23 DECEMBER 1989, Page 71

The Present

He stepped into the room, permitted, Seen, not heard, His father stood With glass in hand but sober-suited: Mother, has the boy been good?

I think he has. Her voice came faintly From the long sofa where she sat Between the aunt no one called Auntie And the uncle who'd seen to that.

So, he shall have his present. Something Rustled in a dark recess Then silence, and then whispering, Then sudden light, then there it was — The rocking horse, magnificent, With stirrups, reins, a crimson bow Tied round the saddle — heaven-sent To prove the love they could not show.

He took one step, then dared another, Folded his hands and bowed his head: Thank you father. Thank you mother. Thank you. That was all he said.

John Mole