As I may or may not have said ..It had become apparent between Susan and myself there was a void.. deeper almost each day.. we falling apart as so many other "couples" for so many different reasons.
Realized this when I did find time to lift my head from work, look about to what was happening in my life. Apparent, I no more than intrusion to her coffee mornings .. her friends .. her life… Did manage to find time to nut all this out, many men do not ..prefer not to.. or the realization coming much too late.
Usually spent couple of week nights in Bishops Stortford, invariable arrived every Friday night.. settled down. Took them both out Saturday to the market or whatever , did the gardening Sunday.. all the usual things every one does.. It was… it was.. boring. Tell me someone who is not bored …! Finding those willing to admit it is something else. The attitude adopted by so many people is that the child is the consideration and the compensation.. all else swept aside.. maybe..
Monday morning up before the child went to school I had never been allowed to enter the school for any of the usual parent functions, whatever.. ..Susan put the block on this for her own calculated reasons, never really remonstrated.. did not know why then…see quite clearly her ball game now. Allowed to drop them both off if I had the cab, otherwise, it was on the bike, start it up, let the boy sit on it, which he was permitted , no more, his mother… then the perfunctory wave, throttle open and roar away down the M. 11… as if there were no tomorrow. A deep sigh of relief.. enough to mist the visor up…
Xmas. . fast approaching.. always a time of mild panic on my part ..always hated it ever since Australia roast turkey on the beach 32 degrees in the shade… wondering how I would survive this one… 1990.a.d.
Bernie had mentioned going with the gang to Thailand for Xmas.. said it would "Do me good". whatever .. he was very discerning ….. I not too sure about Susan and Jack..
Last new year had taken them to a very smart turnout over a three day period.. A great deal of money for three nights, however, cost was of no consideration to Susan, no attempt to join in any "festivities" .
Everyone getting ready for the New year eve bash .. she sitting there like damp rag.. The Kid started playing up ,, running about banging doors generally getting in everyone's way. I gave him a whack which was his cue to run to Mummy.. Mummy to go bananas at Peter .. it was "On" regardless of everyone .a complete tantrum, as if no one else existed.. then that was Susan
There were a few people I knew, they watched this small drama with some interest, asking what was wrong with the pair of them?? I shrugged.. I had simply tried to check the child.. Not according to Susan, the little sod could do no wrong. Often wondered why It took me so long to realize I had served my purpose the moment she had conceived!! Then men are rather stupid .. most of the time…
The child fully aware of how to wynd the situation up, knew precisely the situation between his mother and myself …balanced on a knife edge.. If , according to him, I stepped out of line, he ran straight to her….therefore the child was without control…unlike in my day, it would be at least a clout behind the ear, or a good belting for stepping so close.
The same situation applies to so many "homes'
No.. not very sure about the fast approaching Xmas.. not at all sure how to play it.. but 'Fate " if you like, stepped in and decided for me.
Mobile phones then, were not a must in society, few people had them, mostly for business, they had not caught on as a means for mindless inanities… they were not prolific, not reaching into the pockets of beggars in the street.
Bernie never, ever, rings anyone other than for a important event.. may ring SOS to lay on a party.. , I had given him the nod I would go to Thailand.. only that .. a nod, no more . no conversation on the matter . ………….Suppose a nod is so good as a wink…
Probably a Monday morning, just getting ready to go to town, a bit of breakfast .. not too much asked of Susan.. she could go to a piece of toast ………that's your lot.. Sitting in the living room, she next to me, none committal. .silent .. no doubt waiting for me to fuck off ..
Then the phone rang..
As said, Bernie had a very loud voice, like a fog horn ….Typical “East end Dockers". He also stammered very badly….a very rich mixture. Opened the phone and his voice came booming out.
"Is that you P.P.P.. Peter!!??
I . so surprised …what did he want??..
" Well.. He said I G.G…..Got the T.T ..Tickets.
The only word I could think of was "Fuck!!"
Susan looked …
Shut the phone off quick, hoping.. a vain hope
Momentarily thought of trying to bluff myself out of it .. but she twigged immediately,.,, What else does she have to think about, other than what move Peter will make and can she twist it ,turn it, to her advantage!
This was her Cue and she stepped straight in. Taking a long draw of the black roll up she always had dangling between her thin lips.
"He Has bought tickets for Thailand has'ent he!! "
She started, low key……..
What could I say ?? couldn't say very much..
Said "Yes " very quietly
"So your going to Thailand for Xmas.."
