The Table part 1

The table stood there groaning under the weight of the food laid out upon it's surface.
It wasn't the first time in it's long and illustrious life that a feast had been laid on it's surface and the table seriously doubted it would be the last. In fact it knew it wouldn't be.

The table wondered who would be present at this feast today.
It could hear the chatter of the woman, whose house he now occupied.
How many women had there been now?

There was the very first women back in the 1930's when the table was first conceived.
She was a lovely tiny woman called Vera, who was the aunt, but not a real one to the woman who he lived with today.

Vera her name was and a newly married Irish Catholic girl, who had lived in Southampton with her docker husband for a little over 6months when she first came across the table.
Bert had been born and bred in Southampton and had followed his Father into the docks, in a long held tradition of Father and Son dock workers.

Vera, had found the table in the city centre sitting in the window of a swanky shop.
It had been love at first site for the both of them and Vera had brought her husband Bert along to the shop in order to introduce them.

Bert and the table had soon got the measure of each other.
Bert had ran his large shovel like, honest rough, working man's hands over the top of the table.
Had sat at the head of the table, murmured that with the two flaps that could be pulled out, this was certainly a table a man and his family could grow into.
Bert very much liked the clean masculine lines of the table, the beautiful oak and dark stain of the table.
Bert nodded his approval to Vera of the table and declared that this table would be a piece of furniture a man could be proud to have in his home and break bread with his sons and daughters to come.

Vera smiled, patted the table and whispered," I'm so going to love you, you'll see."
The table knew this to be true and could see the days of feasts and family and fun to come.
Vera, could see white linen table clothes and napkins, her mother's silver and her Grandmother's white crockery. She could see the table heaving with food and surrounded by her sons and daughters to.

On the way home Vera and Bert stopped outside the shop and stared into the window at the table. The table for it's part took in the measure of the young couple, it had, had grander ideas of where it would eventually find a home, but there was something about this tiny Irish Catholic girl and her big rough docker husband who had hands like a shovel.
She had a sweet nature and he had a steely gruff nature, but they complimented each other so perfectly, that they put the table in mind of salt and pepper shakers, "you can't have one with out the other" the table thought and it was content to be going home with the young couple.

The table happily lived with the couple, they often had friends and Bert's family over for meals and feasts and although all three of them were happy living side by side and enjoying each others company there was a shadow hanging over their happiness.
Despite the years and the physical love between the couple, no children had emerged from their union.

The Second World War came along and there were times because they lived so close to the docks, when the bombs rained down from above and on the odd occasion the couple had to hide under the table, as there hadn't been enough warning for them to make it to the bomb shelters.
The table stood fast, silently vowing to protect the couple he had come to be so fond of.

One day the table found itself being carried out of the house and away from the couple it had come to think of as friends and was fond of.
It felt confused and could not understand what was going on around it.
Suddenly it was thrust into a noisy home with lots of people, children and ways that the table at first couldn't understand.

TO BE CONTINUED>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>