Gone!

And never called me mother!

Just like old Ellen Wood author of East Lynne from

whence the line originates.

 

Have you ever noticed how things just disappear

without so much as a by your leave

and it's virtually impossible to say, with any

certainty, when they actually went missing

or, indeed, when was the last time you saw them.

 

 

 

Take, for instance the good old bottle of Airwick

manufactured by Jeyes and guaranteed to kill

a horse fly at fifty paces or a horse for that matter

if the bottle was wide open and the obscene

green sponge wick was fully exposed.

Enough to prevent any small, impressionable young

life form from lingering in the loo any longer than

was physically necessary.  And wash your hands Julia

if you touched the bottle!

 

Or is it only things beginning with an "A" that are vanishing? 

Author, Airwick - how about Antimocasser?

 

 

 

Who didn't have an elderly aunt who's chair arms and settees

were smothered in the things in order to stop

uncle's hair pomade rubbing off onto the upholstery.

Why they even sold patterns for them

at the local haberdashers.  Some of the best

Long Dog motifs can trace their ancestry back

to such publications (see above).

 

 

 

Aspidistra, Gracie Fields used to cook the leaves

up for Sunday lunch instead of cabbage.

They came in jolly Majolica jardinieres and sat upon

crochet doilies - patterns for which were also

widely available at all good LNS's.

So that's what people did before television was invented!

 

 

Airmail letters from far away, exotic places sent by

lovers and penfriends,  relatives and rogues,

royalty and riff raff.

They were all written on lightweight blue paper,

arrived in special envelopes bearing the

appropriate stickers and stamps

and were all guaranteed to add a little spice to life

when they fluttered through the letter box on

a dull winter's day.

A pox on e-mails - someone send me an aerogramme please.

I am suffering severe withdrawal. 

 

 

 

And remember albums?  Sticking in our snaps on

wet Sunday afternoon's with special adhesive mounts

to avoid damaging the corners.

Poo to albums!  Store them on the cloud and be done!

 

Bet that singed her whiskers!

 

 

But one item who's loss will not be widely lamented

is the common, or garden, or novelty ashtray.

Our house used to be full to overflowing with them

and now not a single one remains

even in the guise of a pin tray.

 

All gone - Alas, Alack and Away.