First Foot

First Foot

A Poem by David Lewis Paget

Two small brown pennies were thrust in his hand,

Some bread, and a lump of coal,

Our Mam had added a sprinkle of salt

‘For luck,’ she said, and his soul.

‘The Devil is waiting for you out there,’

She laughed, and shivered for real,

‘You have to be gone when the clock strikes twelve!’

She let out a little squeal!

 

It was ninety-nine; it was New Year’s Eve,

Victoria sat on the throne,

Our house a terrace on Coal-Pit Street,

It was cold and damp, but home.

Our Da had gone as the miners go

Under a fall of coal,

His body was left where it fell that day

They closed off the tunnel wall.

 

He left a couple of likely lads

That’s Joe, and me, right here,

But Joe was the eldest, quite thirteen,

And he with the blackest hair,

The bevy of girls just giggled that night

First foot was always a man,

(It was in the Wales that we knew back then

When the nightmare first began!)

 

We pushed him out when the clock began

To strike the midnight hour,

The last of the eighteen hundreds, and

We slammed the wooden door,

A lightning bolt gave a mighty flash,

The rain turned into hail,

While the clock, it chimed the first of twelve

Behind the mantle rail.

 

The thunder rumbled overhead

It brought us to our knees,

The girls cried out to their mother then,

But she cried out to me,

The door exploded in splinter-shards

A lightning hit, outside,

I rushed through the shattered opening…

Thinking that Joe had died!

 

The kerb was black and burnt, and all

The street lamps, they were out,

Pieces of tile and chimney pot

Were scattered, round and about,

But Joe, there was no sign of him,

No coins, no bread, no coal,

It was almost as if the Devil came

And swallowed my brother whole!

 

The police came round the following day

And said: ‘It’s very strange!

Maybe you scared your brother,

Maybe he upped and ran away?’

For weeks we searched the neighbourhood

Our Mam, she went quite mad,

Hanging on coats of strangers;

She was locked away, it’s sad!’

 

That was the last First Foot for me

I’d never answer the door,

If anyone knocked at midnight

I would yell: ‘What you knockin’ for?’

My kids were told, ‘don’t answer it,

The Devil’s in the wind!’

And I’d wonder about poor Joseph,

Was he sinner, or was he sinned?

 

In the old year, 1949

A New Year came again,

Full fifty years since my brother Joe

Went missing in the rain,

My kids were grown, were rowdy

And sat up, most playing games,

When a knock at the door at midnight

Came in the midst of ‘Auld Lang Syne.’

 

My lad, Evan, had answered it

Before he thought, he said,

A lad was on the kerb, with coins and coal,

Some mouldy bread!

‘He had some madness look in his eye,

Stood underneath the light,

I would have let him come in, first foot,

Except that his hair was white!’

 

David Lewis Paget

© 2012 David Lewis Paget


My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Featured Review

A Victorian poem; i.e. a poem that would be going the pub rounds in working class areas in the Victorian age.
It is a pity that the the tradition of the first-foot is dying out: forced out by municipally organised street parties for tourists.
ATB
Alex.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Fabulous write.slowly and steadily the poem covered all the areas that were felt as if undiscovered let you set sail and find the very details,the last stanza runs with a great climax, a beautiful portrayal.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

[send message][befriend] Subscribe
EMF
You have such a skill at crossin the flow between prose and verse. Your tale is poetic, and reads so easily. Like a book you know well, but have rediscovered after years. Exceptional

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This tells a stunning tale and it is vivid and clear. Allows all the senses to be perceptive in this piece while reading it and I always love the use of color in writing. It is smooth in reading.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I love your writing:-)

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

yes a worthy tale of old england....well played..

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I am amazed the way a complete story have been told so beautifully through poetry. As I remember it was a unique style of ancient India when great stories were told through folk music and poetry. I like the freshness of this idea and the feel of the time in this work. Yet another great work!

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Was that his brother at the end? Anyways nice job and does this just come natural to you ; I mean you might as well look back at my last review but, I think I like this tale more with much more mystery and allReally great job with the flow, the story line and so happy Tate had recommended your writings. Well done.

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

[send message][befriend] Subscribe
Me
Wonderful form, lovely piece of work

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

A marvelously told tale. Love your ballads!

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Great write..!!

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

1209 Views
32 Reviews
Rating
Shelved in 3 Libraries
Added on January 1, 2012
Last Updated on June 23, 2012
Tags: Wales, coal, miner, coins

Author

David Lewis Paget
David Lewis Paget

Moonta, South Australia, Australia



About
more..

Writing