The house was quiet now, but it was not peaceful. The heated words between her husband and son were still echoing around the room desperate to escape. Both men had gone now, but the atmosphere lingered and seeped into Sarah's every pore, ran through her veins and attacked her heart like a chemical burning away at the surface. She rocked gently as she sat on the edge of the sofa, her arms hugging her chest as if to protect her heart from further pain. Her left hand stroked her right arm, softly, gently, offering a gesture of comfort. Her mother used to do that, stroke her when she became upset as a child, but she was alone now and her body seemed to instintivley try and comfort itself. The quietness of the room was lost to her, her mind was struggling to contain the flashes of harsh words spat in anger between the two men she loved. Her shoulders stiffened as if the reflex would somehow stop the tears burning behind her eyes. The rain lashed against the lounge window and Sarah wondered briefly whether Sam had taken a coat when he had stormed out of the house rather than raise his fist to his son. He would come back she knew that, and she knew why he'd gone, but he always just left her when she needed him, needed his arms around her. The floorboards above her creaked under the footsteps of her son James walking across the landing to the bathroom, probably to throw his guts up down the toilet. She wanted desperately to go up to him as she would have when he was a little boy, then she would have held him close to her and stroked his forehead until he fell asleep, safely in her arms. Now, they didn't touch, oh they were close, but they didn't touch, not anymore. Not since his grandfather had told James he must be a 'girl' still wanting a hug from his mother. Sarah understood, but understanding did not give her comfort. As she tried to remember the last time they had hugged each other,the tears that had been building behind her eyes began to fall.
.
.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
SAME SHOPPING - JUST DIFFERENT DAYS
After she got promotion
Normally she hated supermarket shopping, but today was different. She had already collected a dozen items and the shop was not too busy. As the basket became too heavy for her, Jodie left it on the floor by the toilet rolls and went back outside to get a trolley. Returning back to it, she transferred the items carefully so as not to bruise the strawberries and bananas. Realising where she was, amongst the toilet tissue, she thought it funny that maybe one of those rolls may find themselves up her ex boss’s ass! It made her laugh aloud as she then pictured her supervisor at work as a toilet roll! Smiling to herself she moved on to get some ice cream to go with the strawberries, picked up the vanilla soft scoop, returned it and chose Walls Cornish instead, it was a ‘no contest’ choice. They had said that to her at work today when they offered her promotion, she was the best person for the job, that there was no competition that could have beaten her, no contest. She had won the prize of getting out of that office and got a pay increase! She smiled again seeing herself as Cornish ice cream, tanned and rich against the cheap white soft scoop! Laughing to herself at the analogies she had made, she took her shopping to the miserable looking girl at the checkout, knowing nothing could dampen her mood today.
After he dumped her
She hated supermarket and today was no different. The basket full of items weighed her down and made her ache even more than she did already. She went back to the front of the store, got a trolley and then squashed the strawberries as she was repacking the things from her basket. Taking them back to replace the punnet for a new one, she stopped to pick up some toilet tissue. There was an offer of a puppy with any pack of twelve quilted rolls and she picked two packs up and hooked them to the front of the trolley. Then she took two beige puppies from the display and wiped her tears with one of the paws. They were just the same as his dogs when they were tiny, when they jumped all over the two of them as they curled beneath the white goose down quilt he had bought her as a surprise. But now she would never feel her body entwined in his, or see the dogs again and her heart was breaking. Soft quilts, puppies, who would have thought that so many painfull memories could be awoken because of a toilet roll offer. She picked up some value vanilla soft scoop ice cream on the way to the checkout. She normally had Cornish ice cream, but today she picked the cheap stuff. Cheap, that was how he had made her feel, cheap, just like the ice cream.
Normally she hated supermarket shopping, but today was different. She had already collected a dozen items and the shop was not too busy. As the basket became too heavy for her, Jodie left it on the floor by the toilet rolls and went back outside to get a trolley. Returning back to it, she transferred the items carefully so as not to bruise the strawberries and bananas. Realising where she was, amongst the toilet tissue, she thought it funny that maybe one of those rolls may find themselves up her ex boss’s ass! It made her laugh aloud as she then pictured her supervisor at work as a toilet roll! Smiling to herself she moved on to get some ice cream to go with the strawberries, picked up the vanilla soft scoop, returned it and chose Walls Cornish instead, it was a ‘no contest’ choice. They had said that to her at work today when they offered her promotion, she was the best person for the job, that there was no competition that could have beaten her, no contest. She had won the prize of getting out of that office and got a pay increase! She smiled again seeing herself as Cornish ice cream, tanned and rich against the cheap white soft scoop! Laughing to herself at the analogies she had made, she took her shopping to the miserable looking girl at the checkout, knowing nothing could dampen her mood today.
After he dumped her
She hated supermarket and today was no different. The basket full of items weighed her down and made her ache even more than she did already. She went back to the front of the store, got a trolley and then squashed the strawberries as she was repacking the things from her basket. Taking them back to replace the punnet for a new one, she stopped to pick up some toilet tissue. There was an offer of a puppy with any pack of twelve quilted rolls and she picked two packs up and hooked them to the front of the trolley. Then she took two beige puppies from the display and wiped her tears with one of the paws. They were just the same as his dogs when they were tiny, when they jumped all over the two of them as they curled beneath the white goose down quilt he had bought her as a surprise. But now she would never feel her body entwined in his, or see the dogs again and her heart was breaking. Soft quilts, puppies, who would have thought that so many painfull memories could be awoken because of a toilet roll offer. She picked up some value vanilla soft scoop ice cream on the way to the checkout. She normally had Cornish ice cream, but today she picked the cheap stuff. Cheap, that was how he had made her feel, cheap, just like the ice cream.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
SIXPENCE ! 1959
.
Can I have ...
Eight of them
Six of them
Four of them
One of them
And two of them
Oh, and one of them then
Sixpence
Yeh, me granddad give it me
Bye
Eight black jacks
Six fruit salads
Four flying saucers
One sherbert dip
Two raspberry pips
And one lichorice stick
Down back alley
Friends
Come and play
They like me
On me own now
Playin'
With me jacks
And marbles
A Sixpence Mum?
No ...
On the fridge?
Eight of them
Six of them
Four of them
One of them
And two of them
Oh, and one of them then
Sixpence
Yeh, me granddad give it me
Bye
Eight black jacks
Six fruit salads
Four flying saucers
One sherbert dip
Two raspberry pips
And one lichorice stick
Down back alley
Friends
Come and play
They like me
On me own now
Playin'
With me jacks
And marbles
A Sixpence Mum?
No ...
On the fridge?
I 'aint seen it
.
.
one sixpence = 2.5p
.
NEW JOB IN AN OLD SETTING
‘Gosh, this feels strange, I feel like a fraud in this uniform. I don’t know anything’ said Pam nervously as she walked down the corridor towards the day room. The grubby green emulsioned walls offered a fragile sense of a natural setting, and smirking faces stared up from the wood block flooring in contradiction.
‘Well, they won’t know that. They will just see the badge and think you know everything!’ replied Julie with a smile.
‘Yeh, but it’s really strange’ continued Pam ‘The last time I was in here was twelve years ago and I never thought I would be here in a nurse’s uniform.’
‘Come on, big breath and here we go, a couple of sick minds to the rescue!’ said Julie as she pushed open the door to the day room. One of the long side walls was broken by six sash windows; years of over painting making them draught proof. Each window fell from the ceiling like huge a waterfall as the rain crashed against the glass, and then appeared to settle on radiators which looked like ridiculous oversized yellowing teeth glaring from a menacing smile. Brown fibre glass curtains with fiery orange psychedelic swirls hung at the windows offering an alternative reason for having a headache, as they clashed against the familiar sickly green emulsioned walls. It was just as Pam remembered it. She looked around the room at the empty drugged faces and shivered. ‘I am really not sure I can do this.’ she thought.
The grey carpet was still discoloured with an intricate map of individual encounters of coffee, cigarette burns, urine and chewing gum. The old black leather sofa still sat beneath the far window with a collection of odd chairs huddled around it. Pam remembered sitting there listening to Neil Diamond singing Porcupine Pie on the stereo while she had been crying one night, and Brian, the charge nurse, had made her a cup of cocoa. "Leave enough room for desert, Chicken ripple Ice cream". She remembered wondering why Neil Diamond was not in the unit with her if he wrote lyrics like that to songs. A coffee table now separated the furniture and was strewn with an incomplete pack of playing cards and few chipped mugs.
‘Another new lot again then’ said one of the patients to no-one in particular, while a cigarette perched warily between her lips ‘Always new bloody faces. They’ll want me name next, for the hundredth bloody time this month. Well, what you looking at then?’ she continued vaguely directing her words towards the girls.
Pam felt her heart skip a beat and her chest tighten as if it was an elastic band ball. She knew that some of these people had been in this unit for years and remembered being afraid once that she might end up the same. Now she was here on different terms, opposite terms, and she was not sure how her head was going to cope with the change. No-one would know her on this ward as it was short stay ward where no-one stayed longer than six months.
‘Ah, good morning girls’ called the Sister from the office door ‘Come on in, we are just about to do handover so you are just in time.’ Pam and Julie followed the navy uniform into a small compact office. There was barely enough room for its current occupants of Sister and the other nurses already sat in two of the small shabby chairs.
The girls nervously sat in the vacant chairs under the window. The small cracked window panes implied that they had long ago surrendered to forgotten screams from the adjoining room.
Although handover went smoothly, Pam found it difficult to remember which illness was related to which patient and felt overwhelmed by the whole process. She was given two patients to get acquainted with; Robert, who was struggling with his voices telling him to eat all the magazines, and Audrey, who had had a nervous breakdown.
Checking her name badge was still pinned to her uniform, Pam left the office and made her way to Audrey who was sat at a large Formica table staring at a part completed jigsaw puzzle nestling between several ash trays bearing the remains of multiple moments of denied relief.
‘Here goes girl. You can do this, you really can.’ she coaxed herself as she walked across the room.
.
.
‘Well, they won’t know that. They will just see the badge and think you know everything!’ replied Julie with a smile.
‘Yeh, but it’s really strange’ continued Pam ‘The last time I was in here was twelve years ago and I never thought I would be here in a nurse’s uniform.’
