Tuesday, 22 March 2011
20:52 | Posted by
Dale Darley |
We visited grandads house every summer, always the week just before going back to school. Grandad played draughts with me, he called them chequers and cackled when he won, which he always did. Every year he told me the same story about the man in Palestine and the gun, right after his victory, ‘it was him or me’. I never understood and defeated I retreated to the gardens behind the house. The garden was full of trees, there was one, that reminded me of parma violets.
Dad told me that grandads dad had planted the trees and that one was very special. He chose it for my great grandmother and he had carved their initials in the bark just before proposing to her. Dad said that grandad had done the same. It was my tree. There were only ever 2 lots of initials and I wondered why my mum and dads weren’t there.
The discovery of a hidey hole soon made me forget. Every year I left a little treasure that I had found for the fairy that lived amongst the leaves. Some years it was joined by something from someone else, I am not sure who, but I think it was granddad, there was just something in his eye.
One summer I was hiding in the tree, dozing as you do when tired from your adventures, when I heard them. Divorce, that’s all I heard that summer. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it looked and sounded serious. I didn’t dare move a muscle, but made a pledge to leave a note to the tree fairy to make sure that mum and dad were kinder to each other. It must have worked, because they stayed together.
Over the years their fights became bickers, dampened by the heat of Spain’s summers. They moved to Spain for a new life. Dad’s new life ravaged his body, and now he slept almost all day.
Last autumn I decided on a last minute holiday and arrived to find him asleep as usual on the sofa, muttering, take me to the tree. Mum just tutted and looked that way that said it all.
Glass of wine in one hand, my other on him, mum and I caught up.
Three weeks later I am back at the tree. Dad is with me. I put him in the hole and ask the tree fairy to take him safely home.
It is only then I notice their initials, PD and GM.
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
She had never thought of herself as a thief, that was until he had left them. Providence had saved them and the council had rehomed them, and as luck would have it, to a pristine block close to Belle Vue Park. Joe’s birthday was fast approaching and all the upheaval had frayed her nerves. She hadn’t meant to snap that morning, but his whining voice was chafing.
She had taken to wandering around the park aimlessly since being signed off work. A month she thought, did they really think her heart would heal in a month? She had seen the boats through the trees many times, but had never thought to take a closer look. Just recently she had lifted her head from the murk that was her brain and started to observe park life. Autumn was upon her, fall they called in America, where he had headed with his mistress, I hope they do, she smiled, her first one in almost three weeks.
Just one boat was there today, milling in a pool of tranquillity, unlike her thoughts whipped up into a storm. It’s gleaming hull, pure white, in stark contrast to the black kitten playing idly at the water’s edge. She wondered how she might make the owner surrender his vessel. She was scared of water, a swimming accident as a child rendered her incapable of even sitting on a beach. Edging closer, she imagined herself as Rita Hayworth, glamorous, resplendent in blood red costume and high heels giggling, with the dashing captain, sipping champagne. Knowing her luck he’d be more like Blackbeard, with last night’s dinner caught in his rotten teeth and a rough rum stench. At least he would be seducible; she could tempt him with her buxom bosom and lily white thighs. She giggled.
Quickly looking around, she really was alone, marooned and left to face her fate, she shouted ‘bastard’, taking up her cutlass she savaged her errant husband. She snarled, jabbing the cold morning air. ‘Take that’, she cried as she jabbed again. Hysterical laughter filled the air, she looked around to see where it was coming from. It was her. She stopped and took a hold of herself, took a deep breath. She had a boat to liberate.
Out of nowhere, hot tears shot from her eyes and cannon balled down her naked face. Through her tears the boat tormented her, she crept closer. The water shallow like men’s promises urged her on. The name Gracie caught her unawares; she had almost been called Gracie. Gracie Fields had died the day she was born 27 September 1979. She had come a long way since her birth in Rochdale to the cocoon of the park in Richmond. Glancing back at the tree lined path, a couple sauntered hand in hand, too wrapped up in their world to notice her, she was truly alone.
Bravery lifted her, she was Anne Bonny a women full of gumption and a heart of steel, she marched forward. In that moment she was aboard and in control, cutting through the water with the roar of the 2000-horsepower engines, the plumes of spray leaving a misty trail behind her.
All rational thought left her, the bounty before her, she hauled her vast frame forwards, reached and scooped the kitten and charged for the park gates.
