Listen to Ann’s poem The House in Highgate now – just press on the link below.

The House in Highgate

Peter Pan had a lot to answer for!

We were always sliding down the polished

banisters and leaping off at the last minute

in our everlasting efforts to fly.

We spent half our lives on the stairs,

creating stories about the paintings

that hung from floor t ceiling in the hall.

Listening to the chip-chip-chipping

of the wood in father’s workshop,

as he made his marionettes

The whizz and whirr of mother’s Singer

sewing seams for debutants dresses.

Real boredom had us mimicking

arguments outside auntie and uncles door.

Mother would have had a fit is she had known

as we rushed and locked ourselves in the lavatory.

Auntie advanced demanding apologies.

Too late, we were balanced on the pan

and then leaping out of the tiny window

into the security of the garden.

How I loved that house.