As I sat down with mummy on the eight-hour flight heading back to Trinidad, I was reflecting on our time spent with dear friends in Basingstoke, U.K. It was the kind of trip that is best described in photographs and poetry:
When venturing to new places afar,
Especially on a mission with your mama,
You imagine the adventures that await.
But when your eye beholds the place,
And feet step to undiscovered space,
Only then the fullness breaks on open hearts.
The windows that open unto apple trees in the orchard,
And the windows that open unto mango trees in the yard,
Let in the same light that refreshes thirsty souls.
The moor hen moans by the lake.
The kiskidee call; as its namesake.
Both sing the same hymn of praise.
“Which way do you think we go now mummy?”
People bustled by as she studied the map intently.
“South to Waterloo!” brought a victorious smile on both faces.
Port and tea around a crackling fireplace at night.
Ox cheeks, grouse, hash and cod set tummies right,
And stories, jokes, open hearts and twinkling eyes shone through.
Bubbling brooks, dandelions, oaks and deer.
Enid Blyton’s storybook scenes all there.
Somehow carried a familiar tune far away from home.
But it was the same mischievous smiling eyes and dreams and plans,
And the common humanity; Clarke-Samlal, Philip-Nicholls clans,
That pealed like church bells over the meadows of Basingstoke with love.
Copyright 2017, Matik Nicholls