‘Come on, big breath and here we go, a couple of sick minds to the rescue!’ said Julie as she pushed open the door to the day room. One of the long side walls was broken by six sash windows; years of over painting making them draught proof. Each window fell from the ceiling like huge a waterfall as the rain crashed against the glass, and then appeared to settle on radiators which looked like ridiculous oversized yellowing teeth glaring from a menacing smile. Brown fibre glass curtains with fiery orange psychedelic swirls hung at the windows offering an alternative reason for having a headache, as they clashed against the familiar sickly green emulsioned walls. It was just as Pam remembered it. She looked around the room at the empty drugged faces and shivered. ‘I am really not sure I can do this.’ she thought.
The grey carpet was still discoloured with an intricate map of individual encounters of coffee, cigarette burns, urine and chewing gum. The old black leather sofa still sat beneath the far window with a collection of odd chairs huddled around it. Pam remembered sitting there listening to Neil Diamond singing Porcupine Pie on the stereo while she had been crying one night, and Brian, the charge nurse, had made her a cup of cocoa. "Leave enough room for desert, Chicken ripple Ice cream". She remembered wondering why Neil Diamond was not in the unit with her if he wrote lyrics like that to songs. A coffee table now separated the furniture and was strewn with an incomplete pack of playing cards and few chipped mugs.
‘Another new lot again then’ said one of the patients to no-one in particular, while a cigarette perched warily between her lips ‘Always new bloody faces. They’ll want me name next, for the hundredth bloody time this month. Well, what you looking at then?’ she continued vaguely directing her words towards the girls.
Pam felt her heart skip a beat and her chest tighten as if it was an elastic band ball. She knew that some of these people had been in this unit for years and remembered being afraid once that she might end up the same. Now she was here on different terms, opposite terms, and she was not sure how her head was going to cope with the change. No-one would know her on this ward as it was short stay ward where no-one stayed longer than six months.
‘Ah, good morning girls’ called the Sister from the office door ‘Come on in, we are just about to do handover so you are just in time.’ Pam and Julie followed the navy uniform into a small compact office. There was barely enough room for its current occupants of Sister and the other nurses already sat in two of the small shabby chairs.
The girls nervously sat in the vacant chairs under the window. The small cracked window panes implied that they had long ago surrendered to forgotten screams from the adjoining room.
Although handover went smoothly, Pam found it difficult to remember which illness was related to which patient and felt overwhelmed by the whole process. She was given two patients to get acquainted with; Robert, who was struggling with his voices telling him to eat all the magazines, and Audrey, who had had a nervous breakdown.
Checking her name badge was still pinned to her uniform, Pam left the office and made her way to Audrey who was sat at a large Formica table staring at a part completed jigsaw puzzle nestling between several ash trays bearing the remains of multiple moments of denied relief.
‘Here goes girl. You can do this, you really can.’ she coaxed herself as she walked across the room.
.
.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
SUNDAYS AT THE BEACH - 1965
This was written immediately after a counselling session with a Cruse counsellor. We were discussing what I considered to be normal for a child and ...
She said it might put things into perspective if I could see things as if they had happened to
someone else, rather than to me.
Would I be angry if some told me that when they were twelve their dad had taken her and her sister to the beach with his secretary and ...
Mum had stayed at home, too depressed to go out.
Didn't know the secretary went instead.
Dad had said it was a secret, not to tell mum, it would make her ill.
But she wasn't hurting her mum.
He was.
She went to the beach.
With her little sister.
To look after her.
That is her job.
To take care of her.
They had only had her to keep her company.
Dad had told her that.
'She is your responsibility' he had said
And she believed him.
So she must make sure she doesn't get hurt.
She is only ten.
At the beach the secretary undresses into her bikini.
Gaudy clashing flowers.
Not enough material, way too much flesh.
Her dad's hands stroke sun tan oil over her stomach
Inside her bikini top. Why?
Must get away.
Wants to be sick.
The bulge in her dad's swimming trunks, what is that?
Must go and get an ice cream, must get away.
This is wrong, mum is at home.
They should be with her.
Secretary touching him now, his thighs, his eyes have gone strange.
Must get away now.
Get the ice cream.
Go for a walk.
Collect shells.
Paddle.
Not look back.
It's a secret, dad's little secret.
Now it has to be our secret.
From mum.
Words nearly the same, secret and secretary ...
How weird.
The counsellor let me share lots of 'childhood moments' like this and the conclusion I came to was that even if I saw it as normal, it should have been different.
She said it might put things into perspective if I could see things as if they had happened to
someone else, rather than to me.
Would I be angry if some told me that when they were twelve their dad had taken her and her sister to the beach with his secretary and ...
Mum had stayed at home, too depressed to go out.
Didn't know the secretary went instead.
Dad had said it was a secret, not to tell mum, it would make her ill.
But she wasn't hurting her mum.
He was.
She went to the beach.
With her little sister.
To look after her.
That is her job.
To take care of her.
They had only had her to keep her company.
Dad had told her that.
'She is your responsibility' he had said
And she believed him.
So she must make sure she doesn't get hurt.
She is only ten.
At the beach the secretary undresses into her bikini.
Gaudy clashing flowers.
Not enough material, way too much flesh.
Her dad's hands stroke sun tan oil over her stomach
Inside her bikini top. Why?
Must get away.
Wants to be sick.
The bulge in her dad's swimming trunks, what is that?
Must go and get an ice cream, must get away.
This is wrong, mum is at home.
They should be with her.
Secretary touching him now, his thighs, his eyes have gone strange.
Must get away now.
Get the ice cream.
Go for a walk.
Collect shells.
Paddle.
Not look back.
It's a secret, dad's little secret.
Now it has to be our secret.
From mum.
Words nearly the same, secret and secretary ...
How weird.
The counsellor let me share lots of 'childhood moments' like this and the conclusion I came to was that even if I saw it as normal, it should have been different.
RESPITE 1978 - WORKPLACE 1991 .................. Little difference
.
OU Activity 6.6 Part 1 Description of my workplace 1991
OU Activity 6.6 Part 1 Description of my workplace 1991
The office is compact, just enough room for five small shabby chairs and an old well worn oak desk. Two chairs sit under the window leaning against a much painted Victorian radiator, now yellowed and peeling from the constant heat it used to generate into the room. Now it is cold and a cheap electric convector heater sits against the opposite wall waiting to one day be of service. The small cracked window panes imply that they gave in under long forgotten screams from the adjoining room. The window looks out over the roses proudly basking in the summer sun. Beyond the roses, ancient conifers screen the old vegetable gardens, now a haven for wild flowers and nettles. On the wall behind the desk is a cork notice board covered in messages that are now history required by no-one.
Back through the office door is the day room, the long wall broken by six sash windows, years of over painting making them draught proof. Each window falls from the ceiling and settles on radiators looking like ridiculous oversized yellowing teeth glaring from a menacing smile. Brown fibre glass curtains with fiery orange psychedelic swirls hang at the windows offer an alternative reason for having a headache, as they clash against the sickly green emulsioned walls. The grey carpet is discoloured with an intricate map of individual encounters of coffee, cigarette burns, urine and chewing gum. An old black leather sofa sits beneath another window with a collection of odd chairs huddled around it. A coffee table separates them, strewn with an incomplete pack of playing cards and couple of chipped mugs.
Two large Formica tables sit, one each end of the room, one with a part completed jigsaw and several ash trays bearing the remains of multiple moments of denied relief. The other bearing the scars of biro etched graffiti, harsh gifts from tension filled fingers, and abuse from cigarettes smoking themselves to death while resting on the side of the table.
A TV sits besides the fire exit on a long ago discarded mahogany desk. A dishevelled row of half a dozen grubby grey moulded plastic chairs line before it expectantly, waiting for the motley audience to occupy them at the designated hour. The heavy wooden glass topped door besides the fire exit is closed. The sign hung over the brass door handle warns that unauthorised entry is not permitted between the hours of 10am to 6pm. Through the door window can be seen two rows of twelve made up beds covered in faded pale blue bedspreads, and separated by personal lockers; each one the same, but each one housing a different secret.
Everything around these rooms seems to have held a tight grip on both the past and the present and refuses to let go to offer any sort of future. Ghosts of the past still occupy the whole place suffocating and adding to the burdens of the current visitors. They curl themselves around everything as if letting anything go will release a tension far too great for the coping of any human being. And yet outside, horse chestnut trees willingly strip naked to feed the blades of grass patiently awaiting their autumn breakfast.
My Comments - NO SOUNDS, NO SMELL I need to include them next ...
to be continued
COFFEE,TOAST AND THREE PARACETAMOL
Coffee, toast and three paracetamol.
Is that all you can offer after that outburst?
You're the reason I've got this damn headache.
And you know I don't drink coffee or take paracetamol.
Or don't you know.
I've been telling you for years.
But that doesn't mean you've heard, does it.
Who does hear me, who cares anyway?
But don't get me started on that 'who cares' stuff.
In fact, don't get me started.
Leave me alone.
Give me some space.
Stop suffocating me.
I need to breathe, to live my life, my very own life.
Not yours, not anyone elses, but mine.
Make my own mistakes.
Find my own way.
Claim my own life.
Not live what you chose for me.
How can you know what I need, what I want, what my dreams are.
You don't hear me.
You give me coffee
and paracetamol.
Is that all you can offer after that outburst?
You're the reason I've got this damn headache.
And you know I don't drink coffee or take paracetamol.
Or don't you know.
I've been telling you for years.
But that doesn't mean you've heard, does it.
Who does hear me, who cares anyway?
But don't get me started on that 'who cares' stuff.
In fact, don't get me started.
Leave me alone.
Give me some space.
Stop suffocating me.
I need to breathe, to live my life, my very own life.
Not yours, not anyone elses, but mine.
Make my own mistakes.
Find my own way.
Claim my own life.
Not live what you chose for me.
How can you know what I need, what I want, what my dreams are.
You don't hear me.
You give me coffee
and paracetamol.
O O O
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
MY BROTHER - 1958
I told my teacher
And my friends
About my brother
He's brand new
His pram is white
With a black hood
And a rose picture
Stuck on the side
It has big wheels
Like a go cart
I have to tippy-toe
To see inside
My baby brother
Smiles at me
Shares my room
And my teddies
I really love him
He's all mine
I tell my teacher
All about him
Mum came to school
To see my work
My teacher asked
About our baby
My mum’s real mad
Said I told a big lie
I can’t go out to play
For a whole week
She hasn’t told my dad
But she will tonight
But it weren’t a lie
I want one
.