" Yes."
" .'What about me .!!??". as if she cared
"What about last year?? You cost me a cock eyed fortune.. for what ??
Fate had really stepped in.. as fate can..
Tried to be fair ( ..always try….. usually get a kick in the bollocks for doing so …….. this occasion should be no different ) said..
"Will give you whatever money you want, go where you want.. what happened last year will not let it happen this. The situation being I am not able to do anything with the child without your permission. Not allowed to say anything at all to him. He knows this and uses it as a weapon, where does it put me ?? I am not your ex husband… a yes man.. until even he could take no more . "
She never answered .. was there one?? ..Fully aware what she was doing.
May have embezzled the state for many years on the dubious substance of her mental condition, but hardly fooled Peter. Most people try to.. Maybe I look stupid… in her case she had used me up.. for eight years
Her simply "dropping out " when the going became tough ..a escape used by many people.
All suddenly rather Immaterial.. Hardly remember how time went until take off.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Yes, I did go back to Pattaya back to Thailand, knowing there really was no way back with Susan.. none…
Se afișează postările cu eticheta Bishops Stortford. Afișați toate postările
Se afișează postările cu eticheta Bishops Stortford. Afișați toate postările
Nothing more lethal in society than a group of females...
Another preamble over.. time to press ever onwards.. With the departure of Glenna, now so very long ago, turned my full attention to Susan, the child and the business. Numerous alarms and excursions. Susan "dissatisfied" with the flat bought in Leytonstone.. she now wished to move back to Bishops Stortford of course.. near " her mother". After much running too and fro, after making a considerable profit on the property, enough to buy a somewhat tumble down cottage, long garden in the back, long garden in the front, ideal for the child, which by now she had been given full control.
On the face of it ..the "appearance " of it, things were going quiet well, Peter, of course, dutifully set to work to straighten the place out, did that which was required of him, drove up and down the M.11, went to work. During this period my eldest son and his wife made contact.. his wife and Susan were a "win double" a perfect match, even down to their ages, even down to the clothes, the taste in them …They fell immediately together ..a mutual hatred of Peter, but not immediately apparent to myself. My business doing very well making money …the criteria, engrossed. No problems other than those expected.
Gradually became apparent Susan's coffee mornings with her friends were taking some precedent over myself and the slight help she did perhaps give me, by now Jack started Kindergarten, Susan playing mother with a capital "M". Coffee in turns at each mothers' house, a cosy, lethal arrangement, the feature in their lives, when they discussed everything and everyone when they tore everything and everyone apart, evidently including myself.
I, oblivious of this initially, quite obsessed with the necessities, getting them…trying to be all the things I really was not, yet, I , for whatever reason, tried hard to fit.. to be normal…put out of my mind the obvious, obvious would never fit anywhere, however much having taken it upon myself to try.
Ignored the building processes I had been through previous, starting with Virginia and Desaumarez street.. forty years before. Before, in a far off, strange land, called Australia, this had been a disaster, what made me struggle in the belief England, Hertfordshire in particular, would be any different? ……..I hardly knew.
Quite happy in my misguided thought, Susan "adjusting" herself with her friends, where she belonged, where she belonged finaly. Not seeing the inherent danger, threat to my self.
Most men, the man next to me, all too engrossed putting things together financially.. too engrossed to see what does go on behind their backs while they are going to work , working , returning. While they are thinking, while they are wearing themselves out…….. no time, too see.
Nothing more lethal in society than a group of females, especially females who have conceived the progeny, have taken it to school, females who are young, females who have a certain look on their faces, a dissatisfaction irrespective of whatever they do have.. dissatisfaction with their lives, their husbands, this dissatisfaction pours out , released if you like, the pent up emotions, the real or imaginary frustrations. Mostly these ladies have everything, mostly they want more… something else…
Peter being Peter, pressed ever onwards, growing the roses up the front of the house. Within three years they had reached the roof, a feature ..people slowed their cars down to look. I, quite absorbed in the garden, in the child ..any thoughts regarding asking myself what exactly I was doing, where exactly I was going…….
My Turkish man quite affable, helpful, my account for the fleet maintenance covered his total overheads he smiled ebulliently at this thought ..at myself…. everyone ….. quite happy
In all this intense movement , "turmoil", if you like, rather a good word for most men's efforts, if only they were but aware of it, Susan and the other ladies going their own sweet way.
Considered she had a good life in so far as could be ascertained, understood, so far as any man understands any woman.
