The St Magnus Festival, which runs over Midsummer in Orkney, has had the Stromness poet George Mackay Brown as one of its inspirational figures from the start.

Here is one of his most engaging and approachable poems, with, perhaps, echoes of the Irish folk song, “Twas on a Monday morning when I beheld my darling.” His mother here plays the affectionate central role.

The poem was first published in The Herald in 1996.

                         THE MOTHER

On Monday morning she stood at the wooden wash-tub,

Suds to the elbow,

A slave among the storm-gray shirts and sheets.

~

Tuesday, she pegged the washing high –

The garden a galleon in a gale!

Then lamplight, the iron, the crisp sun-smelling folds.

~

The rooms thrummed with Gaelic rhythms,

A low monotone, on a Wednesday

(And every day), ancient Celtic work-spells.

~

She was never free like the lipsticked shop-girls

On Thursday afternoon; all her tasks

Were like bluebells in a jar on the window-sill.

~

On Friday she rose above textures of oat and barley

Into the paradise of cakes.

I licked cream from the wooden spoon.

~

Saturday night, I followed her basket and purse.

The grocer, silver-spectacled, was king

Of the apples, cheeses, syrup, sweetie-jars, cloves.

~

We sat, seven, in the high pew on Sunday.

After the psalms, her paper poke

Made sweet thunders all through the sermon.