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John was a brave and remarkable man...there is real vision in his poems - Kathleen Raine share |
Forever Endeavour - ExtractsHard timesThe light from the gas lamps made crazy diamond patterns through the tears that were squeezing out of Jons eyes as he peered down the darkening street for his mother. The small red-headed three year old sat on the front step of the terraced house which he knew and loved. The lights from the upstairs rooms of the rows of houses lining the steep hill flickered out one by one. Thin cats prowled looking for scraps. Jon and his half-witted elder sister Amy should have been in charge of Grandma, but Grandma sat in the dark kitchen in her rocking chair. Grandma, kindly but deaf, was lost in her own world of old age and memories. In spite of the deafness, young Jon loved Grandma, better than five-year old Amy, better than Mam, his mother Maisie. The shawl covered Grandma was a symbol of safety and security, Jon never saw her move out of her chair for she never went to bed, just slept where she was. A wrinkled hand would ease itself out of the black clothing to grasp a cup of tea or find a tiny handkerchief which she kept in a small purse. Maisie was out of the house so much and Amy was only a girl, a scraggy girl who whined and cried. The Newcastle long summer evening had faded away. The tired smoke from the miners cottages drifted unenthusiastically as the fires were dampened for the night. Cold and hungry Jon drew patterns in the dust with his bare toes. He lifted his head brushing away the tears for he heard laughter and familiar voices. He saw figures at the bottom of the hill, Maisie, her friend Gertie who was dragging Amy by the hand, and a man. Jon and Amy scuttled quick up the stairs and flung themselves at the far side of the very large double bed, which filled most of the room. There was only one bedroom in the house, and in this room there was only space for the bed, a chest of drawers and two straight backed chairs. Behind the door was the bucket, for communal use at night times. The toilet was outside and at the bottom of the garden. On a hook by the window was Maisies fur coat, a legacy of previous years, a symbol of her other life. This fur coat was her passport to further customers who were after her sexual offerings. |