Since the only reader of my blog so far is my ever-supportive mother (as far as I know), this post is dedicated to her.
Lullaby, by Rosemary Norman. Read it here:
Almost ten years since this poem was introduced to me via my GCSE Poetry Anthology, I feel my English teacher, Mrs Jones, would be proud to see that I am still writing about it.
Children have all sorts of ways to be comforted and to get to sleep...
...and I love the twist in this poem whereby the roles are reversed and the child comforts the mother instead. I am familiar with this scenario, as I know many people my age will be; I often try to reassure my mum and stop her worrying about me, but she reminds me that it is a mother's prerogative to worry about her children, no matter what age they are. I perhaps haven't always made it easy for her. I may not have fallen in a pond, taken sweets from strangers or failed all my exams as the narrator of Rosemary Norman's poem reassures her mother she won't do, but I have ended up in hospital after a horrific night of heavy drinking, gone travelling around East Africa with only a very vague itinerary, lived next to the most burgled street in England, and for the past few years regularly spent nights going out and chatting to homeless people - all of which, apparently, were causes for concern for a mother.
As I get ready to move across the world to Australia next year, I in turn worry about her - we have become closer and closer as friends the older I get, and I know I'll find it very difficult being away and will be concerned about how she's doing. Our own personal lullaby may well swing back to her comforting me, telling me that she's OK and I shouldn't worry about her while I'm off travelling, but I'm sure I still will. It's a daughter's prerogative too, I think.
At least she has taught me well: I will plan ahead, not walk around unfamiliar areas late at night by myself, and not accept sweets from strangers (unless they're Haribo, or marshmallows, or dolly mixtures, or chocolate....)
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