that like he could order me to clean his shoes,
which I didn’t like, the brazenness of it, just
came up to me while I was at my dressing-table,
unbuttoned already he was, and seized my hand and
made me hold his part, and when I drew back,
naturally, he got rough and threw me on the bed and
would have had his way with me had I not yelled and
screamed fit to make the whole hotel hear. And
so he got up and buttoned himself up with his back
to me, swearing all the time vilely at me, and
little Ronnie woken up by all this noise, standing
up in his cot and wondering what was happening to
his Mum. And of course I didn’t last long after
that, he couldn’t look at me after that.
Clear up now. Nearly finished. Just scrape off
these last two.
There. Now give them all a wipe.
And put them all back in their nice little cardboard
sockets. One two three four
five
six
seven
eight
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
sixteen
one two
three
four
five
six
seven
twenty-four
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
sixteen
one
two
three
four
five
six seven forty-eight, two cases of
twenty-four is what I started with. The satisfaction
of finishing. A job well done.
Here, Missus, I’ve finished.
How nice to be thanked. The warmth.
Very pleased indeed, she said.
That pleases me. A job well done. And the time
passed, too. Now what’s she want?
Pass the Parcel? We used
to play that, didn’t we? Don’t want to
play much now. Why does she give us games?
I just want to sit quietly after working so much.
But I suppose I’d better be sociable.
Me to start?
Off. Pass it to Charlie. What is it? Brown
paper, soft.
It’s stopped at Mrs Ridge first, but she won’t be
able to open it all in time.
Oh! It’s stopped at me!
Open, open, get the paper off, I won’t be the
winner, there, it’s started again.
Stink. . . . What is it!
Ron’s got it, he’ll get it open. What is it, Ron?
How disgusting!
Why does she do a thing like that?
Glad I didn’t win, glad I
didn’t win!
It was the third husband I’d buried, I was getting
used to it. All the market crowd in Strutton
Ground chipped in and gave him a great send-off,
he was a popular landlord. Flowers, I never saw
so many flowers. And the customers, too, bought
the odd one for Fred, they did. But
it didn’t worry me too much. The brewers let me
take on the licence, and within weeks it was just
the same, as though he’d never existed. That
pub used to have a sort of life of its own, then.
And during the war of course you didn’t have to
sell beer, it sold itself, it was getting hold
of enough of it that was the difficulty. Oh yes.
And crisps. There was only one place you could
generally get crisps, then, and that was up on
the North Circular Road. Many’s the time I’ve
caught a trolleybus up the Edgware Road to Staples
Corner and come – Exercise? Haven’t we
had enough? Oh well, up we get. It’s not
for long. She thinks it does us good, perhaps it
does. It doesn’t kill me, anyway.
I’ll push that George Hedbury
round. Not much company, but there you are.
Off we go! George, can you hear me? Deaf as a
post, deaf as a post, daft as a doughnut.
One two three four! Round and round, round and
round!
And so it goes on. That Laura
was a great one for her Guinness. Sometimes I’ve
seen her knock back thirty in an evening. But
she was a quiet drinker. You’d never know
she’d had too many till she fell down when she
tried to get up. This bloody pushchair needs
oiling or something. But she was a good friend
to me, we had many a good time together. She
pulled me out of many a dark time. Like when
Ronnie married that Doris. And after the cat
got run over, Maisie.
We kids used to run about in felt
slippers then, they were the cheapest, a cut above
the barefoot kids. It was our way of
Tired of pushing. But still carry on. Slog, slog.
They were the good old days, it’s true.
And where were we when we were wanted? Oh, we
were there all right, slapping the sandbags on
the incendiaries, ducking down the shelters when
the HE started. All that sort of thing.
That’s enough. I can’t push any more. I’m going
to stop whether she likes it or not, going to stop.
A sit at last,
rest my legs.
Sport! She certainly keeps us on the go.
Tourney. That means me pushing someone, I suppose.
Up again, Sarah, you can do it.
Lean on George’s bathchair till I have to move, take
the nearest corner, Charlie’ll have to go further
with Mrs Bowen.
George doesn’t seem too well. Prop the mop under
his arm, keep it steady.
