12 JUNE 1993, Page 49

Dressing Mother

I help roll her stockings over her feet, then up to her knees. She's managed her dress but I free her fingers from the sleeves. Before the mirror she rouges her cheeks, combs her thin curls, hands me a bow. It's scarlet and goes on a ribbon I thread under her collar and fix with a hook. Over an hour to dress her today.

Such an innocence stays at the nape of the neck it fumbles my fingers. I see her binding bands of scarlet at the ends of my plaits and fastening the buttons at my back.

Now look — she's dressed as a child off to some party. I straighten her scarlet bow and don't want her to go, don't want her to go.

Diana Hendry