Riffing for England

Part Two of Tea with Lime and Treacle (breaking the fourth wall, the author enters the verse)


Prue wide-eyed asleep

Clive sleeping off his mouse

child left to scuff shoes

in woodland playhouse


bored of her play

she smiling turned to me

offered remnants of

their funny little tea


mulberry decoction 

with notes of sweet lime

in cracked china cups

surprisingly sublime


with the meal over

without Clive and Prue

my shy little girl 

didn't know what to do


Shall we have a game?

hopefully, said she 

what shall we play in

my mind's reverie 


battledore and shuttlecock

can we play all night? 

(In American, bitte?)

Oh, badminton, yes 

I suppose that's alright. 


(we now continue this poem as a play between two voices, Author and Child)

C: Why is it bad mitten? 

A: I don't know. Wait, no it's bad-MINTON)

C: Was Mittens bad? Why?

A: No. I don't know. 

C: Or was she wearing mittens while bad?

A: Minton. 

C: Is that different?

A: Yes. In the US. Here, God only knows. 

C: Wouldn't that be hard? 

A: Would what be hard?

C: To play battledore in mittens. 

A: I would imagine so. Wait, mittens don't come into it. When is Prue going to wake up? I need a drink.)

C: My daddy says that a lot when we play. 

A: I believe it. What does you mummy say?

C: Where's my mother's-little-helper. What do you spose that means? She has Millie the upstairs parlor maid, Mrs. Cooke the housekeeper and Mrs. Holmes the Cook. And  Mr. Door the Butler.  And her lady's maid Needles. 

A: HAHAHAHAHA are those their real names? What's the footman called? Please tell me it's Foote. And the Groom is Groome?

C: No, Boot. And Driver. Say, are we going to play or just talk about servants? And you still haven't said who is mummy's helper. Or what your name is. Or why you're writing about me. 

(*still wiping eyes. So she caught on to that, did she?) 

A: No I'm sorry. My name is Marilisa. And to whom do I have the honor of addressing myself?

C: (rolling her tongue around the strange sounding name) M-ayyree-leesuh. Shouldn't you be Lady or Dame or Mrs. some-one-or-other?

A: I Should be a dame, for sure. But what I am is a Mrs. Mrs. Sachteleben. But I guess I'm just used to introducing myself by my first name. Especially with children. It's easier.) 

C: What's a first name? 

A: Sorry, Christian name, or given, I think you call it. But we still haven't been  properly introduced. How shall I call you?

C: (drawing herself up to her full 36 inches) I am Lady Marie (Mahree) Elise Catherine Frances Eugenie Charlotte Georgina Mont-joy. 

A: Well hello to all of you, my ladies! *many giggles* and what does milady prefer to be called?

C: Poppy! 

A: Perfect. Why may I ask?

C: I just like it. 

A: Fair enough. I tried to get people to call me Ginger like Gilligan's Island, when they couldn't pronounce my name. It didn't stick for a lot of reasons. But Poppy it is. Pleased to meet you!

C: What's Gillie-gun  Island? Is that like a Scottish gamekeeper? And what did you say your surname is, like Zachtuhlayben?

A: My god girl, spot on pronunciation! My own extended family gets it wrong. I see a career as professional interpreter for you! As for Gilligan we got a lot a splaining to do! You do have TV, right?

C: Tea Vea? Like tea I had with Prue? 

(I had forgotten she didn't know that I knew about her and Prue. Because I had written them into existence. And I didn't even know when I had set them. Judging by the mother's little helper references, it was sometime around when the Stones were a thing. But that's presupposing because that song was based on an older cultural drug phenomenon. And I'd not really looked at her dress, as in costume. 

So I did now and kiss-me-quick-and-go-my-hunny it was like 19-naughties or teens at a guess. Maybe older. How did I miss that? Do a mental rewind-reset and fast. 

A: Yes, Poppy, Tea Vea is bevvie you can drink. It's also form of transportation, kind of like a dirigible or a aeroplane. Or even a locomotive which takes a train back to the station it came from.

C: *beginning to look at my attire* You don't come from now time do you? You come from a time that has been or has yet to come. 

A: It would seem so --and Sharp girl! I knew there was a reason I should like you. 

(thought bubble here, should I say where I'm from or ask her where she's from? Would that warp the time-shift continuum thingy?)


C: So you do know me? How? (ow, ow, echo, echo, echo)

(what is with the weird reverb going on here?)  

A: I don't know if do. But I'm glad I do! Now how about some Battledore and Shuttlecock, Poppy? And yes, we can play all night. 

C: Yippee! 

(to be continued)









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