Mrs Death Misses Death

by Salena Godden

thunder and lightning

  the walls vibrate

  the windows rattle

  the fire dies

  all is cold and

  I do not sleep

  then dawn breaks

  I am thankful for first light

  I put on my coat and walk

  and walk and walk and walk

  higher and higher and higher

  I am high up on the cliffs

  overlooking the ocean

  watching the sun rise

  listening to birdsong

  I am real

  I am alive

  I am grateful

  for every

  breath

  April 20th

  The weather

  is mad

  blue sky rain

  grey sky

  sunshine

  storms

  the sea is

  razors and

  feathers

  April 21st

  I fall sleep

  my hair all in knots

  lips taste of sea salt

  nails ripped and

  black with coal dust

  I blow smoke

  and talk fluent fire

  April 22nd

  I am not alone

  I stare into the flames

  and talk to the fire

  I am good at keeping

  the fire going

  and this conversation

  with the fire burns forever

  April 23rd

  Nothing lasts

  Nothing is finished

  Nothing is perfect

  Death lasts

  Death isn’t finished

  Death is perfect

  Life lasts

  Life isn’t finished

  Life is perfect

  Love lasts

  Love isn’t finished

  Love is perfect

  Thank You . . .

  To my forever love, Richard Cripps. My mum Lorna. Thank you to Irene, to my brothers and sisters, my nieces and nephews and our beautiful family. To our grandparents, may they rest in peace. To our ancestors who echo in these pages.

  To all who have tattooed me and left your mark. To you who shaped my words until I was compelled to write this. To our father, Paul Godden: rest in peace, Dad.

  To my agent, Crystal Mahey-Morgan, Jason Morgan, Shae Davis and the brilliant OWN IT! family. Thank you to my editor, Hannah Knowles. Thanks also to Anna Frame, Aa’Ishah Hawton, Leila Cruickshank, Vicki Rutherford, Joanna Lord, Katalina Watt, Kate Oliver, Vicki Watson, Jenny Fry, Francis Bickmore, Jamie Byng and everyone in the fabulous Canongate team.

  I’m indebted to all deceased mentioned in this book. With love and respect, we salute you and remember you here. Rest in peace, rest in power.

  To all fighting for truth and justice for all we lost in Grenfell. To the families of the Windrush generation. To those fleeing atrocities and held in detention, in refugee camps and cages at borders. To all lost in migration and drowned at sea. To the families of Breonna and George and all fighting injustice and police brutality. To all lost or surviving suicide, parricide, femicide, genocide, gendercide, democide and ecocide. To all fighting for change, marching for peace and equality and human rights. To every person using their time and energy to make a stand for the survival of the planet and the natural world. To every person fighting to save the libraries and pubs at the beating heart of our communities. To everyone working to save the NHS. Here’s to the families of thousands of black and working class and vulnerable people, key workers, carers and nurses, that we lost to Covid-19 due to the ineptitude of those who still continue to put profit before life.

  To the memory of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Chadwick Boseman, Little Richard, Bill Withers, Andy Weatherall, Johnny Nash, Toots Hibbert, Tim Smith, Ian Holm, Jock Scot, Howard Marks, Michael Wojas, Gigi Giannuzzi, Julia Jay, Roddy Lumsden, Cheryl B, Ty, Stuart Goodman, Dave Weirdigan and Kay Pica.

  To the spirit that first whispered to me on Brick Lane in December 2015 and on the beach of Koh Kood, where the first pages were written.

  To Bill Drummond, the Neu! Reekie! crew and to the Curfew Tower. Thanks to Zippy and Steph and all the kind folk of Cushendall. A special mention to Trish and Kelley for the pints and the laughter and for introducing me to Keeley Moss and their courageous work. Thank you to the ghosts who called to me on the Causeway Coast and Glen where the last pages were written.

  To Peter Coyte, who kindly collaborated with me to work on a soundtrack for this story and co-write Mrs Death’s songs in the Sonic Shed in Whitstable. Early experimental readings of this work were performed and shared on stage with thanks to: Rachel Nelken, Last Word Festival, Roundhouse, London; Anna Freeman, Blah’s Big Weekend, Wardrobe Theatre, Bristol; Cheltenham Literary Festival; Tom Thumb Theatre, Margate; Festival 23, Sheffield; Churchtown; Cosmic Trigger, Cockpit Theatre, London; The Margate Bookie; Rally and Broad and Neu! Reekie!, Edinburgh; and lastly L’Escargot, Soho, London, with thanks to Stephen Colegrave.

