ONE FOR THE ROAD
PART1.
Adrian Peter Patrick or Patrick Peter didn't matter much to
him, one was his English side and the other his Irish side he was just a
scruffy little street kid. Born in
England
of Irish catholic parents, his mother from Dublin and his
father from Belfast they met and wed in London, having a family of six children
all born in different towns.
my father was always running from his past we moved house
home and school every six months or so.
life for the children was t-chests in the living room and the mark of
pictures on or off the wall marking time to come or go. my mother was from rat mines on the south
side of Dublin, Dublin was a grim city then growing into a free
state times were hard for Maggie and her children who
decided to make a new start
for her children in London.
they had lost their husband and great father at the early age of twenty
seven to tuberculosis, Maggie knew she would never be with another
as her and her children had lost their rock so a fresh start
in England was the best thing even if her family disapproved, Ireland at that
time was married to the church and made it known that Ireland was no place for
a single mother to raise five children.
My father was born somewhere and left on a doorstep in north
Belfast, both Sarah and him took any information to the grave so whether my
name is Adrian peter fox is un-known and I don't really care as I look at this
as the beginning. my father never gave
me jack shit so this is the beginning of my end. my father was running from the
void
in his soul and he found a soul mate in my mothers good
charm. I'm beginning this series of
poems and stories with two short stories based on the beginning and the end of
their lives together whether their circumstances are true or false is up to
you.
THE NOTEBOOK
Although it was late morning the sun was still warm over the
south side of
Dublin draining yet another cold winter from the earth and
from the hearts of the
poor. One didn’t
have to see the sun or feel the heat to know that summer had arrived
In Rathmines, the stench of the Grand Canal lingered with
the cities grime.
As the church bells rang out the Angelus little Maggie
blessed herself and
continued polishing Mrs Mahon’s side board.
Every Saturday she helped her mother clean the houses of the
rich to help boost her
measly widows pension from the Ministry of Defence.
Her father died a few years previous, cut down is his prime
of twenty seven by
Tuberculosis leaving a gaping wound in the hearts of a
devoted wife and five
children.
Maggie worked alone this day, her mother was away bringing a
life into the world she
was the unofficial midwife of the area.
The duster glided across the dark wood and she escaped into
her Hollywood dreams
dancing and singing songs by Judy Garland with her friends
on the lochs of the canal,
the stench of the filthy river forgotten.
She took a small worn notebook from the pocket in her drab
tunic and flicked through
the pages of scribbled signatures and stopped at Judy
Garland, a sense of pride filled
her cheeks recalling the crowds of screaming fans she
battled through for that
autograph. That
little book held her treasures and was as important as her prayer
book and her legion with Mary.
She turned to the last page autographed by Rita Hayward, she
remembered her
friends not believing her when she showed them the book.
‘You done that yourself’ they said sitting on a bench that
ran along the canal, Pam
and Mary squeezed in trying to make some sense of the
scribbled line.
‘I cant make head nor tail of it’, said Pam, ‘if you gave our jimmy a bleeding pen
you’d make more sense of it’ said Mary how did you get it
they asked together?
well said Maggie’,
‘I was in Woolworth’s getting threads for my mother when this
blond lady with sunglasses came in the queue behind holding
a little girls hand’.
‘Caught ya na na na na na said Pam said, Rita Hayward hasn’t got
blond hair, ‘I know said Maggie but I remember Rinty the
bell boy at the Gresham
had told me she was visiting Dublin. ‘I read that in her next role she would be
blond,
so there’.
‘I waited at the front and when she came out’ ‘I said’,‘
Miss Hayward could I have
your autograph’ , ‘what makes you think I’m Miss Hayward, ,
she said removing her
sunglasses . I told
her that I read about her next role as a blond and I knew she had a
little girl.
She said for knowing
so much I will sign and handed me an orange from her bag and
asked my name and shook my hand.
The two girls looked again at the scrawl of ink and knew it
was Rita Hayward’s
and skipped off home along the path.
Finishing her chores she fell into the role of a movie queen
strolling the highly
polished hall. As
she neared the wide steep staircase her hands raised like a ballet
dancer pirouetting in a beautiful gown in place of her drab
tunic that hung around her
like an apron of poverty.
No longer a buck toothed thirteen year old Dublin girl she
was the queen of
Hollywood.
She strode the staircase with the strength of Joan Crawford
or Bette Davis
as she neared the last flight her step lightened and fell
with a thud into reality and
Mrs Mahon standing at the foot of the stairs.
She looked forward to the one shilling wage and the home
made cakes and tarts made
from apples and pears picked from her garden and the
goodness of her heart.
As she reached the bottom step Mrs Mahon said in her soft
upper class polite tone
’would you do me a favour Maggie’, the little girl nodded in
response.
Go to Dan Dooley’s and get an ounce of tea, half a sugar and
quarter butter and keep
the change, and Mrs Mahon handed her a shilling and she put in her pocket with the
notebook.
A small thin man she
knew as Mrs Mahon’s brother in law stepped out of the
darkened room behind her.
‘I'm going your way’, he said,' I'll walk with you’.
Patti wanted to rush there and back and get her wage and get
home quickly.
She looked at the
little man with greased back dark hair wearing a suit that hung on
him like a hospital gown.
She looked into his eyes and sensed a sadness and thought it
would be alright to walk
with him and the big
door closed behind them.
As they walked out he felt the heat of summer reacting to
the searing heat in his chest
distorting his view, she smelt the strong scent of summer
and said in a rush of
embarrassed utterance, ‘ I
take a short cut over two walls and across’ and before she
had time to finish,
It’s quicker this way’, he said
and grabbed her arm and held her
scream. He hauled
her fresh young body across the garden past the big window of the
lonely house and down the side towards the back, while the
flashes of red bricked
confusion seared through her young mind.
His greased back hair fell about his thin face like a demon
revealing his horns, her
eyes leered with tear filled muffled silence to the rusting
roof of the shed.
She cleared those two walls as if they weren’t there, that
evil man had tore her soul
her life and legion with Mary.
She clambered towards the canal feeling a hurt worse than
the grief of her dad, the
soiled blood ran down her soft white legs.
The next thing she never knew she was waist deep in the
canal delving between her
legs washing away the filth of the devil.
The notebook and the money fell from her pocket and washed
away in the cities
grime, her dreams of
innocence washed away with the filthy river.
The river bed of broken glass and rotting metal took blood
from her feet but she was
numb to feel it through here well worn plim-soles.
She ran through the great doors of the chapel and settled
under one of the worn down
pews and huddled into a ball doing penance on the stone cold
floor of loss, the lonely
lingering stench of stained immaculate conceptions engulfed
her.
‘ Come out of there child, I thought you were a flea bitten
dog, what’s wrong girl’,
said the voice of the servant of god. Shivering she got of her hunkers and looked
at
him in disbelief, why doesn’t he know what happened she said
to herself.
A gibberish flow about losing Mrs Mahon’s money came flowing
like the confusion
of pollution in her mind.
‘Go home to your mother’, said the priest, ‘God bless you
girl’.
Mrs Mahon’s brother in law died of cancer some months later
and Maggie knelt in the
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