She would come up to London for the weekends, see her friends, her mother having the child, wander about Camden market.. all the things all the people do.
Time slipped by, Jack now four years old, I had built up quite a large fleet of taxi cabs.
Run here, run there on the motor bike, chase here, chase there more appropriate, always something too do. The M.11 on a Yamaha 650 does not take long to devour. Became deeper and deeper enmeshed in life, in living, yet some time taken out to realise Susan had drawn away from me in many respects, not enough time to ask why, what was going on.
She became cold, cold as the upstairs bedrooms, they, at times, at freezing point, I wanted to put heating up there but she "preferred it as it was.." not wishing me to get too hot in any direction, conceivably…so I froze.
On occasions, the depths of winter, unable to stand it any longer, would get up after midnight, get in the cab, start it up with enough reverberations to wake the now dead, drive through the deserted, ice/mist covered roads, back to civilization, to Clapton Common, to the flat which was never cold, take hot bath and go to bed, end of another day…….
As other men, ignored the situation, preferring it to asking why? to risk breaking down everything I had built up over the years. As other men, acquiescent, not ask too many questions, remain silent on the subject ..the women fully aware, knowing they hold all the trump cards.
Compressed and starting to show it.
Susan, as the other ladies, remained sanguine, had their coffee mornings after their men had departed into the chaos, into the miasmal distance, after the perfunctory kiss on the cheek, after the waving hands of the children.
Ten a.m. in Hertfordshire, the children taken safely to school, the only sounds are the whisperings, occasional soft laughter, the clatter of crockery, the ladies now sitting, ensconced, cigarettes poised……
..ready.
On the face of it ..the "appearance " of it, things were going quiet well, Peter, of course, dutifully set to work to straighten the place out, did that which was required of him, drove up and down the M.11, went to work. During this period my eldest son and his wife made contact.. his wife and Susan were a "win double" a perfect match, even down to their ages, even down to the clothes, the taste in them …They fell immediately together ..a mutual hatred of Peter, but not immediately apparent to myself. My business doing very well making money …the criteria, engrossed. No problems other than those expected.
Gradually became apparent Susan's coffee mornings with her friends were taking some precedent over myself and the slight help she did perhaps give me, by now Jack started Kindergarten, Susan playing mother with a capital "M". Coffee in turns at each mothers' house, a cosy, lethal arrangement, the feature in their lives, when they discussed everything and everyone when they tore everything and everyone apart, evidently including myself.
I, oblivious of this initially, quite obsessed with the necessities, getting them…trying to be all the things I really was not, yet, I , for whatever reason, tried hard to fit.. to be normal…put out of my mind the obvious, obvious would never fit anywhere, however much having taken it upon myself to try.
Ignored the building processes I had been through previous, starting with Virginia and Desaumarez street.. forty years before. Before, in a far off, strange land, called Australia, this had been a disaster, what made me struggle in the belief England, Hertfordshire in particular, would be any different? ……..I hardly knew.
Quite happy in my misguided thought, Susan "adjusting" herself with her friends, where she belonged, where she belonged finaly. Not seeing the inherent danger, threat to my self.
Most men, the man next to me, all too engrossed putting things together financially.. too engrossed to see what does go on behind their backs while they are going to work , working , returning. While they are thinking, while they are wearing themselves out…….. no time, too see.
Nothing more lethal in society than a group of females, especially females who have conceived the progeny, have taken it to school, females who are young, females who have a certain look on their faces, a dissatisfaction irrespective of whatever they do have.. dissatisfaction with their lives, their husbands, this dissatisfaction pours out , released if you like, the pent up emotions, the real or imaginary frustrations. Mostly these ladies have everything, mostly they want more… something else…
Peter being Peter, pressed ever onwards, growing the roses up the front of the house. Within three years they had reached the roof, a feature ..people slowed their cars down to look. I, quite absorbed in the garden, in the child ..any thoughts regarding asking myself what exactly I was doing, where exactly I was going…….
My Turkish man quite affable, helpful, my account for the fleet maintenance covered his total overheads he smiled ebulliently at this thought ..at myself…. everyone ….. quite happy
In all this intense movement , "turmoil", if you like, rather a good word for most men's efforts, if only they were but aware of it, Susan and the other ladies going their own sweet way.
Considered she had a good life in so far as could be ascertained, understood, so far as any man understands any woman.
She would come up to London for the weekends, see her friends, her mother having the child, wander about Camden market.. all the things all the people do.
