I wrote two poems about how my mother became isolated through her contracting polio as a child. In later life there was isolation through her being given a single-person vehicle by the Department of Transport.
INVACAR
(for Avis Lightfoot 1932-79)
Once as ubiquitous as white dog shit;
The invalid carriage was a three-wheeled,
Air-cooled, Greeves motor-cycle engine
Cowled under a fibreglass shell
That was as pale a blue as a hospital gown.
When Mum was given her Invacar
My delight was such, I leapt
Perchance to dream of prime position
At the football grounds of East Lancashire.
And did I for a moment, without thinking,
Envy their access, their comfort and view?
Only to be told that it was a driver-only vehicle
And knowing that Mum was a stickler for the rules.
The Ministry had given her wheels (only three mind!)
She could now get around (by herself!)
So that days out with the family can be enjoyed
Providing they follow on by bus.
My disgust was so much that I begrudged it
Whenever I was asked to clean the thing.
There was one-time when Mum relented
After I’d carried the shopping to the car
Rain cascading down the windscreen
As the lone wiper blade struggled with its burden.
She realised I was faced with the mile-long climb
Up Halifax Road without a raincoat;
So, she slid herself along the track
From passenger’s side to driver’s side
And beckoned me in to the revealing space
To sit contorted and uncomfortable
Among the groceries and oiled runners,
Crouched down, below the window level
All the while, fearful of us getting caught.
©graylightfoot
