knee,
seems to gaze beyond her motherhood,
to Northrigg Hill and a setting sun.
There is a general daze of repose;
the meal is over and we are replete with tea.
Lizzie contemplates the washing up.

The artist sits across the table,
rests her sketchbook
on the starched, white cloth,
and with a few firm strokes
collects this family’s shapes and forms
as I do now across the electronic guard
to secure a memory sketch  as
no photography's allowed.