Time slipped by, Jack now four years old, I had built up quite a large fleet of taxi cabs.
Run here, run there on the motor bike, chase here, chase there more appropriate, always something too do. The M.11 on a Yamaha 650 does not take long to devour. Became deeper and deeper enmeshed in life, in living, yet some time taken out to realise Susan had drawn away from me in many respects, not enough time to ask why, what was going on.
She became cold, cold as the upstairs bedrooms, they, at times, at freezing point, I wanted to put heating up there but she "preferred it as it was.." not wishing me to get too hot in any direction, conceivably…so I froze.
On occasions, the depths of winter, unable to stand it any longer, would get up after midnight, get in the cab, start it up with enough reverberations to wake the now dead, drive through the deserted, ice/mist covered roads, back to civilization, to Clapton Common, to the flat which was never cold, take hot bath and go to bed, end of another day…….
As other men, ignored the situation, preferring it to asking why? to risk breaking down everything I had built up over the years. As other men, acquiescent, not ask too many questions, remain silent on the subject ..the women fully aware, knowing they hold all the trump cards.
Compressed and starting to show it.
Susan, as the other ladies, remained sanguine, had their coffee mornings after their men had departed into the chaos, into the miasmal distance, after the perfunctory kiss on the cheek, after the waving hands of the children.
Ten a.m. in Hertfordshire, the children taken safely to school, the only sounds are the whisperings, occasional soft laughter, the clatter of crockery, the ladies now sitting, ensconced, cigarettes poised……
..ready.
Trip to Yugoslavia
A strange trio, odd situation perhaps,.. Glenna, Susan and myself, with Jack being fostered by a professional minder.. just up the road from Susan’s mother’s house in Bishops Stortford, we allowed to see him perhaps a couple of times a week, he apparently not at all put out, enjoying the company of the other children, the powers that be, hardly thinking Susan capable of looking after him,.. as said previously, as the father.. not even considered…then that is England, a matriarch society, a few men left who do not cling to the female skirt.
There are those gone fully the other way, openly, right to the top of government and society, perhaps now a prerequisite for any serious consideration in the twenty first century, only a faint smile remaining at any mention of Lord Byron.
In Romania they bang them up…in prison, discipline and values have not gone rotten here, may be a poor country, but they cling to what little they do posses.
For whatever reason, decided to move myself, went out and bought another old cab.. so I had two. Cornered Rodetski in the café, put it to him, he would like a ‘cheaper” cab, cheaper than he was paying, when he did pay, that is... thought could overcome his reluctance in this aspect . So, it was two cabs, Rodetski and myself…Two became three, three became five ,five became twenty two.
They were good days in the trade, early eighties. I finished up with drivers no one else wanted because of their reluctance in the cash department. For whatever reason they did pay me more or less, I, running something like a club for destitute taxi drivers so far as they were all concerned. Certainly Romeford Dave regularly painted the alternator silver and said he had bought a new one, trying to charge me the $50. Certainly he, Alan and Billy Kelly would put all the money due to me in the Granby fruit machine over a period of two days and one night, they taking shifts to pull the lever.. or one would go out working to get more money to feed the insatiable machine. In a more desperate moment Alan bandaged his arm up ..not the one he pulled the fruit machine lever with, saying he had been unable to work. Wednesday night most of the fleet parked up in a long tidy line outside Walthamstow dog track, invariably the gang would all file despondently out, having done their bollocks . It meant running about on the motor bike catching up with them at their favorite hide outs.. or going into the betting shop before they did my money. Sounds like hard work.. a very friendly atmosphere ….It paid.
Stopped doing my own repairs. found a Mr. Salih, a Turkish man and his three son’s in law…In a archway in Bethnal Green, must be several hundred railway arches doing cab repairs
In that first flush, in the first year, with a few cabs, things going so well, decided top take Susan for a holiday.. by plane , disregarding her petrified looks.. it took very little to frighten Susan , she had never flown previously …charter flight to Yugoslavia on the cheap . I had not had a holiday for years, mainly because I did not work sufficiently, hardly concerned me one way or the other, there was, however, this wind of change, my last trips abroad had been those to see Mark In LA, a long time ago.
