Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE SHIRT, by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE SHIRT, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ay, lass, the shirt's for will
Last Line: I'll always hear...


Scene: A room in tenements, near the railway. CAROLINE
ALDER sits by the fire, sewing. ISA GREY is standing
near her, gazing at the blaze. The clank and rumble
of wagons being shunted sounds loudly through the night-air.

CAROLINE. Ay, lass, the shirt's for Will;
I'll not be sorry when it's finished,
Though it's the last I'll make for him.
ISA. The last?
CAROLINE. You'll make the next, I trust.
You surely don't expect, my girl,
I'll still be making for him, when he's married?
You're much mistaken...
ISA. Nay!...
But, when you said the last, somehow...
CAROLINE. The very last!
And well I mind the first I made,
Or ever he was born,
Nigh twenty year ago;
And I was but a lass, like you;
And, as I sewed it, by the fire,
His father sat and watched me; and we talked...
We talked of him...
His father always hoped 'twould be a boy;
And yet, before he came
To wear the shirt, I'd made for him...
ISA. His father never saw him?
CAROLINE. Nay; he'd not leave his engine,
Although the fireman leapt...
[A pause.]
But 'twas a dainty shirt!
For I had eyes in those days,
And nimble fingers too --
You never saw the like.
Why, this would make a score of it;
He's grown a bit since then!
See, what a neck and shoulders --
His father's, to an inch!
You'll have your work set...
ISA. Yes, it's big enough.
CAROLINE. He's just his father's spit and image;
And he's his father, in more ways than one.
I've never had a wrong word from his lips.
However things have gone with him,
He always comes in just as he went out.
You're lucky, lass, as I was...
Though I...
And now I've made his shirts for twenty year,
Just twenty year, come Michaelmas.
He's aye slept snugly in my handiwork.
At one time, I could scarce keep pace with him;
He sprouted up so quickly;
And every year, I've had to cut them bigger,
Till now that he's a man, fullgrown...
And still, to-night, somehow, I almost wish
That I was hemming baby-shirts again,
His father, sitting by me, as I sewed...
But you will soon be stitching, lass...
ISA. I wonder...
How clearly we can hear the trains, to-night!
CAROLINE. Perhaps the air is frosty;
Though I have always seemed to hear them clearer
Since ... since his father...
ISA. I hate to hear them clanking.
CAROLINE. Ay, lass; but you'll get used to it,
Before you've lived here long.
I couldn't sleep at night without it now.
Once, when I stayed at Mary's,
I could not sleep a wink...
The quiet seemed so queer...
I missed the clank...
ISA. I never shall get used to it.
I hate that clanking...
I wish that Will would leave the shunting...
CAROLINE. Ay, coupling's chancy work;
But life's a chancy thing, at best.
And other jobs are bad to get;
And he's a steady lad.
ISA. Yet, if he slipped!
CAROLINE. There's little fear of him;
He's always been surefooted, from a boy;
And such a nerve!
I've seen him walk the tiles...
ISA. To think that he'll be at it all night long!
CAROLINE. Well, he must take his shift among the rest.
It's hard, at first, to miss your man, at night;
But, wives must needs get used to it.
My man was often gone from me,
The day and night together;
And it was on the night-shift...
He hadn't slept a wink for days,
For he'd been sitting up with me --
The doctor thought I'd scarce pull through --
But he'd to go, and leave me.
I never saw him more.
They'd buried him, and all,
Ere I was out of bed again.
[Pause.]
But, that was long ago --
Nigh twenty year --
And now, his son's a man;
And soon to marry.
There, lass: it's almost done:
I've just one button now...
ISA. I'll sew it on.
I've never done a stitch for him.
CAROLINE. Nay! it's the last I'll make for him:
And no one else must have a hand in it.
You'll have enough to do,
Before you've long been married...
ISA. I wonder...
CAROLINE. Wonder, lass!
What's wrong with you to-night?
You seem so ... why, you're all atremble!
ISA. The trains have stopped...
I cannot hear a sound.
CAROLINE. Ay, lass: it's queer...
But soon they'll start again.
I never knew such quiet...
ISA. That they would all start clanking!
I cannot bear the silence...
CAROLINE. It's time that you were getting home to bed:
You're overwrought to-night.
ISA. I wish I knew...
There's not a sound yet...
CAROLINE. Nay, lass, hark!

[An express thunders by, shaking the houses.]

ISA. Well, I'll be getting home.
Goodnight!
CAROLINE. Goodnight!
There, that's the last stitch done.
Is't not a brave shirt, lass!
It's ready for him when he comes.

[ISA goes out, and down the stairs.]

She's overwrought a bit.
About the time that I was wed...
It's strangely quiet now again...
I never knew...
They must have finished shunting...
Yet...

[She stands, listening, as a hurrying step is heard on
the stairs, and ISA bursts into the room, panting.]

CAROLINE. What's wrong, lass!
ISA. Will! O, Will!
CAROLINE. Speak, woman, speak!
ISA. They're bringing him...
I met them in the street...
O Will! O Will!
CAROLINE. His son ... too...

[CAROLINE picks up the shirt which has fallen from her
hand. They stand silent, waiting: and there is no
sound in the room, until the shunting of wagons starts
again, when ISA puts her fingers to her ears, and
sinks to the ground.]

ISA. 'Twill never stop again;
I'll always hear...





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