Inspired by Miss Smith. Today two stories fror the price of one.

I take the title and inspiration for this first story from Stevie Smith's poem, 'Croft.' I will not claim it is a work of genius (or is it?) but I expect you might remember it for a while; the second story is inspired by another poem by Smith, 'Not Waving but Drowning.'

Dedicated to some poetic ladies: Sarah, Katie, Kate, Susie, Susan, Vicky, Janet and Izzy the small dog. I'm glad you all came to my poetry classes -- a marathon from November to June. Thank you.

Aloft 

In the loft,

Sits Croft;

He is soft.

Poor old Croft. The fool on the hill - laughed at as a child by the other boys because, not only was he a bit slow at his work but, well, he had two left feet when it came to playing football. Still, though, his mother shed a tear for him and, well, Croft plugged on. This boy was gauche socially, never quite made it with the girls when he was a teenager, but he was brave enough to ask them out anyway. Even if the less sweet ones snickered while he blushed and wished he could run away. And again his mother shed a tear for him; his father, by the way, said nothing and carried on with his woodworking and Croft, all fingers and thumbs, tried to help him. Poor Old Croft. Sometimes he wanted to shed a tear, too. But he just plugged away, getting the measurements wrong and getting in the way. And then, eventually, he was all grown up and sitting up there in the loft of the barn.

Ah, but reader, that's not where it ends. Did you think that he had nothing but lazy feet and a fuzzy head? It's all in the plugging away and the kind tear of a devoted mother. My goodness, how it hurt her to see him fail in the eyes of others. But then, can you picture him sitting up there in the loft? Croft built that barn, you see; got there in the end. And it was beautiful and all the more so for its integral flaws, hard to avoid for soft Croft. And it lasted and lasted. The barn is still there. And Croft isn't really the silly boy-man to be laughed at. Remember that the fool on the hill might be the one who sees the world in its clearest, most luminous state and that, one day, he might get the girl, too. Tenderly, in the soft hay of the loft.

P.S: if you happened to find Stevie Smith's drawing to go with this poem, you'd see she had thought of something else! So, I'll leave that one to you.

poem copyright Stevie Smith: 1903-1971.