‘It wasn’t easy for her to make the change, but she didn’t
let it show – she became a lady.’  (Nancy Cliff, niece)

Was it gene bred, the Wedgwood brand, date-stamp
six generation back, or did you snag
the boss’s eye, all things evolved from that,
your taste buds fed on deco trysts abroad,
those jazzy sunshine glazes, L’Art Moderne,
triangles, flowers, swirls? You rode world-wide
through the Depression, never Woolies, much
too dear for folk where cash was scarce as shoes
for nippers’ feet, back in the bottled smoke.
His wife proscribed all mention of your name
until she died. Bazooka girls knew, hugged
their whispers to themselves. You married late,
moved out to Chetwynd House, posh arts ‘n’ crafts,
played Jekyll to his Lutyens-like estate.

Bizarre Affair is a post from: Pif Magazine