Became quite determined to do something, go somewhere. Glenna rather upset at my not intending to take her along. Hardly saw myself handling the situation of a rather large black lady and a rather diminutive white one all dancing about together in Yugoslavia. So it became a matter of suitably bribing Glenna, everyone has a price…a consolation prize, if you like,
Remembered my Father coming down to Stony Stratford during the war, where my mother, Doris and myself were all shoved out of the way.. He brought a couple of pairs of kippers.. my mother, who was not enamoured with country life, screamed very loudly at him, she, "not wanting his consolation prize for being stuck in a dead and alive hole!!" first of all hitting him with the kippers, then a chair and finaly the kitchen table, saw him in hasty retreat into his lorry “down the roads again” burning up the diesel to Coventry.
Hardly wished Glenna to see my offering in that light, stepped carefully. Must have come up with something suitable, cannot recall what that something was .
Yugoslavia appeared rather tense, everyone at the airport carrying a weapon of some kind. The weather, quite glorious, hot. Susan apparently fully recovered from the silent months. She, looking good, dancing the nights away, the local gigolo’s queuing up for her.
Her birthday ….think she was 38.. The dining room held a couple of hundred people reminiscent of Butlin’s. It was alright, ordered up a birthday cake. In the evening they wheeled down this really quite huge cake, all the faces smiling and clapping.. happy birthday and all that jazz, Susan quite taken back, so was I , come to that. A very happy period, I became all romantic.. Can anyone imagine .. Peter ..Romantic..! must have had a touch of the Sun. The Churches made a big impression , far from the coldness of the C of E mob. We went in one of them ..suggested, off the top of my head that we became married there, do not know how we actually did not get married in that church, what finaly stopped us, we so carried away especially as I have never been one for churches since my escapade in Canterbury Cathedral when I was ten ..still that’s another story..
Rather a twist of fate I should get married just up the road.. ten years later…… to someone else, in a place called Romania. No, Susan and I never did quite make it…… which was perhaps fortunate.
################################
There are those gone fully the other way, openly, right to the top of government and society, perhaps now a prerequisite for any serious consideration in the twenty first century, only a faint smile remaining at any mention of Lord Byron.
In Romania they bang them up…in prison, discipline and values have not gone rotten here, may be a poor country, but they cling to what little they do posses.
For whatever reason, decided to move myself, went out and bought another old cab.. so I had two. Cornered Rodetski in the café, put it to him, he would like a ‘cheaper” cab, cheaper than he was paying, when he did pay, that is... thought could overcome his reluctance in this aspect . So, it was two cabs, Rodetski and myself…Two became three, three became five ,five became twenty two.
They were good days in the trade, early eighties. I finished up with drivers no one else wanted because of their reluctance in the cash department. For whatever reason they did pay me more or less, I, running something like a club for destitute taxi drivers so far as they were all concerned. Certainly Romeford Dave regularly painted the alternator silver and said he had bought a new one, trying to charge me the $50. Certainly he, Alan and Billy Kelly would put all the money due to me in the Granby fruit machine over a period of two days and one night, they taking shifts to pull the lever.. or one would go out working to get more money to feed the insatiable machine. In a more desperate moment Alan bandaged his arm up ..not the one he pulled the fruit machine lever with, saying he had been unable to work. Wednesday night most of the fleet parked up in a long tidy line outside Walthamstow dog track, invariably the gang would all file despondently out, having done their bollocks . It meant running about on the motor bike catching up with them at their favorite hide outs.. or going into the betting shop before they did my money. Sounds like hard work.. a very friendly atmosphere ….It paid.
Stopped doing my own repairs. found a Mr. Salih, a Turkish man and his three son’s in law…In a archway in Bethnal Green, must be several hundred railway arches doing cab repairs
In that first flush, in the first year, with a few cabs, things going so well, decided top take Susan for a holiday.. by plane , disregarding her petrified looks.. it took very little to frighten Susan , she had never flown previously …charter flight to Yugoslavia on the cheap . I had not had a holiday for years, mainly because I did not work sufficiently, hardly concerned me one way or the other, there was, however, this wind of change, my last trips abroad had been those to see Mark In LA, a long time ago.
Became quite determined to do something, go somewhere. Glenna rather upset at my not intending to take her along. Hardly saw myself handling the situation of a rather large black lady and a rather diminutive white one all dancing about together in Yugoslavia. So it became a matter of suitably bribing Glenna, everyone has a price…a consolation prize, if you like,
Remembered my Father coming down to Stony Stratford during the war, where my mother, Doris and myself were all shoved out of the way.. He brought a couple of pairs of kippers.. my mother, who was not enamoured with country life, screamed very loudly at him, she, "not wanting his consolation prize for being stuck in a dead and alive hole!!" first of all hitting him with the kippers, then a chair and finaly the kitchen table, saw him in hasty retreat into his lorry “down the roads again” burning up the diesel to Coventry.