.
.
EMPTY VESSELS
You want to speak do you, to say something.
Do you really think that you have something worthwhile to say, something that I would want to hear.
Are you that stupid?
Have you not listened to a word I have said to you?
You have no opinion that is worth voicing, no-one wants to hear what you have to say.
Oh yes, you have tried, I grant you that, and where did it get you eh, just where did it get you?
I have told you time and time again, you do as you are told and everything would have been fine.
Now look at you, sat here in this room full of misfits. Yes, that is what I said, misfits.
People who have to be locked away from society because they are a disgrace, should have been drowned at birth.
Mental institution, no, we don’t need those, just get rid of them.
Do you know how much it has taken for me to come here today, and you mark my words my girl, this will be the only visit I make to this place.
A child of mine, a throwback, that is what you are a mental throwback.
I have done nothing to deserve the disgrace you have brought upon me and your family. 'Can’t cope', you have no idea of what ‘a hard life is’.
I have provided for you since the day you were born, put a roof over your head, food on the table and you repay me like this. I
should have insisted that she had a termination, that is what I should have done, insisted, then I would not be sat here now.
Where is who, Oh, he's gone nurse, left. Well not really left because he had to be here to leave and he never has been. Not really and yet he has always been here, not here with what I needed, but here with what I didn’t, if you know what I mean. It would be funny if it were not so sad.
I feel sorry for him and yet I can’t feel sorry for myself, I feel guilty. Yes guilty, I want him to be happy, to be proud of me. I want to say something that would please him. Talk too much rubbish, that is why he doesn’t listen, it’s OK, he told me too, that I just talk about trash, he does not need to know how I feel, I just need to know how to behave.
Now I cannot utter a single word without hearing him say it will be worthless, a waste of words. So I don’t speak anymore, that is what started all this, why my wrists look like barbed wire, why I can stare and not see. I don’t want any more pills nurse, please no more pills.
Sorry, what did you say? A walk, outside, really, in the grounds, amongst the autumn leaves, do you really have the time, for me, really …
Nurse, that saying on the wall, the one over there look, by the window. It says ‘Empty vessels make the loudest noise’ Would that mean him or me?
Do you really think that you have something worthwhile to say, something that I would want to hear.
Are you that stupid?
Have you not listened to a word I have said to you?
You have no opinion that is worth voicing, no-one wants to hear what you have to say.
Oh yes, you have tried, I grant you that, and where did it get you eh, just where did it get you?
I have told you time and time again, you do as you are told and everything would have been fine.
Now look at you, sat here in this room full of misfits. Yes, that is what I said, misfits.
People who have to be locked away from society because they are a disgrace, should have been drowned at birth.
Mental institution, no, we don’t need those, just get rid of them.
Do you know how much it has taken for me to come here today, and you mark my words my girl, this will be the only visit I make to this place.
A child of mine, a throwback, that is what you are a mental throwback.
I have done nothing to deserve the disgrace you have brought upon me and your family. 'Can’t cope', you have no idea of what ‘a hard life is’.
I have provided for you since the day you were born, put a roof over your head, food on the table and you repay me like this. I
should have insisted that she had a termination, that is what I should have done, insisted, then I would not be sat here now.
Where is who, Oh, he's gone nurse, left. Well not really left because he had to be here to leave and he never has been. Not really and yet he has always been here, not here with what I needed, but here with what I didn’t, if you know what I mean. It would be funny if it were not so sad.
I feel sorry for him and yet I can’t feel sorry for myself, I feel guilty. Yes guilty, I want him to be happy, to be proud of me. I want to say something that would please him. Talk too much rubbish, that is why he doesn’t listen, it’s OK, he told me too, that I just talk about trash, he does not need to know how I feel, I just need to know how to behave.
Now I cannot utter a single word without hearing him say it will be worthless, a waste of words. So I don’t speak anymore, that is what started all this, why my wrists look like barbed wire, why I can stare and not see. I don’t want any more pills nurse, please no more pills.
Sorry, what did you say? A walk, outside, really, in the grounds, amongst the autumn leaves, do you really have the time, for me, really …
Nurse, that saying on the wall, the one over there look, by the window. It says ‘Empty vessels make the loudest noise’ Would that mean him or me?
Monday, November 17, 2008
ONLY CHILD
.
I’ve got mates
I have
I have
Best friends
My best friends
Not yours
Mine
My very own
They like me
Let me play
Let me win
Better than your
Mates
I get presents
I do
Loads of them
Got everything
Star Wars
Cars
Soldiers
Everything
Cos I’m lucky
I am
Got my own room
Own telly
I have
Really
I don’t care
What you got
Not bothered
At all
I’ve got mates
I have
They’ll come to play
... Soon
.
.
.
For Chris
TRAPPED - EXPLICIT CONTENT
He says he’s not ready to go yet, but I am so tired. I didn’t think he would come back here tonight. I thought he would drop me at the bus stop as he usually does.
I can hear creek of the second step on the stairs. He’s coming …
‘There now, no need to be shy, come over here, let me look at you in the light’
I don’t move, he comes to me and strokes my cheek with his rough fingers. Now my jaw is cupped in his firm hand and the pressure from his thumb is forcing my face to look at him. His eyes are glazed and cold.
‘Fair’s fair eh, one good turn deserves another. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss here. Don’t stiffen your body like that. Relax! Anyone would think this is unnatural. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Now, let’s get this jumper off you eh, I want to see your tits. Come on, over your head, there’s a girl, and the bra too. Nice bit of lace but, there that’s better isn’t it.’
He is squeezing my breast, tight, it hurts. I call out ‘Don’t, please don’t. You’re hurting me.’
He is holding his hand over my mouth and whispering me to hush. The pressure of his body forces me to twist sharply onto the floor and I feel my head bang against the side of the coffee table. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, my cheeks merge with my forehead and his hand pulls them back, denying my eyes a chance of escape.
‘Look at me, bitch’ he demands. I refuse and feel the rough skin of his fingers slice into my cheek at the force of his slap.
I open my eyes, but can only see a bald circle below my face. He is biting my nipple, I want to scream but his face is back up on mine and he is biting my ear, my nose, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I gag. I can’t breathe.
His uncontrolled hand pushes me sideways and I hear the zip of my jeans rip apart as he tugs them down over my thighs. I feel a sticky trickle on my cheek and taste blood dripping into my mouth from the cut on my head.
‘Don’t just lay there, have a suck on daddys lollipop, sweetie. Tastes good, come on, open. I said open up. Jesus woman, you are making hard work of this. What’s the matter, fucking frigid are you. Well we’ll soon sort that out.’
He slides down my body and tears off my pants. I stare at the light bulb above my head, my mind dives into the white sea and swims away from me.
I will have to come back, my children are sleeping upstairs.
I can hear creek of the second step on the stairs. He’s coming …
‘There now, no need to be shy, come over here, let me look at you in the light’
I don’t move, he comes to me and strokes my cheek with his rough fingers. Now my jaw is cupped in his firm hand and the pressure from his thumb is forcing my face to look at him. His eyes are glazed and cold.
‘Fair’s fair eh, one good turn deserves another. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss here. Don’t stiffen your body like that. Relax! Anyone would think this is unnatural. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Now, let’s get this jumper off you eh, I want to see your tits. Come on, over your head, there’s a girl, and the bra too. Nice bit of lace but, there that’s better isn’t it.’
He is squeezing my breast, tight, it hurts. I call out ‘Don’t, please don’t. You’re hurting me.’
He is holding his hand over my mouth and whispering me to hush. The pressure of his body forces me to twist sharply onto the floor and I feel my head bang against the side of the coffee table. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, my cheeks merge with my forehead and his hand pulls them back, denying my eyes a chance of escape.
‘Look at me, bitch’ he demands. I refuse and feel the rough skin of his fingers slice into my cheek at the force of his slap.
I open my eyes, but can only see a bald circle below my face. He is biting my nipple, I want to scream but his face is back up on mine and he is biting my ear, my nose, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I gag. I can’t breathe.
His uncontrolled hand pushes me sideways and I hear the zip of my jeans rip apart as he tugs them down over my thighs. I feel a sticky trickle on my cheek and taste blood dripping into my mouth from the cut on my head.
‘Don’t just lay there, have a suck on daddys lollipop, sweetie. Tastes good, come on, open. I said open up. Jesus woman, you are making hard work of this. What’s the matter, fucking frigid are you. Well we’ll soon sort that out.’
He slides down my body and tears off my pants. I stare at the light bulb above my head, my mind dives into the white sea and swims away from me.
I will have to come back, my children are sleeping upstairs.
Friday, November 14, 2008
BILLY EXPLAINS
Every day my mum and me play a game called 'Say what you’re thinking'. When we say that you have to say and tell the truth or the game doesn't work. Sometimes I ask her when she's doing dinner or watching telly. Its silly cos she thinks about not what she's doing. I asked her when she was washing my hair and she said she was thinking that the bathroom ceiling was a funny shape!
But she won't play today, she just says 'Not now Billy'. She hasn't played since my dad went to heaven last week. Heaven is up in the sky, farther away than the moon and the stars; God takes you there cos you can't get a rocket there yet. You have to fall asleep forever first and then when you do, God comes and gets you out of your body and takes you in his invisible flying bus to heaven. It's a bigger bus than the one we go to town in and it's always full up so you have to wait. I want to go there now so dad can take me to football but Granny says you have to be old to go there, but that’s not true cos my friend Tom's baby sister went there before she was even one.
Rainbows come from heaven. My dad told me that and my dad knows everything. He told me that rainbows are smiles from Granddad. He sends smiles like that so we can see them cos rainbows come from the sun in the universe and heaven is in the universe. Rainbow smiles is how God lets everyone in the universe know they're all still together.
Granddad sent a rainbow smile today; it was on the table in the front room by Granny's glass bowl. I called Mum to come and see but she just said 'Not now Billy'. I asked her what she was thinking, I wanted to play our special game, but she didn't answer. She just started crying again and Granny took her upstairs.
