My Mother's Hands

The photographs were taken by Paul Lynch and Susie Wright.

At ninety three, a photograph of my mothers hands was used to decorate the "2009 The Blue Mountain Food Services calendar" a seniors calendar in Australia.


These are the hands I know and love
I’ve seen them all my life,
They’ve changed of course as time has passed
Through happiness and strife,
And even though its been a while
Since last I held them tight,
I’d recognize them at a glance
Yes, I’d know them on sight.

These are the hands my father knew
Before I was conceived,
That drew him close and clasped him
When his love was received.
They wore the ring he gave her
In the small church in Torquay,
To have and hold from that day forth
No matter what may be.

These are the hands that changed me
When I was but a babe,
The hands that cleaned and bathed me
And held me when we prayed,
And comforted when I was sad
Or bruised or cut or hurt
Or when my knees were bleeding
And covered up with dirt.

They kneaded up the baking dough,
Rolled and cut the pastry
They crimped the meat and veggies in
To make a Cornish pasty.
They stirred and beat the cream
Until the butter left the whey,
These hands did the cooking
That fed us every day.

When the night was falling
These hands tucked us into bed,
They held the prayer or story book
From which my mother read.
And should our sleep be restless
From the living room we’d hear
The plucking of guitar strings
And singing sweet and clear.

These hands dabbed the tears
When our father went away,
They scrubbed and scraped, and typed
And nursed, to keep the wolf at bay.
They washed and ironed our clothing
And should time allow they might
Tinkle out some Chopin
From the ivories at night.

These are the hands I know and love
I’ve seen them all my life,
They’ve changed of course as time has passed
Through happiness and strife,
And though I can not see them
I know that at the end
They will be there in Heaven
When I take the final bend.


Frances McLeod 93 years b. Circular Quay, New South Wales