First FootA Poem by David Lewis PagetTwo 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 PagetFeatured Review
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