Henley Street
Stratford
February 1
Suum—nun—nonny, the wind said, as my father and I worked in his glover’s shop, quiet hours, among the many kinds of leather, sheepskin, goat, kid, lamb, pigskin, coltskin, doeskin, buckskin. In his tiers of drawers were the pontifical gloves, liturgical gloves, gloves for dignitaries, ladies’ gloves, wedding gloves...
A bird sang in its cage by the door.
Between the opening and closing of the shop we talked pleasantly or waited on customers with consideration:
We talked of Rocco Bonetti, the great London fencing master, and his fencing school; we talked of the snail and how it shrinks in its house when hit, or sits in the shade of its shell; we chatted about spears and helmets and mottos like Non Sanz Droict, his favorite; we talked of great castles, like Kenilworth, and their ghosts; we talked of kings and how to catch larks with a mirror and scraps of red cloth...the buzz of our talk was a good buzz.
So, another memory!
Candlemas