  To The Society of Authors, The Royal Literary Fund and The Royal Society of Literature. Thank you to the BBC and Cecile Wright for producing the Radio 4 documentary of this work in progress.

  To the friends and family of Churchtown, F23 and the family and friends of Cosmic Trigger. Thanks to Davied and Rita, the Green Funeral Company, Claire Callender and Rupert Callender. Thanks to Daisy Eris and the Book of Horkos.

  I have been given lots of guidance along the way, life-changing advice and inspiration. Thank you for your work, art, books and music, thanks to these poets, activists and artists: Alan Moore, Deborah Delano, John Higgs, Irenosen Okojie, Courttia Newland, Nikesh Shukla, Benjamin Zephaniah, Kelly Davitt, Sally Dunbar, Oli Spleen, Malorie Blackman, Colin Grant, Kathryn Williams, James Yorkston, Sabrina Mahfouz, Lemn Sissay, Joelle Taylor, Max Porter, Keeley Moss, Birgitta Jónsdóttir, Scarlett Sabet, Jimmy Page, Heidi James, Iona Lee, Nikita Gill, Lisa Luxx, Maggie Gee, Nick Rankin, Amah-Rose Abrams, Matt Abbott, Toria Garbutt, Connor Byrne, Oakley Flanagan, Michelle Fisher, John Mitchinson, Rachel Kerr, Kit de Waal, Dan Sumption, Clementine Ford, Melania Jack, Patty Bom, Marcia Ebdell-Blanch, Michelle Madsen, Gary Fox, Simon Crabb, Niven Govinden, Andi Oliver, Paul McVeigh, Anna Phoebe, Travis Alabanza, John Lee Bird, Bishi, Nina Hervé, Will Burns, David Keenan, Kirsteen McNish, Martha Sprackland, Emma Tornero, Keith Holden, Mhairi McGeachy, Daniela Harris, Lee Harris, David Attenborough, Greta Thunberg, Writers Rebel, Refugee Community Kitchen, Black Minds Matter, Shakespeare and Co, Ana Garanito, Emma Brown and Idris Elba. This acknowledgements page is written in lockdown, November 2020, and now reads like a list for the festival of my dreams. I’m sure I missed out lots of good people here, but you know who you are and I will thank you when I see you. Thanks to you, dear reader, to all the people who’ve shared my work and shown support online and all who inspire and encourage me. Thanks to all who cajole and push me, to all who remind me to keep fighting the good fight. Thank you for your wisdom and hope. Thank you to all who listened and laughed with me in the kitchen, with a rum in hand, watching the sunrise.

  Rabbit: The Last Words

  We end this book with a silent salute and leave six blank pages.

  We leave these pages blank as a silent memorial for all the names we do not know and cannot say. For all the invisible, the undervalued, the unmarked and the unresolved. For all that is becoming extinct, a blank page for the bleached coral reef, depleted rainforests, dead rivers and obsolete wildlife. The last elephant.

  We leave these pages blank for all we are losing and have lost to the coronavirus pandemic. To all drowned souls in unmarked watery graves. These empty pages are a salute to all the murdered, the disappeared, the stolen and the erased. The fallen and the pushed. May their light be remembered here.

  In the beginning of this work, in the Disclaimer, Wolf Willeford wrote: This book does not mention every person that has ever died – if you wished this book to have mentioned another death, we can only apologise now in advance, for not knowing which death you
wanted celebrated in this book . . .

  Together you and I can address this: now I ask you to write the name that came to your mind as you read this story. Please add your loved one’s name on one of these blank pages, maybe add a date, a memory or a prayer. In this one act of remembrance we will be united. From now on every single person who reads this book will know their copy contains their own dead. As time passes, if this book is borrowed or passed along, the names will live on. This will be universal and timeless. This is our private ritual.

  Now this book contains not just the dead Wolf may know of and that Mrs Death may mention, but the names each of you may want to remember here today. And in the future anyone who reads your copy of this book will read that handwritten name and speak it aloud.

  One day they may read your own name. One day they may read mine. In this we are connected. We share these names of our loved ones in the whisper of the last page turning, over the years to come.