Friday, 17 December 2010
I wrote this for a presentation yesterday + I'd like to share it with you all. Its a bit silly :-)
If I were this necklace
I’d fill the world with miles of bright smiles
And cancel miserable Monday morning faces
Green and Blacks chocolate would be voted a vegetable
And I’d crown Ferdy dog King of the World
If I were this necklace
I’d string together a brighter future
And help everyone reach for the sky
We could all dare to dream, of what we could accomplish
And I’d vote Marmite, the toast topping of choice
If I were this necklace
I’d take away the weekly worry
And everyone would dance on Fridays
Resolutions would be a thing of the past
And I’d make mince pies a regular feast
If were this necklace
I’d wear it with pride
And show the world that I sparkle and glow
A crisp cold Chablis could be the new tea
And laughter & happiness the only way to go
If I were this necklace
I’d make tiramisu especially for you
And help you appreciate this wonderful earth
Where goals would be, just for now
And shoes and handbags were given for free
If I were this necklace
I’d share it with you
If I were this necklace
I’d fill the world with miles of bright smiles
And cancel miserable Monday morning faces
Green and Blacks chocolate would be voted a vegetable
And I’d crown Ferdy dog King of the World
If I were this necklace
I’d string together a brighter future
And help everyone reach for the sky
We could all dare to dream, of what we could accomplish
And I’d vote Marmite, the toast topping of choice
If I were this necklace
I’d take away the weekly worry
And everyone would dance on Fridays
Resolutions would be a thing of the past
And I’d make mince pies a regular feast
If were this necklace
I’d wear it with pride
And show the world that I sparkle and glow
A crisp cold Chablis could be the new tea
And laughter & happiness the only way to go
If I were this necklace
I’d make tiramisu especially for you
And help you appreciate this wonderful earth
Where goals would be, just for now
And shoes and handbags were given for free
If I were this necklace
I’d share it with you
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
For 5 years green dress and I were best friends, she was short, straight, soft and silent, you couldn’t really ask for much more in a friend. She clung to me on nights out, laughed at my jokes, helped me get dates, and danced like a demon, there wasn’t much she couldn’t do. Hidden under a dark green sweat shirt she came with me to mums quiz night, all was ok until the dancing began and my father dragged her onto the dance floor, he insisted she throw off the ugly jumper and come out to play. It was only then that she let me down, there peaking through the straps on my bare shoulder, the trident and tail of a new and glistening large devil tattoo. Dad called me common, green dress said sod him its your body, I believed her.
3 weeks later she came with me to Monaco, hot nights in expensive bars was much more her thing. Dark Italians touching her, wanting her. One short brooding type sucked my finger and proclaimed love, she had other ideas and whisked my out of the dimly lit room, helped me quickly up the stairs out into the balmy night. On our return we sadly fell out for a short while, a forgotten exercise routine and a few too many boozy nights out squeezed her out of my life.
I didn’t forget her and when sometime after I left the note ‘please leave immediately’ on the microwave to the maniac man called husband, she reminded me that we should forget about the fat, renew our friendship and try again. In 3 short months we were back at it again enjoying ourselves and our new found freedom.
Which brings me to the last night we partied together. In the week leading up to that night in Cardiff, she lay there on the bed encouraging me to wax and tan my legs, suggesting that curls would look sexy, not forgetting full war paint and high patent black court shoes. That last night we strutted our stuff on the dance floor watched by the soon to be ex husband, he’d had his chance she reminded me. She bought me home safe and sound that night like she always did, this time to the new man in my life. He for his part didn’t know how close our friendship was, so every night he wined and dined me and sadly green dress was once again left to hang around by herself, devoted to the end.
In a safe plastic bag, green dress stayed hidden for over 15 years. A few weeks ago she called out my name, there she was just the same, sexy sassy and my mate. My body no longer that of a 30 something looks longingly at green dress. She coaxes me, come on, put me on, you need some fun. Look at your legs she cries, get them out show the others how its done. I wiggled and squeeze, she just fits, it’s a sign.
Monday, 20 September 2010
She has secrets so dark like thick molasses that stick to every part of you, tacky to touch, sweet to lick, covering the shame. The innocence of childhood taken and wrapped in a blanket, coddled and silenced. The child never knew it was wrong, a victim of games played by sick adults, who cheat at checkers and eat all the sweets. Discarded like wrappers, strewn without care. Secrets locked away where music never plays. A jolt from the TV in an age of internet and free speech releases a memory. A shudder of realisation and a shot of pain, as a hand reaches through time and grabs her heart, still dead. She watches her world, smile on her face, they can't see in to the place that died. Like a cancer the memories roam free, invading her life, cruel stabs of long forgotten times. She picks up a key and double locks her secrets, they are not ready yet to be set free.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
At seventeen I knew that I never wanted children and insisted that mum come with me to the doctors to have my tubes tied. It seemed a sensible option, no pills, no condoms and certainly no mistakes. Of course the doctor thought I was mad, far too young and was adamant that I would in time change my mind. Mum must have been pleased when we walked away with my tubes intact and the prospect of her becoming a grandmother re-instated.
My family would often play games with me and when Eva my youngest niece was born they left her bawling on the sofa, decamped to the kitchen and giggled helplessly while I looked at the screaming thing not really quite sure what I was supposed to do with it. When after sometime they did not come back I walked over, prodded it, sat back down and waited some more. Still no one came. When eventually I clumsily picked it up, they ran in and photographed my uncomfortable face.
For another 23 years I remained happily childless. Then one June day at a friends house party a woman arrived with a brand new baby in tow. As was usual all the other women gathered around cooing and cradling the small bundle. As was usual no one passed her to me, why would they? They knew. As I stood glass of crisp white wine in my hand some strange feeling crept up from my ovaries, mingled with my hormones and wham hit me smack in the centre of my brain. I looked helplessy on, I was forty and a half, it was now or never, I wanted one. The noise of the gathering swirled around me, it was if I was caught in a whirlpool, silence gathering at my ears, being sucked under.
People slowly left the house and disappeared to the pub. I stood rooted to the spot as they glided past me. Their voices echoing around the room. Then it was just me and the mother. I walked over in what seemed like an eternity and was surprised to hear my voice croak ‘may I hold your baby please?’. I put my arms out and lifted the tiny object straight to my nose for a sniff. Johnsons baby powder filled my nostrils. It was then I knew, I mean I really knew, I wanted one.
For 6 whole months I pleaded and cried, but my partner insisted that family life was not for him and anyway he didn’t think that I was serious. I have never admired anyone who would deceive a man so I never deliberately tried. I did of course have the occasional accident but it never came to anything.
And as suddenly as the madness arrived, it went. Crisis over.
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