Kathleen/Woodingdean

You’d pick me up from school

every Friday 

and we’d walk all the way

along the backtracks

past the horses and brambles and nettles

to Woodingdean.

Friday evenings
we’d go to Vesuvios
and have dinner by Tony -
you, egg salad; me two sausages and chips -
the BEST chips -
and ice cream drizzled in cream.
Auntie waitressed there,
and it had a timeless sense;
‘Take My Breath Away’ would play;
it had an 80s bent.

On Saturdays we’d get the bus into town

to see your sister. You’d treat me

to nuggets and chips in Maccy Ds,

the toy of course

always the best bit.

And then a small ice cream each -

no Flake.

Your sister’s house was a bit old

and dingy,

and smelled of old grease.

Her partner would watch old westerns

or Carry On films

whilst I would read

The National Enquirer -

what a strange situation!

Then we’d go back to yours

on the bus, and I’d whisper in your ear

just loud enough for the people behind to hear,

‘Did you get my CDs?’

That was code for ‘chocolate desserts’

with the delicious cream on top

always to be eaten first,

but the people behind didn’t know that!

I loved those bus rides.

I loved your garden.

I loved the fields across from your house

with their long grass.

Sometimes we’d venture into the downs

and I’d count the burned-out cars.

Then one day, you had to leave;

you were being terrorised by young children

who egged your house, broke

your window, hurled abuse.

The Beast of Woodingdean, with whom

nobody would fuck, was now seen

as a lonely old dragon

who was down on her luck.

But not to me.

You were a fierce lady

who loved her grandson - fed him

burned pizza and overcooked homemade chips,

and your house was like a relic -
I mean, who the hell still had a larder!?

You have mellowed through the years

and I take great pleasure

in showing you the music I love

and the photos of the great-grandchildren you adore.

Your husband died in 1979,

but now you talk to Les every day.

I just hope you live out your days now

in peace - I hope it stays that way.