OLD TERRACED HOUSES
My window looks across to an historic terrace of stone residences. Each
of their doors in various shades of paint, have side lights and the
usual fan window atop. The home most visible to me has a grey door, and
a small square porch.
With sunlight bathing this porch one morning, it appeared to me like a
stage setting for a play at the turn of the past century.
I began to picture how people would have looked standing on that very
porch in the past - the ladies in their long full skirts; the gentlemen
in slim fitting trousers and vests. People living in this home likely
would have had adequate means.
I dreamed that this group was gathered to go on a picnic. For, was not
that the cook in the background ready with baskets of provisions to be
packed into the vehicle just arriving, its doors painted a bright
yellow. It was putt-putting toward their place. With a final wheeze and
clank, it settled in front, the driver giving the horn a honk just to be
festive.
Accustomed to wearing their billowing dresses, the ladies seemed to
float down the front stairs. The gentlemen followed quickly, being proud
to hand them into the auto. A spirited young neighbourhood lad hung onto
the tire at the back of the vehicle for a few moments, until the
watchful driver shooed him off.
As soon as they had gone, a small door under the stairway at ground
level opened a crack; then wider. This opening led evidently to where
the cook held forth in the kitchen. She signalled to the lad still
standing on the sidewalk. He came over and she handed him a message to
be delivered. The boy looked pleased, set off, and in a short while
returned to relay a message and receive his few pennies. Now the door
closed, but there was a slight flutter of the curtain at the kitchen
window. In the narrow crack between, a bud vase had been placed.
She was expecting company!
Meanwhile a maid upstairs peeked between the lace curtains to make sure
her employers had really gone. This was her rare chance to have a few
hours to herself. She would likely slip away using the back stairs.
About fifteen minutes later, a grey-haired gentleman, using a cane,
walked steadily along toward the house. He went directly to the cook's
door and knocked. The door swung open at once, and family-style kisses
were exchanged as he entered. Then the curtains fluttered slightly, and
soon they would "be enjoying her freshly-baked scones and jam with tea.
Everyone involved seemed to have received some pleasure or satisfaction,
from this day.
The sun went behind a cloud. The grey porch took on its usual
appearance. Now the ugly plastic white garden chair, so out of keeping,
became obvious again.
The small drama over — I closed my curtains.
by Norma C. Plummer