Auntie Kate closed the curtain over a bit and Granddad’s rainbow smile disappeared. I wanted to really punch her like I punched Sammy Jacobs on Monday in the playground. He said I would have to go to a foster home cos my dad's dead. I told him my dad had gone to heaven to see my granddad and Sammy laughed at me so I punched him. I wish God would have took Sammy on the bus instead of my dad.
I don't have to go to a foster home cos I'm going to look after my mum and granny. Granny said I am the man of the house now. I don't have to lock the back door before we go to bed though, cos you don't have to remember to do that until you are ten.
Auntie Kate has just gone up to see my mum and granny so I've got to go now cos I want to move the bowl over on the table so my dad can send me a rainbow smile. See ya.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
THE CAT SAT ON THE MAT
.
the cat sat
on the mat
the tabby
cat sat
on the red
mat the brown and white tabby cat sat on the soft red mat the fluffy
brown and white tabby cat sat on the corner of the soft red mat
the little fluffy brown and
white tabby cat quietly
purred as it sat on the
corner of the soft
red fireside mat
the cute little fluffy
brown and white tabby cat dozed and quietly purred as it
sat on the warm corner of the soft red woollen fireside
mat
the
cat
still
sat
on
the
mat
.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
GROUP THERAPY
‘Why don’t you make ‘er say somethin’ for a change. Stuck up cow. We’re all ‘ere for the same reason yer know. Our 'eads are fucked.’
Maggie raised her empty brown eyes towards the voice that had callously returned her to the group. Her long hazel hair screened her freckled face from those sat each side of her. She tried to switch her mind back to ‘standby’ but it was too late, Jessie had pressed the ‘on’ button.
‘Yeh, you, miss too good to be ‘ere, bet you think yer …’
‘Jessie, perhaps you would like to tell us why Maggie’s silence is so difficult for you’ interrupted Sue.
‘And perhaps I wouldn’t too. I just don’t see why she can be ‘ere and say nothin’ when you said we all have to try and voice our feelin’s. Well, I’m voicin’ mine, she’s fuckin’ me off.’
Squeezing her hands between clenched thighs, Maggie desperately tried to control the urge to rock her body back and forth, a security comfort she had used since childhood. Concentrating on rocking had helped her distance herself from her fears, given her a minute sense of control. But now, in this circle of strangers, it would reveal her insecurities more than give her comfort.
‘She’s only been here a couple of weeks Jessie, give her a break’ whispered Janey cautiously.
‘Just don’t, eh. We all sit round here like fuckin’ numbers on a clock waitin’ for the hand to touch us, waitin’ for each other to spew out our sordid little pasts, so Sue ‘ere can feel a great sense of satisfaction because she got one of us to ‘open up’. Well, you all know I’m a fuckin cokehead, that my dad had more sex with me than my fuckin mum and we all know that sweet little Janey here conveniently forgot to feed her kid so they took it away from her. So come on then, out with it, what’s so special about ‘er fuckin problem that she thinks it’s worth keeping secret.’ replied Jessie.
Maggie pinched hard through her light denim jeans into the flesh of her skinny thighs. But this physical scream was not loud enough to drown the conversation taking place around her. How could she tell these people that she was here because she had no guts. She couldn’t even let go of the bridge railings. The memory of her mother in law’s recent words hammered around Maggie’s head, beating them securely into every corner of her brain ‘She will drag you down Rob, you deserve so much more.’ On Rob’s last visit he had bought her a Gucci silver bracelet watch. Another guilt gift for the collection. But he had not touched her apart from a slight brushed kiss on her cheek when he arrived and left.
‘Well, this is a cosy little group today aint it. Shall we all ‘ave a guess at what ‘er problem is, pass the time a bit, we’ve only got ‘alf an ‘our left. Come on then Janey, what d’ya reckon, is she a murderer, did she do her ‘usband in or cut all the neighbours cats tails off.’
‘As you seem to have a lot to say this morning Jessie, and as I suggested earlier, why don’t we explore the reasons you find these quiet moments uncomfortable.’ said Sue quickly glancing around the group capturing everyone’s body language, before settling her eyes on Jessie.
The walls of the room seemed to advance forward, closing in on the circle of troubled lives, increasing the tension by condensing the mood close around the three people who had dominated the morning’s discussion.
‘Look, I aint ‘ere for the love of it. The fuckin’ judge said it was this or prison, and your “I go to church on Sundays, aren’t I a good person” act don’t fool me, so don’t fuckin’ bother with miracle working in ere, right.’ retorted Jessie as she lifted her feet up onto the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around them. Her tall slender frame folded as if prepared to be the next surprise out of a Jack in a Box. ‘I don’t need you lot or anyone else. I’m just doin’ me days and then getting the fuck out of ‘ere.’ she continued.
‘Swearing is bad Jessie. You shouldn’t do it. You are always saying that word, all the time. It’s not right. People shouldn’t say that word, it’s a bad word.’ said Julie who was sat safely opposite Jessie and next to Sue, which was probably what gave her the courage to speak. She pushed her arms up the opposite sleeves of her baggy cream hand knitted jumper as if placing herself in a makeshift straight jacket before anyone else did.
The second hand of the cheap blue plastic wall clock ticked it’s way round the face taking five seconds to reach each number. Reliable. Constant.
‘If only people stayed the same, as trustworthy as a ticking clock.’ thought Maggie. She concentrated on the repetitive sound and watched the second hand make tiny jumps from one number to the next. ‘Clocks stay the same, move at the same pace, don’t step out of line or behave unexpectedly, don’t suddenly become louder or frighten you, or have impossible expectations of you; unless they are over wound, then they flip. Rob’s like that.’ thought Maggie ‘and I am the key.’ She had been unaware of her body language while she had been thinking and now realised that she too had lifted her legs up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her ankles and as this realisation hit her, she saw Jessie, staring at her …
to be continued...
Maggie raised her empty brown eyes towards the voice that had callously returned her to the group. Her long hazel hair screened her freckled face from those sat each side of her. She tried to switch her mind back to ‘standby’ but it was too late, Jessie had pressed the ‘on’ button.
‘Yeh, you, miss too good to be ‘ere, bet you think yer …’
‘Jessie, perhaps you would like to tell us why Maggie’s silence is so difficult for you’ interrupted Sue.
‘And perhaps I wouldn’t too. I just don’t see why she can be ‘ere and say nothin’ when you said we all have to try and voice our feelin’s. Well, I’m voicin’ mine, she’s fuckin’ me off.’
Squeezing her hands between clenched thighs, Maggie desperately tried to control the urge to rock her body back and forth, a security comfort she had used since childhood. Concentrating on rocking had helped her distance herself from her fears, given her a minute sense of control. But now, in this circle of strangers, it would reveal her insecurities more than give her comfort.
‘She’s only been here a couple of weeks Jessie, give her a break’ whispered Janey cautiously.
‘Just don’t, eh. We all sit round here like fuckin’ numbers on a clock waitin’ for the hand to touch us, waitin’ for each other to spew out our sordid little pasts, so Sue ‘ere can feel a great sense of satisfaction because she got one of us to ‘open up’. Well, you all know I’m a fuckin cokehead, that my dad had more sex with me than my fuckin mum and we all know that sweet little Janey here conveniently forgot to feed her kid so they took it away from her. So come on then, out with it, what’s so special about ‘er fuckin problem that she thinks it’s worth keeping secret.’ replied Jessie.
Maggie pinched hard through her light denim jeans into the flesh of her skinny thighs. But this physical scream was not loud enough to drown the conversation taking place around her. How could she tell these people that she was here because she had no guts. She couldn’t even let go of the bridge railings. The memory of her mother in law’s recent words hammered around Maggie’s head, beating them securely into every corner of her brain ‘She will drag you down Rob, you deserve so much more.’ On Rob’s last visit he had bought her a Gucci silver bracelet watch. Another guilt gift for the collection. But he had not touched her apart from a slight brushed kiss on her cheek when he arrived and left.
‘Well, this is a cosy little group today aint it. Shall we all ‘ave a guess at what ‘er problem is, pass the time a bit, we’ve only got ‘alf an ‘our left. Come on then Janey, what d’ya reckon, is she a murderer, did she do her ‘usband in or cut all the neighbours cats tails off.’
‘As you seem to have a lot to say this morning Jessie, and as I suggested earlier, why don’t we explore the reasons you find these quiet moments uncomfortable.’ said Sue quickly glancing around the group capturing everyone’s body language, before settling her eyes on Jessie.
The walls of the room seemed to advance forward, closing in on the circle of troubled lives, increasing the tension by condensing the mood close around the three people who had dominated the morning’s discussion.
‘Look, I aint ‘ere for the love of it. The fuckin’ judge said it was this or prison, and your “I go to church on Sundays, aren’t I a good person” act don’t fool me, so don’t fuckin’ bother with miracle working in ere, right.’ retorted Jessie as she lifted her feet up onto the edge of her chair and wrapped her arms around them. Her tall slender frame folded as if prepared to be the next surprise out of a Jack in a Box. ‘I don’t need you lot or anyone else. I’m just doin’ me days and then getting the fuck out of ‘ere.’ she continued.
‘Swearing is bad Jessie. You shouldn’t do it. You are always saying that word, all the time. It’s not right. People shouldn’t say that word, it’s a bad word.’ said Julie who was sat safely opposite Jessie and next to Sue, which was probably what gave her the courage to speak. She pushed her arms up the opposite sleeves of her baggy cream hand knitted jumper as if placing herself in a makeshift straight jacket before anyone else did.
The second hand of the cheap blue plastic wall clock ticked it’s way round the face taking five seconds to reach each number. Reliable. Constant.
‘If only people stayed the same, as trustworthy as a ticking clock.’ thought Maggie. She concentrated on the repetitive sound and watched the second hand make tiny jumps from one number to the next. ‘Clocks stay the same, move at the same pace, don’t step out of line or behave unexpectedly, don’t suddenly become louder or frighten you, or have impossible expectations of you; unless they are over wound, then they flip. Rob’s like that.’ thought Maggie ‘and I am the key.’ She had been unaware of her body language while she had been thinking and now realised that she too had lifted her legs up onto the chair and wrapped her arms around her ankles and as this realisation hit her, she saw Jessie, staring at her …
to be continued...