Hardly wished Glenna to see my offering in that light, stepped carefully. Must have come up with something suitable, cannot recall what that something was .
Yugoslavia appeared rather tense, everyone at the airport carrying a weapon of some kind. The weather, quite glorious, hot. Susan apparently fully recovered from the silent months. She, looking good, dancing the nights away, the local gigolo’s queuing up for her.
Her birthday ….think she was 38.. The dining room held a couple of hundred people reminiscent of Butlin’s. It was alright, ordered up a birthday cake. In the evening they wheeled down this really quite huge cake, all the faces smiling and clapping.. happy birthday and all that jazz, Susan quite taken back, so was I , come to that. A very happy period, I became all romantic.. Can anyone imagine .. Peter ..Romantic..! must have had a touch of the Sun. The Churches made a big impression , far from the coldness of the C of E mob. We went in one of them ..suggested, off the top of my head that we became married there, do not know how we actually did not get married in that church, what finaly stopped us, we so carried away especially as I have never been one for churches since my escapade in Canterbury Cathedral when I was ten ..still that’s another story..
Rather a twist of fate I should get married just up the road.. ten years later…… to someone else, in a place called Romania. No, Susan and I never did quite make it…… which was perhaps fortunate.
################################
Susan's Silence
To my knowledge Susan and I never spent one night at "Bridge Court"
She was hesitant, nervous about it.. obviously not really wishing to commit herself to a place so far removed from the comfort and sanctuary of Bishops Stortford and Sixty Nine.. Really, no worse, much better than many Inner City homes... I had doubts because it being on the ground floor.. although she did have the choice of going up... refused ..something about getting the pusher down the stairs.
Again, there is now a blank as to the sequence of events, so much has happened since then.. so much to overshadow this sad story of two people and their child. Also now in a far greater hurry, time firmly against me. Last night wrote over eight hundred words, a record. Such an amount would take me several days, maybe stretched over weeks. There is a sense of urgency in my life now.. so very much too do, working harder than ever before at existing. Yes, I am living to work, at sixty six. Please yourself.
The precise, exact moment of our long descent, however, is known to me. A Sunday lunch time at the pub, five hundred yards down Lea Bridge road from the flat. Very busy, Susan apparently quite happy.. we talked about the sticks of furniture she was getting together. All fixed very clearly in my head, such a grotty place.. the pub.. money flowing freely over the Bar.. the usual loud whispers.. beer spilled on rickety tables, the occasional ribald shout...the cigarette smoke.. conglomerate music from the machine..
In fact, a pub anywhere in England.
We were standing in the back bar, began to notice a almost imperceptible change in Susan.. like a old, wynd up gramophone player running down.. she was running down, her words blurring one into the other, until they stopped. My thought initially being it was little more than my own neurosis, my own imagination playing me up, a right 'Win Double' Susan and I. Time hesitated, stood quite still. We became broken away from life about us, as if in a glass bowl, looking out. Could still hear the murmurs... the undertow of noise, yet, separate from us.. Susan no longer saying anything at all, could see no handle with which to wynd her back up. She simply stood, motionless, holding her glass.. thick black curly hair surrounding her small white expressionless face ....a rag doll in a toy shop.
Took the glass from her hand.. put it down. She was gone, no longer in my World, had made her exit, as had done on other occasions when life became more than she could or wanted to handle. This I was to discover some considerable time afterwards. Susan had given no warning, no message, simply left me.
Peter, alone again..
I simply "knew" what had happened, what she had done...Knew it no good shaking her, shouting at her.. She could be propelled along anywhere, in any direction, stand her up or sit her down, do whatever was indicated for her to do. Speak.. never.
Looking back to that day is not doing me any good.
Why should I, with a new Wife.. a new Life, put myself through it all again?. .not a matter of being a masochist.. not "Therapeutic" as some nutters have remarked.. it is something that has to be written.. do not know why, another equation without an answer.
Gathered up her few bits and pieces, the shoes I had bought her, that summer so long ago, the long white dress. "I love life" emblazoned on it. She had been so "happy", in the Sunlight, in the Street, so acquiescent, "Yes Peter" .."No Peter".. "If you like Peter". Now, now only this wreck of a woman remained.
