Margaret Rose Beasley


Tomorrow it is one year to the day since I lost my lovely mum. Take it from me, she was one in a million. Here is a picture of her. This lovely smile says it all. This is how she looked when we walked in for our traditional Tuesday lunchtime dinner. Work never got in the way of Tuesday lunchtimes – it was sacrosanct. “Book me a Tuesday lunchtime meeting at your peril!” I used to say. “I go to my mum’s on a Tuesday lunchtime.” Of course, I used to see her nearly every day, but Tuesdays? Well that was our special time. Just for Julie and me. We were pampered – spoiled so rotten we didn’t want to go back to work in the afternoon. On some occasions we didn’t – when I took flexitime and Julie had a day off. Those such afternoons are the stuff that diamond and pearl memories are made of, but we didn’t do anything special – just stayed round mum’s and lolled about like we were teenagers and talked about nothing in particular.

Here is a poem I wrote just after she died. Fifty-two lonely Tuesdays. She wanted me to try and get my work published for over 35 years. So here you are mum. It’s total crap. It’s got cliches; it’s poetry and I can’t do poetry very well; and everyone will be cringing. It’s everything that it shouldn’t be and it would send a professional running for the nearest hills, but I’m publishing on my blog – for you.

Tuesday Stew and Sanctuary

A gentle lady, kind, loving and wise.
A lovely big smile, with twinkling eyes
Greeted us, as we walked through the door
To a house filled with love, and Kit-Kats galore.

“Can you stay for a little while?”
She would enquire with a beaming smile.
“I haven’t seen anyone else all day”
As she served our dinner on a familiar tray.

Stew, dumplings, gravy and mushy peas
Balanced precariously on our knees.
With apple pie and custard for desert
We ate so much our stomachs hurt!

“Where’s your ironing”, she would reprimand.
We’d look up, feeling quite alarmed.
She loved to iron, tackling huge great mounds
In the afternoons, whilst watching Countdown.

“We’ve done some this morning, we would reply
Biting our lips at the little white lie.
“We’ll bring you the rest, so that you can do it
But only if you’re sure you’re up to it!”

“Please let me help you”, she would then say
“I need to be needed every day.
What is the point of my existence
If I can’t help my family?” (she was very persistent).

“Don’t wash up, just leave it to me,
Let’s sit and talk while we drink our tea.
I love to see you: you know I do,
I love to cook you your favourite stew.”

Now you are gone, mum, we feel quite bereft.
An empty, cold house is all that is left
But we smile when we reflect on your legacies –
Priceless memories, Mum, for us and our families.

We miss you so much Mum, now that you’re gone
But in us, your daughters, you will live on.
We’ ll become grandmothers, just like you
And cook our daughters their Tuesday stew.

Annie Ireson
11th December 2006

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10 thoughts on “Margaret Rose Beasley

  1. Let me tell you Annie it takes alot to bring a tear to my eye. This did.She’s beautiful and so is your tribute to her. I’m sure she’s the proudest mum on the other side.xx

  2. Your mother looked like a very special lady. I thought your poem was beautiful and Im sure she would be very proud of you. I stuffed a poem in my mums hand before they creamated her. It was such a weird moment as Id not really had a death that had affected me before. It seemed surreal,like she was off on some sort of journey….Anyway loved your poem!X

  3. Lane – thank you for being so kind. I hope’s she’s proud of us all. Julie is not my sister, she is my sister-in-law. Her and my brother split up 21 years ago. He cleared off and left her with a four-year old and a 7-week old baby. My nieces are grown up now and an absolute tribute to Julie – they are lovely girls considering she brought them up on her own with no financial help from my brother. From that point on we used to tell people we were sisters – and we are!Motherx – you know just how I feel, obviously. I wish I’d thought to put this poem in my mum’s hand. I’m sure your mum is very proud of you too – you are obviously a very special lady, reading your touching and poignant blog.

  4. Hurts too much, doesn’t it? I loved your poem and you just know your mother has watched you posting it and is happy for you. The great thing about the net is that we get to decide if we want to share our words, thoughts and feelings. Not some overstuffed pompous old fart with a snob rating of a hundred who thinks that they know what the public wants. It takes a lot of nerve to publish something on the net and it is publishing for it gets out there and others read it. Glad you were there for your SIL. You sound like a nice family.

  5. MOB – Thanks so much. After reading your blog you must know first hand how Jue felt. I’m still in contact with bro but don’t see him much. I have never been able to forgive him for how much he hurt her and his children. If he’d done the decent thing then hey – marriages split up etc. Move onwards and upwards I say. But he didn’t support his daughters, Julie strugged for years, and in my book that is unforgivable.The overstuffed pompous old fart (ha ha) loved that description.TF – Thanks for reading it in all its imperfect glory.

  6. Have just read your post, your mum looks such a lovely lady. Having read your beautiful poem I now have a lump in my throat. She sounds very much like my grandmother who died three years ago. I miss her very much.

  7. Debs – But you are so lucky to have had a grandmother like that. Memories are the most precious thing you can leave your children and grandchildren. Let’s all remember that and create as many memories as we can for them.

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