FREE WRITE Just Wandering
So where are we going then mind
what journey shall we take
what shall we look at
those fish in the river that no-one else could see
I swear they were there
but dad said that I was imagining things
and that was lying so I must be careful
Lying is bad
but when it is real to me is that I lie
Say what you mean
tell the truth
but what is the truth
what you want to hear or what I saw
which one is a lie
I’m older now
try and tell it how it is
not get too near to drowning
by holding on to the rocks
slipping but just saving my sanity
so that you are saved
by not hearing what you do not want to hear
What a mess this truth lie business
Thoughts racing around in my head
memories, real things
real times, real moments
with nowhere to go
I lose either way
tell you and you get angry
don’t tell you and you get angry
Strange world
but I am hanging in there
wet, bruised
and catching a glimpse of the most beautiful sunset that your back is turned to ...
what journey shall we take
what shall we look at
those fish in the river that no-one else could see
I swear they were there
but dad said that I was imagining things
and that was lying so I must be careful
Lying is bad
but when it is real to me is that I lie
Say what you mean
tell the truth
but what is the truth
what you want to hear or what I saw
which one is a lie
I’m older now
try and tell it how it is
not get too near to drowning
by holding on to the rocks
slipping but just saving my sanity
so that you are saved
by not hearing what you do not want to hear
What a mess this truth lie business
Thoughts racing around in my head
memories, real things
real times, real moments
with nowhere to go
I lose either way
tell you and you get angry
don’t tell you and you get angry
Strange world
but I am hanging in there
wet, bruised
and catching a glimpse of the most beautiful sunset that your back is turned to ...
RAMBLED THOUGHTS OF A PSYCHIATRIC PATIENT - 1977
They stare at me and I get scared.
I’m not mad.
I don’t shout, attack people or scream and throw things.
Are my eyes empty like hers?
Why did they put me here?
I want my kids.
No, please, no more tablets, they make me drowsy.
I can’t think, I get a big grey cloud in my head where my brain should be.
Stop her nurse, stop her.
She’s by my bed, in my locker, she’s got my things.
Nurse, she got my things.
I tried and take them away but she pushed me and I fell.
She’s got my things.
Please get me my things.
I don’t want the light out, please, low, I’ll leave it low, I won’t turn it up.
I’m afraid, I want my granddad, no I don’t want him to see me here.
I shouldn’t be here.
I want my kids.
Why are they doing this to me.
Why won’t they listen, they ask me to talk, but they don’t hear me.
They say your mind runs away with you, that the tablets will dull your mind, give it a rest.
But they won’t listen.
I don’t want tablets, I want someone to hear me, to believe me.
Why won’t anyone listen.
Blue plastic chairs full of cigarette burns, that lady burns herself, all up her arm.
I know that helps her, because cutting helps too.
They don’t understand that it doesn’t hurt, it stops it hurting.
Dinner bell, queue, must eat.
They watch you, sit you eight to a table, four each side and they watch you.
The nurses and the other patients, they watch you.
They have knives now, they start fights.
Sometimes someone gets pulled to the floor and the injection goes in and they stop thrashing about.
Why am I here?
I’m not mad.
They won’t listen.
Valium injections, please no more. I’m not mad, you are making me worse.
My in laws visited today, said I should pull myself together.
Said I have children at home and I should think of them not myself.
Can’t even argue, can’t concentrate on their faces, too sleepy.
I hate them.
I sit there and they leave, disgusted looks badly hidden, easy for me to see.
They walk through the door and it locks.
Can’t get out.
Have to ask if I want to go for a walk.
Autumn, trees, gold red leaves, when I was little ran through them on happy days.
Can’t go out anyway too scared.
World too big, scary, sky so big not safe.
Not safe in here but smaller, so better.
Dark walls move towards me, my name is being called, time for medication.
The trolley, line up, take your cup of water dear.
Now swallow, come on now, be a good girl, all of them, open let’s see, and under your tongue.
Come on now you can do better than that.
You want to get well don’t you.
You want to see your children again.
AGAIN, what do they mean again.
I’m a good mum.
I don’t want these pills, don’t want to be here.
You put me here.
You won’t listen.
Just somebody listen, for god’s sake somebody listen.
Cooking class, cooking class, you are joking!
Can’t think that then, too drugged up, must write this again on reflection and take the piss out of it, the bastards.
Cooking class, come on sweetie upstairs, if you want to go home you we need to know you can look after yourself.
Beans on toast, beans on toast!
Oh god, pease I am so sorry.
I didn’t mean it really I didn’t.
I don’t even know what I did but I didn’t mean it.
I want to go home.
I want my children.
Co-operate, just co-operate.
Try and look OK.
If you look like you are co-operating they don’t check your mouth after pills.
Have to stop the pills, never get better if I don’t.
They say they are going to give me ECT next week.
I will refuse, I won't have it, never.
She has ECt look at her over there, she never wakes up.
She walks around, opens her eyes, eats, but she never wakes up.
Got to wake up, got to get out of here.
Got to find someone who believes me, got to, or I’ll die.
to be continued ...
I’m not mad.
I don’t shout, attack people or scream and throw things.
Are my eyes empty like hers?
Why did they put me here?
I want my kids.
No, please, no more tablets, they make me drowsy.
I can’t think, I get a big grey cloud in my head where my brain should be.
Stop her nurse, stop her.
She’s by my bed, in my locker, she’s got my things.
Nurse, she got my things.
I tried and take them away but she pushed me and I fell.
She’s got my things.
Please get me my things.
I don’t want the light out, please, low, I’ll leave it low, I won’t turn it up.
I’m afraid, I want my granddad, no I don’t want him to see me here.
I shouldn’t be here.
I want my kids.
Why are they doing this to me.
Why won’t they listen, they ask me to talk, but they don’t hear me.
They say your mind runs away with you, that the tablets will dull your mind, give it a rest.
But they won’t listen.
I don’t want tablets, I want someone to hear me, to believe me.
Why won’t anyone listen.
Blue plastic chairs full of cigarette burns, that lady burns herself, all up her arm.
I know that helps her, because cutting helps too.
They don’t understand that it doesn’t hurt, it stops it hurting.
Dinner bell, queue, must eat.
They watch you, sit you eight to a table, four each side and they watch you.
The nurses and the other patients, they watch you.
They have knives now, they start fights.
Sometimes someone gets pulled to the floor and the injection goes in and they stop thrashing about.
Why am I here?
I’m not mad.
They won’t listen.
Valium injections, please no more. I’m not mad, you are making me worse.
My in laws visited today, said I should pull myself together.
Said I have children at home and I should think of them not myself.
Can’t even argue, can’t concentrate on their faces, too sleepy.
I hate them.
I sit there and they leave, disgusted looks badly hidden, easy for me to see.
They walk through the door and it locks.
Can’t get out.
Have to ask if I want to go for a walk.
Autumn, trees, gold red leaves, when I was little ran through them on happy days.
Can’t go out anyway too scared.
World too big, scary, sky so big not safe.
Not safe in here but smaller, so better.
Dark walls move towards me, my name is being called, time for medication.
The trolley, line up, take your cup of water dear.
Now swallow, come on now, be a good girl, all of them, open let’s see, and under your tongue.
Come on now you can do better than that.
You want to get well don’t you.
You want to see your children again.
AGAIN, what do they mean again.
I’m a good mum.
I don’t want these pills, don’t want to be here.
You put me here.
You won’t listen.
Just somebody listen, for god’s sake somebody listen.
Cooking class, cooking class, you are joking!
Can’t think that then, too drugged up, must write this again on reflection and take the piss out of it, the bastards.
Cooking class, come on sweetie upstairs, if you want to go home you we need to know you can look after yourself.
Beans on toast, beans on toast!
Oh god, pease I am so sorry.
I didn’t mean it really I didn’t.
I don’t even know what I did but I didn’t mean it.
I want to go home.
I want my children.
Co-operate, just co-operate.
Try and look OK.
If you look like you are co-operating they don’t check your mouth after pills.
Have to stop the pills, never get better if I don’t.
They say they are going to give me ECT next week.
I will refuse, I won't have it, never.
She has ECt look at her over there, she never wakes up.
She walks around, opens her eyes, eats, but she never wakes up.
Got to wake up, got to get out of here.
Got to find someone who believes me, got to, or I’ll die.
to be continued ...
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
NEGGLES - A soldiers mascot
When Bertie went away to war so much was on his mind
For he had to leave his wife and brand new son behind
Turned his head at the street corner, waved and blew a kiss
To the loved ones in his life he would so desperately miss
For he had to leave his wife and brand new son behind
Turned his head at the street corner, waved and blew a kiss
To the loved ones in his life he would so desperately miss
But unbeknown to Bertie and packed within his kit
Were pairs of socks his wife had stayed up late at night to knit
A letter and few photos wrapped in a change of underwear
And pushed down in the corner, was little Neggles bear
Elsie cried for days in secret, though knew it had to be
That her beloved Bertie had to fight for his country
‘A better life for us’ he said as they cuddled in the night
Bertie had learned already that nothing is gained without a fight
Neggles bear was feeling anxious for he had done all this before
When Berties dad had fought for freedom in the First World War
They saw so many dreadful sights, until Tom finally got hit
Got sent home with a shattered leg and Neggles in his pocket
Bertie had not forgotten the stories that his father had told
When cuddled under blankets to keep out all the cold
For work was out the question if you had a gammy leg
And Tom was far to proud a man to be seen to go and beg
Tom passed on his dreams in stories, with Bertie on his knee
Told his son of the wonderful life that one day would be
Even kissed him on the cheek once, which was something very rare
An action never seen before by Neggles teddy bear
Now Neggles bear and Bertie were off to war once more
Bertie very anxious, Neggles having seen it all before
Last time it was the trenches, this time it would be tanks
Both times to fight for their country with very little thanks
Little Neggles was uncertain of where his place should be
As a mascot to young Bertie or to comfort poor Elsie
But Elsie knew that Bertie had brought a soldier home before
And hoped beyond hope that he could do the same once more
Once Bertie had found Neggles in the corner of his kit
He kissed him on the cheek, just once, and placed him in his pocket
Felt so very safe again knowing that Elsie cared so much
To send her love with Neggles so they would always be in touch
Sunday, November 9, 2008
ILLUSION LOST ON ME
Ever had a day when you wish you were somewhere else ...
I was trying an observation ...
It's no accident that the Windows screen on my PC defaults to sky blue.