Ready!
Go!
Trundle, trundle, not as young as I used to
be, get up speed. There!
Silly old fool let the mop drop and caught
hers in the chops!
Not so fast this time.
Keep up the mop now, George!
There, that must have hurt him.
You all right? Seems all right.
I should think it
is the last time!
Ooooh! That surely
hurt him. But he says nothing, George, just takes it.
Wheel him over to his place and sit down again.
My legs are getting
worse, I’m sure they swell up with all this standing.
It’s like a dull ache.
Poor old thing. Let her talk
away, I’m not interested, it’s a rest for me. And
my poor legs.
On his back for months, my Jim, going slowly, you
couldn’t see it day by day, but suddenly I’d
realise that compared with a month or so before he was
definitely down. And he found it difficult to talk,
more and more. For days I knew he was trying to
bring himself to say something, and then it all
came out. He’d been with some girl in Franco, they
all did, he said, went to some brothel, and he was
so guilty about it, as though it were some great
crime he’d committed. Perhaps it was to him
, then.
But to me it didn’t matter, because I could see
he was dying, everybody could, nothing seemed to
matter but that fact and that I had to make the
most of what there was, nothing in the past
mattered, neither the good things nor the others, his
guilt was of no interest to me, or the girl, I
just forgave him as he seemed to want me to, and
it did relieve his mind, you could see that, he
just sank back, and very quickly fell asleep.
He kept a spit-bowl
by his bed, that was the worst part, emptying that,
the yellowy green stuff and the blood, he couldn’t
get out to the carsey, either, but somehow
emptying his spit-bowl was worse, like throwing
away bits that were him.
I tell them
my troubles, they tell me theirs.
We had a good feed at a chip place, before he
went off to his football. I went round the
shops, all excited inside all the afternoon.
Perhaps it was expecting what – Laugh? Ha ha
ha, ho ho ho.
I wish I’d been kind to old people then, now I
know how it is. It’s always the same, you can
never know until you actually are. And then
it’s too late. You realise which are the important
things only when it’s too late, that’s the
trouble.
However much he made it was
always too little, I always had to watch every
penny so carefully. In the butchers I had to take
what he’d give me cheap, and his dirt and insolence.
No one has ever treated me like a queen.
You’d think every girl would be treated like a queen
by someone at some time in her life, wouldn’t you?
But not me. Perhaps I never deserved it, perhaps
I never treated any man like a king.
Now what’s she rucking Ivy for?
Oh, she’s going through that again,
is she? She don’t half fancy herself! Well, I
don’t, and it’s filthy so I shan’t watch though
she may think I am. My idea of a holiday
was never the sea, anyway. On those pub outings
they never looked at the sea in any case, all
they were interested in looking at was the insides
of the pubs along the front at Southend, one after
the other. They went into the first next to the
coach park and so it went on, all along the front.
They’d give the stakeholder half a quid each
and he’d buy the drinks as long as the money lasted.
You could get big fat
oysters on one stall, only time I ever enjoyed them
was down there. My dad would never eat shellfish
but once a year down at Southend, said they were
never fresh anywhere else. Cockles I’d have, too,
and those little brown English shrimps, very tasty,
but whelks I never could stand, far too gristly
and tough. The Kursaal bored me, but
all the men used to love it when the pubs were
shut – What a disgusting spectacle! Why
does she do it?
Disgusting!
Ugh! Never did like it, had to
pretend, all my life pretended to like it.
Listen to her!
No, doesn’t matter
Charlie Edwards
age 78
marital status separated
sight 50%
hearing 80%
touch 80%
taste 95%
smell 30%
movement 85%
CQ count 10
pathology contractures; bronchitis; incipient leather bottle stomach; hypertension; among others.
I have always liked a lamb chop. Even in the last
days I managed to have a lamb chop once a week. Welsh
lamb I found the best, though New Zealand is a close second
in my opinion. Even Betty knew that to please me she
had only to give me a lamb chop. Here the lamb chops
are mutton, I am certain. They are too big for any
lamb. Where does a lamb end and a sheep begin?