The M.11 stretched out tight before the old Cab. As always, went into deep thought while the wheels wound their way North, Susan upright, unmoved in the middle of the back seat. Looking directly at her through the mirror evoked no response, the very many women I had done this to over the long years had always reacted in which ever direction suited.
No reaction from Susan, just another bag of wheat.
The Mother unimpressed with her daughter, sitting silent, motionless, impassive, cigarette hanging from between her fingers in front of her son. A child that bounced and wanted his mother to play, to no avail. The boy also needed feeding, looking after.. a twenty four hour procedure.. Her Mother looked to me, I looked out of the window onto the garden, having had some quite happy moments there with the child, with Susan, in the Sunlight, on the small lawn.. "The tea, the cakes, the ices." Yes.. the moment now "forced to a crisis" inevitable I should come up with that line.
The Mother appeared to have shrunk back into herself with this repeat drama in her daughter's life. No longer dominating the situation, no longer expecting the Queen to any moment to knock on the door. Agitated, twisting her hands, felt sorry for her, for the whole fiasco. She, happy with her Grandson. Now, an impasse, everything crumbled so suddenly, to nothing.
Living in the Country, in the Middle Class belt of England.. a simple procedure for the Mother to pick up the phone.. a few words.. help arriving. Unlike Hackney, where people fade, die, alone, isolated, perhaps weeks before their emaciated bodies are found.
Help arrived, a Social worker quite quickly on the scene. She knew Susan of old, knew her form.. her exits from Society.. her uncertain, wavering history.
Whispered words while I bounced the boy.
Vague as to the immediate outcome of this conversation. The first consideration being the child. I, as always, as ever, completely overlooked.. nothing said to or asked of ..will not go strong and say, ignored. A Rank Outsider, then I have always been simply, that.
Vague, long journeys to Broadstairs where Susan had a Aunt in a huge rambling house beside the Seaside. Not sure of the combination, whether we left Susan down there or the child. Feel it was the Mother and I would attempt to mind the child jointly. Whichever way, it hardly worked, Susan showed not the slightest improvement with the passage of time. Next thing, Susan and child in a Psychiatric Hospital, Shenley... just up from Mill Hill. Not quite so far as Broadstairs. Thank God !
A daily occurrence, my ride up the A.1. Visit mother and child, winter approaching. Other mothers there with their child. Evidently quite a common malfunction on the part of females to collapse out of Society. Other mothers talked to their children, to each other, Susan said nothing to no one. Simply sat bent, crouched, staring into space, inevitably a cigarette dangling from her fingers. I, starting to crack up with this performance ... wanted to so much put my clock back .... to not have stepped, so rashly in ... fed up with myself, my attraction to cripples and the disenchanted.
After a month, the staff turned to me. Called into one of their meetings "Did I have a solution for Susan?" They certainly did not. Reminiscent of so very long ago. Finola, another one no one had a solution for... To them she was deaf, blind and stupid, a easy way to dispose of her. Given to me, the first thing I did, to throw her hearing aid in the sea, out beyond the waves washing languidly on the warm, soft, sandy shore ... total consternation from them all. Next had her sight tested.. not blind, not deaf. She too had opted out ... for her own reasons ... far from stupid. Finally she could read and write, a pleasant girl of fourteen... the process, along with all the other children and their problems sucked me dry. Had no intention of being sucked dry again.
The group round the table waited uncertainly for my answer to the poised question. Another Sunny morning, light streaming through windows, bright light on white faces. Could hardly help it.... simply slipped out, so much as I tried to stop it, so much knowing it could be put more softly, more appropriately ... more gently. But at the end, tired ... "She needs a good kick up the arse"...true , then the truth, always unpalatable, brutal. I have always been guilty of it.
Winter gripped tight the trees, the sorrow, silence and desolation surrounding the encampment at Shenley. Only the children, smiling, laughing, oblivious to the strange behaviour of their Mothers. Children cared for by anxious, large nursing ladies, who looked at me with some uncertainty. By now, Susan and I meeting alone, she always standing expressionless, still silent in the centre of the small room, arms at her sides, early evening darkness creeping down long, polished corridors.
Had given up trying to say anything at all to her, given up shouting as if attempting, in desperation, to wake the dead. She on a downhill slope, becoming increasingly apparent that nothing was going to save her this time. Talk of adoption for the boy, incarceration for her. Again myself, unmentioned, no consideration ...out of question ... only the Father, someone to do the running, to try to hold it together, best able.
