I was thinking about mermaids, trying to decide how to approach this blog when I realised that the answers I was looking for might just be right in front of me. All four grandchildren come for tea on Mondays, or Mad Mondays, as they are known. Here they were, my cherubs, bursting with the knowledge from the magical world of the under eights and always eager to share what they know and to be helpful.
“Who can tell me what a mermaid is?” I ask.“It’s a fish.” Someone offers.“No, it’s a person with the body of a fish.” Someone else elaborated.
“That’s what I meant.”With an argument about to break out between two of them about what is actually said and what is possibly implied, I intervened, separating the one being laid-back from the one being unusually pedantic.“Never mind, I think I know what you both mean. Does anyone know where they live?” I look round, hoping to engage the younger children but one is glued to something more exciting on the tablet and doesn’t want to waste their ‘turn time’ talking to me and the other one wants to know if tea is ready. The others said, in the sea and on the beach.“Nanna, mermaids aren’t real, you know.”“What? Of course they’re real. There’s a statue of one in Copenhagen. Look at this!” Pretending to be shocked I quickly searched Google for The Mermaid in Copenhagen harbor and gleefully shared the picture as if it’s proof. “There she is.”There was a bit of sniggering about the mermaid having boobs but the main point was that they were sure mermaids are not real. I was sure that they are.“They must be,” I urge, “because, when I was a little girl…”Slight rolling of eyes or glazed look. Either they are not old enough yet for my ‘When I was a little girl’ stories, or they think they have heard enough already. I’m mindful that the nearly seven and nearly six year olds have done a full school day and the little ones have been to nursery so they are tired and they’ve had enough paying attention. I really should be in the kitchen, but they are having this last snippet before I go.“When I was little girl there was a film I really loved called Miranda. It was all about a mermaid called Miranda and she was definitely real.”I told them a little bit about Miranda, what I could remember. Looking back, I don’t know why it appealed to me, it wouldn’t be as funny now and probably wouldn’t interest today’s sophisticated children. I won’t rush to find a DVD. Nothing will convince them that mermaids are real.I made up a tale about a 19th century prostitute who sometimes wore a mermaid’s fish-tail. I won’t share that with my grandchildren, but I wrote a poem which I’ll share with you.
The Lass at The Mermaid Inn
In an attic room at The Mermaid Inn
She brushed her long and lustrous wavy hair
Preparing to entertain men within,
Smoothed fish-net stockings over slender legs
And poured another large pink gin.
She promised Paradise for a shillin’
Her delicate strokes with soft, gentle fingers,
Enough to send her guests a-quiverin’
Tender kiss from rose-bud lips, sweet, hot, moist,
With a subtle taste of pink gin.
Again and again, they keep returnin’
She takes their shillings and gives them her best.
There’s more for an extra tanner thrown in,
Loving and lusting at The Mermaid Inn,
Homesick sailors and more pink gin.
So sometimes, just for a joke and darin’
She would wear her opalescent fish-tail,
Close fitting, tight, a rainbow shimmerin’
Begging to be peeled away so slowly,
She seductively sips pink gin.
PMW 2022
Thanks for reading, Pam x