Windows, sky blue, I can see the laughter that went around the office at Microsoft when they decided that one!
An illusion, like seeing faces in clouds, to make us feel good about where we are.
That little flag too, no accident, pretty flower in the blue vase gently blowing in the breeze of the window, a small, not insignificant gift from Bill Gates.
Such a clever lot that lot at Microsoft! Leaving the label on, nice touch guys.
They think I will want to spend my whole day staring into the Window, beyond the window beyond the blue skies.
But the illusion is lost on me.
Dependant on my fingers dancing over the stepping stones, choreographed to perfection.
Of my hand gently squeezing the ears of the rodent, who I need to be my friend
Dance, dance, miss not a step. Be much more gentle with the right ear.
Looking to the other window,
the sky is grey.
Friday, November 7, 2008
And THEN he said ...
.
I do not have to do for you
The things you do for me
Like cook and clean, iron your jeans
Or make you cups of tea
I do my bit, I go to work
Bring home my weekly wages
I take you shopping every week
To Tesco or to Sainsburys
I don’t put away the shopping
And why I’m sure you know
We’ve only been married thirty years
And I don’t know where things go
I don’t get annoyed when you don’t sit down
And help do the crossword with me
You never hear me complaining because
You’re in the kitchen washing up after tea
It’s easy for you in your office all day
Drinking tea, tapping away on a computer
You don’t understand the stresses I have
In my van, as a motorway commuter
I’ve been outside all day in the wet and the cold
I need to relax with the paper and coffee
So please don’t complain when you get indoors
That you have to set to and cook tea
For I’m easy to please with my meals
You don’t have to spend hours in the kitchen
But because you’re my wife and you love me
Please remember my favourite’s roast chicken!
After I’ve eaten, showered and watched TV
I’ll maybe pop to the pub for a couple
Yes, I know that you haven’t sat down yet tonight
But at least it helps you stiff back keep supple
I get so wound up when you get annoyed
And shout about my not helping you
Because I never complain, do I ever
About all of the things that YOU do
So my darling dear wife
Please just try and see
That you do all of these things
Because
I do not have to do for you
The things you do for me
Like cook and clean, iron your jeans
Or make you cups of tea
I do my bit, I go to work
Bring home my weekly wages
I take you shopping every week
To Tesco or to Sainsburys
I don’t put away the shopping
And why I’m sure you know
We’ve only been married thirty years
And I don’t know where things go
I don’t get annoyed when you don’t sit down
And help do the crossword with me
You never hear me complaining because
You’re in the kitchen washing up after tea
It’s easy for you in your office all day
Drinking tea, tapping away on a computer
You don’t understand the stresses I have
In my van, as a motorway commuter
I’ve been outside all day in the wet and the cold
I need to relax with the paper and coffee
So please don’t complain when you get indoors
That you have to set to and cook tea
For I’m easy to please with my meals
You don’t have to spend hours in the kitchen
But because you’re my wife and you love me
Please remember my favourite’s roast chicken!
After I’ve eaten, showered and watched TV
I’ll maybe pop to the pub for a couple
Yes, I know that you haven’t sat down yet tonight
But at least it helps you stiff back keep supple
I get so wound up when you get annoyed
And shout about my not helping you
Because I never complain, do I ever
About all of the things that YOU do
So my darling dear wife
Please just try and see
That you do all of these things
Because
...
You love me!
You love me!
.
THE APPOINTMENT
Somewhere in the distance of my mind I hear my name being called and find myself heading towards the dark oak door at the end of the corridor. I feel as if I am walking deeper and deeper into the darkness and each step requires more effort than the last. The sounds from the ancient pipework along the walls seems to laugh at my struggle.
He is waiting for me and I shiver at the sight of his pin-striped suit clashing with his bold shirt. Entering the room I become a prisoner as the door closes behind me. He waits for me to sit down on the chair in front of the heavy leather topped desk and then sits opposite me, leaning back in an old hide upholstered chair. Lowering his bifocals to the edge of his nose, he peers over the lens towards me, making a mental note of what he thinks my body language is revealing.
My eyes wander round the room resting anywhere but on his face, my fingers fiddle with the crocheted edge of my cardigan. He was expecting me to say something, I know that, but I can't. My toes rub hard against the insoles of my shoes as if trying to make an escape route for me, and looking to the floor to avoid his stare, I notice he is wearing a different pair of shoes this week.
I desperately want to be heard, I want to say something to make him understand, but have no way of describing the vast blackness that engulfs me.
He is waiting for me and I shiver at the sight of his pin-striped suit clashing with his bold shirt. Entering the room I become a prisoner as the door closes behind me. He waits for me to sit down on the chair in front of the heavy leather topped desk and then sits opposite me, leaning back in an old hide upholstered chair. Lowering his bifocals to the edge of his nose, he peers over the lens towards me, making a mental note of what he thinks my body language is revealing.
My eyes wander round the room resting anywhere but on his face, my fingers fiddle with the crocheted edge of my cardigan. He was expecting me to say something, I know that, but I can't. My toes rub hard against the insoles of my shoes as if trying to make an escape route for me, and looking to the floor to avoid his stare, I notice he is wearing a different pair of shoes this week.
I desperately want to be heard, I want to say something to make him understand, but have no way of describing the vast blackness that engulfs me.
With my head down, I glance up to my notes on the desk and wonder what sort of person has been filed away in there. How accurate are the comments he has scribbled about me each week as we sit in the silence? What is the point of it all … I feel no different. I don't ‘feel’ at all. Feelings can be described, identified, recognised.
My heart beats as it tries to escape my body and be set free from the confines of my ribcage. An expert in creating external pain to curb internal torment I pinch hard into my skin, but this does nothing to distract me. Releasing my fingertips, the pain abandons me, I am alone …
As my eyes search the room for something, anything, to focus on, I catch a glimpse of his face and realise he is speaking, but his words are lost to me. There is no room left inside me. If I let in a single letter from his words, I will explode, but if I let go of anything, anything at all, the barrier will be broken. A wave of nausea passes through my body.
He closes my file indicating the ‘therapeutic’ hour is now over for him, but for me … nothing had changed.
May 2008
My heart beats as it tries to escape my body and be set free from the confines of my ribcage. An expert in creating external pain to curb internal torment I pinch hard into my skin, but this does nothing to distract me. Releasing my fingertips, the pain abandons me, I am alone …
As my eyes search the room for something, anything, to focus on, I catch a glimpse of his face and realise he is speaking, but his words are lost to me. There is no room left inside me. If I let in a single letter from his words, I will explode, but if I let go of anything, anything at all, the barrier will be broken. A wave of nausea passes through my body.
He closes my file indicating the ‘therapeutic’ hour is now over for him, but for me … nothing had changed.
May 2008
SUMMER OF '69
Summer fields invaded by love and peace
Isle of Wight in sixty nine
Beads and scarves and matted hair
Starry eyes and hazy smiles
Thirty first of August for just one night
Bob Dylan with guitar sings
How I wish that I was there
Instead I dream from Pontins
Bee Gees Don’t forget to remember me
The juke box constantly pleads
Ding Dong Good Morning Campers
Go away and let me sleep!
The worlds gone crazy in the other field
Or so my granddad tells me
So wrong the drugs and free love
It’s different with my mummy
My mum’s on drugs but it’s OK you see
Because she’s so unhappy
Wearing plastic smiles all day
And doesn’t even know me
I wish the photographer hadn’t done
The photos in the bedroom
Sleazy snapshots of her breasts
My gut had said not trust him
I went to make sure that she’d be safe
She was wearing drugged up eyes
Just sixteen when he touched me
And the inside of me died
Everybody’s thinking that I hate her
They are so far from the truth
I just want her as my mum
Not living my stolen youth
So in the year twenty five twenty five
Perhaps I’ll come back again
To love and peace abundant
Put the juke box on my friend
Thursday, November 6, 2008
HAIKU ... Monday morning
Pass stranger at dawn
Birdsong chorus in my ears
He had his ipod
Michaelmas Daisies
Stir long forgotten memories
Childhood dreams awake
LAUGHTER ...and tears ...
.
Laughter … and tears
Our memory builder
Childhood dreams
Shared
A boy and his mum
From one, grow older
Talking … for hours
Far into the night
About worries
Dreams
Not getting it wrong
But getting it right
A boy … to a man
In almost a day
Her firstborn
Gone
Not able to share
He was taken away
Kept … at a distance
Would be sad as a song
Jealousy
Kills
Eats and destroys
While love mends a wrong
Don’t deny … love
Of the purest kind
A candle
Glows
Keep it safe
Let it dance in the wind
Our memory builder
Childhood dreams
Shared
A boy and his mum
From one, grow older
Talking … for hours
Far into the night
About worries
Dreams
Not getting it wrong
But getting it right
A boy … to a man
In almost a day
Her firstborn
Gone
Not able to share
He was taken away
Kept … at a distance
Would be sad as a song
Jealousy
Kills
Eats and destroys
While love mends a wrong
Don’t deny … love
Of the purest kind
A candle
Glows
Keep it safe
Let it dance in the wind
Thursday, October 9, 2008
LAST CUT
I cut the grass today
In my garden
Soon it will not be my garden
The grass will still grow
Bend beneath my children’s footsteps
Hear their laughter
I will not be there
I have to go
To survive
To hear my children’s laughter
To live
I have to go
Find a new garden
For my children
For me
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
ON THE ROAD
‘Come on Harry, we haven’t got all day.’
Why is it Mum expects me to walk as fast as her when her legs are taller than me? She said I just fell over cos I wasn’t looking where I was going, but I couldn’t see nothing but bags and legs and now me knee’s bleeding too.
She wants to try being a kid sometimes.
I remember this road, we came here for the carnival and when I grow up I’m going to live in that house there with the big windows upstairs, were you can see everything.
I decided it carnival day cos nothing good ever happens in our road, well nothing happens on our road, actually! Unless you count the day the bin men dropped our rubbish and left it, and Mr Baldy Beerguts next door had a go at my dad about the smell. Then there was a fight on our road! My dad went nuts that the ‘lazy good for nothin’ had the cheek to come and knock on our door complaining, then Dad completely lost it and old baldy beerguts ended up shoved off our path onto the road. I thought it was brilliant, but Mum said they were behaving like kids. Dad told her to mind her mouth, at least he had a job and paid his taxes and didn’t sponge off the state like the likes of him next door.
