Wool on wool on wool.
Mittens made from my father’s socks; holes cut out for thumbs.
Pixie hats made from old jumpers- so so embarrassing!
Scarves tightly wound round neck and waist,
Everything we wore was wool, and so so itchy.
Cold on cold on cold.
Frost on the windows behind thick curtains,
Waiting for pictures to be made.
Coats over blankets and eiderdowns abound.
Hot rag- wrapped bricks to take to bed- anything to keep us warm!
Fire on fire on fire.
Cleaning the grate and laying the fire- jobs to be done that we hate,
But stoking and poking the fire makes the flames come up,
Toasting our bread and our knees
Huddle and cuddle round the fire, hot drinks in our hands
Cocoa is all we desire.