I used to see them in the
fields. I know these are mutton. Sometimes they are
tough. They are not always tough, though. They are
always stronger in taste than lamb. Lamb has a delicate
flavour. The best lamb, that is, of course. Mutton
tastes – again, every mealtime, that Mrs Ridge.
Strong mutton is not
without its own special attraction, of course. Perhaps
if I had not tasted lamb first I would have come to like mutton
more. One day she will go too far and someone will
report her to the authorities. Whoever the authorities
are.
Yes, perhaps I would now like mutton if I had tasted it
before lamb. It is an accident.
Perhaps. I can
understand that they have mutton here rather than lamb.
It is for cheapness.
I am fortunate to be here. And mutton keeps me
going as well as ever lamb would. That is
their point of view, I am sure. Mutton has
enough of the taste of lamb to make me remember.
I do not miss lamb now.
I do not miss anything now. There is
no point.
It is hard. Harder where there’s none,
as my old Mum used to say.
Harder where there’s none.
I still enjoy my food. I am lucky in that.
Some of these poor old souls here
do not even have that pleasure.
And it is a pleasure to me.
I am lucky to be here.
Some would revolt at some of the things that woman
says. I do myself. But I keep my feelings
to myself. It would not do to be seen to
revolt, I am in some ways revolting in myself.
Sometimes I have to be changed, like a baby.
Is that revolting? I finish my food cleanly,
a clean plate. I place my knife and my
fork as I was taught to do as a child. It is
easy for Sarah to pick them up with one movement.
I am a tidy man. I have been called fastidious
by some. Betty had another word for it,
what was it? She hated my tidiness,
anyway. As one gets older it becomes more and more
difficult to control the ordin. . . . Now there’ll
be a fuss. Just over dropping a plate.
I noticed it first with spitting, for sometimes
I would spit when speaking. And not always when
I spoke with some vehemence, either. Sometimes
I would spit without any warning. Even without
there seeming to be any reason for it, too. I found
it disturbing, but it was as nothing compared with
what there was to come I found myself
not wanting to . . . not minding about spitting
when I spoke. Is that
worse? Sometimes I cannot worry about things
like that. Yet there is always a worse.
I have only to look at some of these poor old things
here to know that. I am not as bad
as some. I am lucky in that. I am always
more than ready to count my blessings.
Life has taught me at least that. I can at
least say that I was not a slow learner as regards life’s
lessons. As though anyone should
ask – the Song. She wants us to sing, as usual. Well,
singing
is something I have always enjoyed. The music
teacher asked me to sing in his choir, outside school. It
was a church choir, in Haggerston. Not because of your
voice, he said, but because of your ear. You have perfect
pitch. It was something unusual about me others did not
have.
The joys of life continue strong
Throughout old age, however long:
If only we can cheerful stay
And brightly welcome every day.
Not what we’ve been, not what we’ll be,
What matters most is that we’re free:
The joys of life continue strong
Throughout old age, however long.
The most important thing to do
Is stay alive and see it through:
No matter if the future’s dim,
Just keep straight on and trust in Him:
For He knows best, and brings good cheer,
Oh, lucky us, that we are here!
The most important thing to do
Is stay alive and see it through!
There was word amongst the boys that
the music teacher was bent. I never saw it myself.
Work? I’m retired,
I’m not here to work. Though what she
calls work is not what I would call work.
Fancy goods, fancy goods. She
thinks she’s a pretty piece of Fancy goods!
Not my fault. I wasn’t on Fancy
goods last time. That is a relief,
she can’t blame me.
Relief.
Crêpe paper.
Crêpe? Crêpe, crêpe, what a word.
crêpe.
Crêpe.
Reason, I have always believed in reason. It
was only necessary to be reasonable to be saved.
But I have found many in my time
who have disagreed. It is
not important.
Ah, now what does she want me to do tonight?
Good that she relies on me, that she –
Pour about a quarter
into these empty ones. How many
empty ones? Several dozen. I see. What is
it in the bottles? No colour, like water. Even
when I open one I shall not necessarily know, since
my sense of smell is not – Yes, I understand. What’s
it say on the labels? BOAKA, BOAKA? Can’t
understand that.
No, I’ll be very careful. I haven’t let you down
House Mother Normal Page 2