When we came to see the carnival down this road we were late, so Mum pushed me forwards so I could see and I got squashed into a man at the side of me ‘Watch yourself boy!’ he said. Well, my dad heard him, didn’t he! ‘Watch who you’re fucking talking to mate, you don’t own the fucking pavement’ he shouted. The man stuck his finger up at my dad, so my dad grabbed him and pushed him on the road, knocked him to the ground smacking his head on the pavement.
My tummy started worrying cos there was a policeman by us now trying to pull Dad off the man and get them out of the road. I knew the carnival had started cos I could hear the band and the lorries beeping their horns. Next thing two more policemen arrived and took my dad round the corner to a police car.
Mum said we’d have to see the carnival another day because we were going home now.
He always does that, my dad, goes on about what is wrong with the people of this country and then starts a fight. Mum says he’s frustrated, whatever that means, I think he’s just like old baldy beerguts but with hair.
‘For goodness sake Harry, keep up. Your dad will be waiting and you know what will happen if we are late.’
I know … he’ll go off on one again. But I want her to see that house over there, the one I saw the day of the carnival, because it says ‘For Sale’ on the lollipop board in the garden and that means if you’re rich you can buy it.
I wish I was a grown up today …
Why is it Mum expects me to walk as fast as her when her legs are taller than me? She said I just fell over cos I wasn’t looking where I was going, but I couldn’t see nothing but bags and legs and now me knee’s bleeding too.
She wants to try being a kid sometimes.
I remember this road, we came here for the carnival and when I grow up I’m going to live in that house there with the big windows upstairs, were you can see everything.
I decided it carnival day cos nothing good ever happens in our road, well nothing happens on our road, actually! Unless you count the day the bin men dropped our rubbish and left it, and Mr Baldy Beerguts next door had a go at my dad about the smell. Then there was a fight on our road! My dad went nuts that the ‘lazy good for nothin’ had the cheek to come and knock on our door complaining, then Dad completely lost it and old baldy beerguts ended up shoved off our path onto the road. I thought it was brilliant, but Mum said they were behaving like kids. Dad told her to mind her mouth, at least he had a job and paid his taxes and didn’t sponge off the state like the likes of him next door.
When we came to see the carnival down this road we were late, so Mum pushed me forwards so I could see and I got squashed into a man at the side of me ‘Watch yourself boy!’ he said. Well, my dad heard him, didn’t he! ‘Watch who you’re fucking talking to mate, you don’t own the fucking pavement’ he shouted. The man stuck his finger up at my dad, so my dad grabbed him and pushed him on the road, knocked him to the ground smacking his head on the pavement.
My tummy started worrying cos there was a policeman by us now trying to pull Dad off the man and get them out of the road. I knew the carnival had started cos I could hear the band and the lorries beeping their horns. Next thing two more policemen arrived and took my dad round the corner to a police car.
Mum said we’d have to see the carnival another day because we were going home now.
He always does that, my dad, goes on about what is wrong with the people of this country and then starts a fight. Mum says he’s frustrated, whatever that means, I think he’s just like old baldy beerguts but with hair.
‘For goodness sake Harry, keep up. Your dad will be waiting and you know what will happen if we are late.’
I know … he’ll go off on one again. But I want her to see that house over there, the one I saw the day of the carnival, because it says ‘For Sale’ on the lollipop board in the garden and that means if you’re rich you can buy it.
I wish I was a grown up today …
TWELVE CARDS
From a drawer in the oak dresser that she had inherited from her grandmother, Martha took out the cards, walked through the dining room into the conservatory, and sat on the edge of the white metal Victorian day-bed she had patiently restored after finding it in a house clearance sale. She laid the cards beside her and stared out of the window. It was still raining.
‘Is it a sign?’ she wondered as she watched the raindrops racing down the window pane.
A whole lifetime had passed since Martha had sat by her bedroom window as a child and played ‘Rain Races’. She had spent hours watching the raindrops racing down the window, willing her chosen rain-runner to win. Recalling those days from her distant memory reminded her of when, in the quiet of her room, she had found comfort in knowing that the window had been crying with her, and had eased her loneliness by hugging her rag doll as she dreamed of one day having a baby of her own. She had made a promise to herself that her children would never feel like she did, useless … and stupid. They would always know that they were loved, no matter what they did. Being locked in their room as a punishment would never happen to them.
A clap of thunder interrupted her thoughts and she lifted the cards out of the folded letter wrapped around them, and laid each one on the hand stitched patchwork quilt folded beside her. She shivered as she recalled the day she had bought them several weeks before. While browsing around an old book shop, tucked away in a narrow cobbled street in Hastings, Martha had literally stumbled across the cards as she had tripped down a small step near the back of the shop. Each picture on the front was a clip from a famous film, its infamous phrase written on the back. After reading them all, Martha had carefully chosen twelve.
Lifting her legs onto the day-bed and curling her body into the soft down-filled pillows around her, she picked up the first card, a picture of Robert de Nero boxing in the film Raging Bull, and read the words on the back:
‘Hey Ray, I never went down man! You never got me down, Ray! You hear me, you never got me down.’ (Nero, Raging Bull, 1981.)
Martha sighed heavily. These last few years had not been part of her dream as a child. She had planned to be a good mother, ‘to do things right’ … and if she had achieved that, the cards would never have been bought.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the twelve days she had spent in hospital after her son had been born over twenty years ago. She had refused to have his crib at the end of her bed as the nurses had instructed, because she couldn’t see him there. Instead, she had moved him beside her, where she could stare in wonderment at the miracle that had spent nine months growing inside her belly, knowing that she would give her life for that baby … her son.
Placing the card to one side, she picked up another and read the back:
‘It’s not as if mother were a maniac, a raving thing. She goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven’t you?’ (Hitchcock, Psycho, 1960.)
Martha had never seen the film Psycho; it was the words on the back of the card that had spoken to her, that had confirmed to her that she was responsible for her son’s behaviour, for causing him to be so angry at the world. It was not meant to be like this. She had made a promise to him even before he was born that he would always feel safe, secure and loved. But if she had succeeded in that, he would not have needed to fight his way through life, using his fists to express his feelings and finding refuge in alcoholic oblivion. Martha had never been drunk nor wished to be, she had seen the consequences of drink in her father, but now her son was walking the same path as his grandfather, and yet, they had never met.
The rain had stopped but the sky was still angry, already preparing for the next downfall. The letter that had been wrapped around the cards had fallen onto the plate on the floor where a slice of toast and marmalade, this morning’s breakfast, remained uneaten. Her stomach had dictated to her that it had no requirements for food today. Martha picked up the letter and absentmindedly wiped off the sticky marmalade onto the quilt, then reread the words she had written over three months ago. She wondered whether the judge had agreed to read the letter she had sent to the court, and her hands now trembled as she held the copy in her hand.
She had wanted him to know that Henry was loved, was part of a family who cared about him, supported him and loved him. She had wanted to say that she would give her life for him, that she would not be there in person on the day, but his father Jack, his sister Mary and his grandma would all be there. She wanted him to understand that it was she who had made so many mistakes in her life, and that they had such a damaging effect on her children’s lives as well as her own … that it was her fault, and it should be her standing before him begging for leniency.
Now, Henry could be sent to prison for getting involved in a fight, for not walking away, for not thinking. It was after the solicitor had advised them of the expected twelve month sentence that Martha had bought the cards, to send one each month to keep her son in touch with his family. The pictures … she had chosen them to soften the starkness of his room – she could not bring herself to use the word ‘cell’– to be a calendar towards going home, ‘get out of jail’ cards. Martha had chosen the words because she had been able to relate to them, to identify family traits in them, and she knew that Henry would do the same.
The conservatory became dark and unfriendly as the rain returned. On the window ledge, beside a many times repaired antique Wedgwood fruit bowl, an old mahogany mantle clock chimed twice indicating a half-hour had just passed. Martha glanced towards it, half past two; they would know soon … and someone would call her. Conflict fought within her, the needing to know crashing against the need not to know … both unbearable.
But she would know, life did not stop at the difficult parts, it carried on, and experience had taught her that there was no choice but to move with it, jumping and still falling at each hurdle, then getting up and trudging on towards the next. Uncurling herself from the security of the pillows around her, she gathered the cards together, rewrapped the letter around them, and replaced them in dresser drawer.
Leaning heavily on the banister, she climbed the stairs and on entering Henry’s bedroom, stepped over a pile of magazines with dirty socks sandwiched between them, and a pair of work jeans folded concertina-style as he had hurriedly stepped out of them the night before. As she tidied his bedding she felt his old well-hugged grey bear snuck beneath his pillow. Henry had sheepishly packed it away in the loft soon after his first girlfriend had teased him about still having a teddy bear sitting on his bed. But he’d recently been in the loft helping his dad, and must have sneaked it back down. Martha held the bear close to her face and could still smell her son’s childhood on the threadbare fur. Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of the phone ringing and still clutching the bear, she rushed downstairs to take the call she had been dreading, her heart following a few steps behind her.
‘Mum, it’s me … it was your letter Mum; he read your letter …’
‘Henry …’ the silence was broken by the tearful whisper of her son asking his father to speak.
‘Hi, it’s me. It’s OK Martha … he’s coming home …’
‘Oh Jack …’
‘Henry’s right here, with Mary and your mum.’ reassured Jack. ‘The judge said that he is a very fortunate young man to have a mother like you and such strong family support. He told Henry to go home and thank his mother, because Martha, it was your letter that influenced the judge that prison was not the place to send Henry … but back home to his family. He has to do some community service and … hey there you, no tears eh, it’s all going to be alright, we are on our way home … together.’
As she replaced the receiver, Martha gently rocked Henry’s bear close to her chest as if she were soothing a new born baby. Walking into the dining room she opened the dresser drawer … then closed it again. One day she would tell Henry about the cards … and about Robert de Nero. One day.
‘Is it a sign?’ she wondered as she watched the raindrops racing down the window pane.
