Christopher Hassall

Mrs Moffat

Mrs Moffat sold tomatoes, Postal orders, ginger pop, There was hardly any village – But she ran the village shop, ‘Clouding over’, she would say. ‘Well we need a bit of rain,’ She had ten bob on the Derby And the weather on the brain! But she pottered and she prattled And was something of a bore, Yet we’re missing Mrs Moffat At the supermarket store. Now a wall of glass, illuminated For spectacular display, Has usurped her little window Which has had its little day. Where she beamed across the counter Having done her best to cope, You may saunter now in silence Round a pyramid of soap. Gone the prattle, gone the muddle, Gone the tinkle at the door, It’s all too superhuman At the supermarket store. Ah! The pastries and detergents In extravagant supply – You emerge with more than double That you ever meant to buy. Here’s exactly what you wanted, So it hardly matters much If the only missing item Is the common human touch. Not a syllable of gossip, Not a murmur, nothing more, I can’t help missing Mrs Moffat At the supermarket store.