A whole lifetime had passed since Martha had sat by her bedroom window as a child and played ‘Rain Races’. She had spent hours watching the raindrops racing down the window, willing her chosen rain-runner to win. Recalling those days from her distant memory reminded her of when, in the quiet of her room, she had found comfort in knowing that the window had been crying with her, and had eased her loneliness by hugging her rag doll as she dreamed of one day having a baby of her own. She had made a promise to herself that her children would never feel like she did, useless … and stupid. They would always know that they were loved, no matter what they did. Being locked in their room as a punishment would never happen to them.
A clap of thunder interrupted her thoughts and she lifted the cards out of the folded letter wrapped around them, and laid each one on the hand stitched patchwork quilt folded beside her. She shivered as she recalled the day she had bought them several weeks before. While browsing around an old book shop, tucked away in a narrow cobbled street in Hastings, Martha had literally stumbled across the cards as she had tripped down a small step near the back of the shop. Each picture on the front was a clip from a famous film, its infamous phrase written on the back. After reading them all, Martha had carefully chosen twelve.
Lifting her legs onto the day-bed and curling her body into the soft down-filled pillows around her, she picked up the first card, a picture of Robert de Nero boxing in the film Raging Bull, and read the words on the back:
‘Hey Ray, I never went down man! You never got me down, Ray! You hear me, you never got me down.’ (Nero, Raging Bull, 1981.)
Martha sighed heavily. These last few years had not been part of her dream as a child. She had planned to be a good mother, ‘to do things right’ … and if she had achieved that, the cards would never have been bought.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the twelve days she had spent in hospital after her son had been born over twenty years ago. She had refused to have his crib at the end of her bed as the nurses had instructed, because she couldn’t see him there. Instead, she had moved him beside her, where she could stare in wonderment at the miracle that had spent nine months growing inside her belly, knowing that she would give her life for that baby … her son.
Placing the card to one side, she picked up another and read the back:
‘It’s not as if mother were a maniac, a raving thing. She goes a little mad sometimes. We all go a little mad sometimes. Haven’t you?’ (Hitchcock, Psycho, 1960.)
Martha had never seen the film Psycho; it was the words on the back of the card that had spoken to her, that had confirmed to her that she was responsible for her son’s behaviour, for causing him to be so angry at the world. It was not meant to be like this. She had made a promise to him even before he was born that he would always feel safe, secure and loved. But if she had succeeded in that, he would not have needed to fight his way through life, using his fists to express his feelings and finding refuge in alcoholic oblivion. Martha had never been drunk nor wished to be, she had seen the consequences of drink in her father, but now her son was walking the same path as his grandfather, and yet, they had never met.
The rain had stopped but the sky was still angry, already preparing for the next downfall. The letter that had been wrapped around the cards had fallen onto the plate on the floor where a slice of toast and marmalade, this morning’s breakfast, remained uneaten. Her stomach had dictated to her that it had no requirements for food today. Martha picked up the letter and absentmindedly wiped off the sticky marmalade onto the quilt, then reread the words she had written over three months ago. She wondered whether the judge had agreed to read the letter she had sent to the court, and her hands now trembled as she held the copy in her hand.
She had wanted him to know that Henry was loved, was part of a family who cared about him, supported him and loved him. She had wanted to say that she would give her life for him, that she would not be there in person on the day, but his father Jack, his sister Mary and his grandma would all be there. She wanted him to understand that it was she who had made so many mistakes in her life, and that they had such a damaging effect on her children’s lives as well as her own … that it was her fault, and it should be her standing before him begging for leniency.
Now, Henry could be sent to prison for getting involved in a fight, for not walking away, for not thinking. It was after the solicitor had advised them of the expected twelve month sentence that Martha had bought the cards, to send one each month to keep her son in touch with his family. The pictures … she had chosen them to soften the starkness of his room – she could not bring herself to use the word ‘cell’– to be a calendar towards going home, ‘get out of jail’ cards. Martha had chosen the words because she had been able to relate to them, to identify family traits in them, and she knew that Henry would do the same.
The conservatory became dark and unfriendly as the rain returned. On the window ledge, beside a many times repaired antique Wedgwood fruit bowl, an old mahogany mantle clock chimed twice indicating a half-hour had just passed. Martha glanced towards it, half past two; they would know soon … and someone would call her. Conflict fought within her, the needing to know crashing against the need not to know … both unbearable.
But she would know, life did not stop at the difficult parts, it carried on, and experience had taught her that there was no choice but to move with it, jumping and still falling at each hurdle, then getting up and trudging on towards the next. Uncurling herself from the security of the pillows around her, she gathered the cards together, rewrapped the letter around them, and replaced them in dresser drawer.
Leaning heavily on the banister, she climbed the stairs and on entering Henry’s bedroom, stepped over a pile of magazines with dirty socks sandwiched between them, and a pair of work jeans folded concertina-style as he had hurriedly stepped out of them the night before. As she tidied his bedding she felt his old well-hugged grey bear snuck beneath his pillow. Henry had sheepishly packed it away in the loft soon after his first girlfriend had teased him about still having a teddy bear sitting on his bed. But he’d recently been in the loft helping his dad, and must have sneaked it back down. Martha held the bear close to her face and could still smell her son’s childhood on the threadbare fur. Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of the phone ringing and still clutching the bear, she rushed downstairs to take the call she had been dreading, her heart following a few steps behind her.
‘Mum, it’s me … it was your letter Mum; he read your letter …’
‘Henry …’ the silence was broken by the tearful whisper of her son asking his father to speak.
‘Hi, it’s me. It’s OK Martha … he’s coming home …’
‘Oh Jack …’
‘Henry’s right here, with Mary and your mum.’ reassured Jack. ‘The judge said that he is a very fortunate young man to have a mother like you and such strong family support. He told Henry to go home and thank his mother, because Martha, it was your letter that influenced the judge that prison was not the place to send Henry … but back home to his family. He has to do some community service and … hey there you, no tears eh, it’s all going to be alright, we are on our way home … together.’
As she replaced the receiver, Martha gently rocked Henry’s bear close to her chest as if she were soothing a new born baby. Walking into the dining room she opened the dresser drawer … then closed it again. One day she would tell Henry about the cards … and about Robert de Nero. One day.
STICKS
I only opened the gate to let Grandma in. Granddad says the ice cream man would not have seen anything, but I hate the ice cream man, his silly pink and yellow van and its stupid music. If he didn’t play that stupid music every time he came round my street my Mum wouldn’t shout at me every day and say ‘No you can’t have one, How - Many - More - Times, just go and play’ It’s always No, No, No, No, No. Everything fun is No.’
Granddad bought me Sticks when I got a broken bone in my back when I fell down the bank at Tizzy’s dad’s farm. Well, his name is Alan really but we all call him Tizzy, he’s ten and got the best Meccano set ever, he said he would hold the rope with the tyre on the end and slide me down the bank at the bottom of the garden by the steps down to the chickens but he let go. He told me not to tell I hurt my back, but I could only crawl on my bum and it really really hurt, then he said I was a cry baby and not to tell about the rope.
Granddad took me to get Sticks from the pet shop. He said I had been very brave but Dad said I was grounded for not doing as I was told and staying away from the bank. I didn’t mind being grounded, I couldn’t walk anyway! Granddad said a puppy would be company. I picked Sticks because he had a white leg and a brown leg and two black legs and his feet were different colours and his ears were bigger than his head. He looked like he had been stuck together. Granddad said Sticks was a good name. Mum said Puddles would be better cos he kept wetting on the floor. He cried at night and Dad said he would have to ‘go’ unless he stopped.
The weekend Granddad looked after me Sticks slept on my bed and didn’t wet or cry, so Mum let him sleep there all the time. He sits under the table and eats crusts off my toast. Sometimes I hide bits of my dinner in my hankie and stuff it up my sleeve when no-one is looking but now Sticks eats it instead.
Well, not now cos the ice cream man killed him. I hate the ice cream man and his stupid music. I never want ice cream again, I just want Sticks. I miss his licks on my face and playing tug with him. I don’t want another dog and I don’t want to sleep in my bed. Mum washed my quilt and now I can hardly smell him, but he still smells on my blankie and I can see him when I put blankie by my nose. Mum doesn’t wash that cos I cry at night cos it doesn’t smell the same, so Sticks is still on my blankie.
Granddad bought me Sticks when I got a broken bone in my back when I fell down the bank at Tizzy’s dad’s farm. Well, his name is Alan really but we all call him Tizzy, he’s ten and got the best Meccano set ever, he said he would hold the rope with the tyre on the end and slide me down the bank at the bottom of the garden by the steps down to the chickens but he let go. He told me not to tell I hurt my back, but I could only crawl on my bum and it really really hurt, then he said I was a cry baby and not to tell about the rope.
Granddad took me to get Sticks from the pet shop. He said I had been very brave but Dad said I was grounded for not doing as I was told and staying away from the bank. I didn’t mind being grounded, I couldn’t walk anyway! Granddad said a puppy would be company. I picked Sticks because he had a white leg and a brown leg and two black legs and his feet were different colours and his ears were bigger than his head. He looked like he had been stuck together. Granddad said Sticks was a good name. Mum said Puddles would be better cos he kept wetting on the floor. He cried at night and Dad said he would have to ‘go’ unless he stopped.
The weekend Granddad looked after me Sticks slept on my bed and didn’t wet or cry, so Mum let him sleep there all the time. He sits under the table and eats crusts off my toast. Sometimes I hide bits of my dinner in my hankie and stuff it up my sleeve when no-one is looking but now Sticks eats it instead.
Well, not now cos the ice cream man killed him. I hate the ice cream man and his stupid music. I never want ice cream again, I just want Sticks. I miss his licks on my face and playing tug with him. I don’t want another dog and I don’t want to sleep in my bed. Mum washed my quilt and now I can hardly smell him, but he still smells on my blankie and I can see him when I put blankie by my nose. Mum doesn’t wash that cos I cry at night cos it doesn’t smell the same, so Sticks is still on my blankie.
ME LIFE
inspired by a northern lad!
inspired by a northern lad!
Me family’s me family
And out
Again
Me dad’s at work
Till late
Eleven
Me mam’s on sofa
Sleeping
Again
Me sister’s upstairs
With Twat
Kevin
Me dog’s in garden
Shittin
Again
Me Granny’s at Bingo
With Auntie
Ellen
Me Grandad’s at Pub
Or Dogs
Again
Me mate’s in back alley
Collecting
Fag ends
Me lifes’s me life
Just mine
Till ten
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