Xmas approached. English Xmas ... silent, White shrouded, country lanes, softness stretched over the landscape. Someone, somewhere once wrote "... and leaves the World to darkness and to me" which about summed up my feelings.
She was hesitant, nervous about it.. obviously not really wishing to commit herself to a place so far removed from the comfort and sanctuary of Bishops Stortford and Sixty Nine.. Really, no worse, much better than many Inner City homes... I had doubts because it being on the ground floor.. although she did have the choice of going up... refused ..something about getting the pusher down the stairs.
Again, there is now a blank as to the sequence of events, so much has happened since then.. so much to overshadow this sad story of two people and their child. Also now in a far greater hurry, time firmly against me. Last night wrote over eight hundred words, a record. Such an amount would take me several days, maybe stretched over weeks. There is a sense of urgency in my life now.. so very much too do, working harder than ever before at existing. Yes, I am living to work, at sixty six. Please yourself.
The precise, exact moment of our long descent, however, is known to me. A Sunday lunch time at the pub, five hundred yards down Lea Bridge road from the flat. Very busy, Susan apparently quite happy.. we talked about the sticks of furniture she was getting together. All fixed very clearly in my head, such a grotty place.. the pub.. money flowing freely over the Bar.. the usual loud whispers.. beer spilled on rickety tables, the occasional ribald shout...the cigarette smoke.. conglomerate music from the machine..
In fact, a pub anywhere in England.
We were standing in the back bar, began to notice a almost imperceptible change in Susan.. like a old, wynd up gramophone player running down.. she was running down, her words blurring one into the other, until they stopped. My thought initially being it was little more than my own neurosis, my own imagination playing me up, a right 'Win Double' Susan and I. Time hesitated, stood quite still. We became broken away from life about us, as if in a glass bowl, looking out. Could still hear the murmurs... the undertow of noise, yet, separate from us.. Susan no longer saying anything at all, could see no handle with which to wynd her back up. She simply stood, motionless, holding her glass.. thick black curly hair surrounding her small white expressionless face ....a rag doll in a toy shop.
Took the glass from her hand.. put it down. She was gone, no longer in my World, had made her exit, as had done on other occasions when life became more than she could or wanted to handle. This I was to discover some considerable time afterwards. Susan had given no warning, no message, simply left me.
Peter, alone again..
I simply "knew" what had happened, what she had done...Knew it no good shaking her, shouting at her.. She could be propelled along anywhere, in any direction, stand her up or sit her down, do whatever was indicated for her to do. Speak.. never.
Looking back to that day is not doing me any good.
Why should I, with a new Wife.. a new Life, put myself through it all again?. .not a matter of being a masochist.. not "Therapeutic" as some nutters have remarked.. it is something that has to be written.. do not know why, another equation without an answer.
Gathered up her few bits and pieces, the shoes I had bought her, that summer so long ago, the long white dress. "I love life" emblazoned on it. She had been so "happy", in the Sunlight, in the Street, so acquiescent, "Yes Peter" .."No Peter".. "If you like Peter". Now, now only this wreck of a woman remained.
The M.11 stretched out tight before the old Cab. As always, went into deep thought while the wheels wound their way North, Susan upright, unmoved in the middle of the back seat. Looking directly at her through the mirror evoked no response, the very many women I had done this to over the long years had always reacted in which ever direction suited.
No reaction from Susan, just another bag of wheat.
The Mother unimpressed with her daughter, sitting silent, motionless, impassive, cigarette hanging from between her fingers in front of her son. A child that bounced and wanted his mother to play, to no avail. The boy also needed feeding, looking after.. a twenty four hour procedure.. Her Mother looked to me, I looked out of the window onto the garden, having had some quite happy moments there with the child, with Susan, in the Sunlight, on the small lawn.. "The tea, the cakes, the ices." Yes.. the moment now "forced to a crisis" inevitable I should come up with that line.
The Mother appeared to have shrunk back into herself with this repeat drama in her daughter's life. No longer dominating the situation, no longer expecting the Queen to any moment to knock on the door. Agitated, twisting her hands, felt sorry for her, for the whole fiasco. She, happy with her Grandson. Now, an impasse, everything crumbled so suddenly, to nothing.
Living in the Country, in the Middle Class belt of England.. a simple procedure for the Mother to pick up the phone.. a few words.. help arriving. Unlike Hackney, where people fade, die, alone, isolated, perhaps weeks before their emaciated bodies are found.
Help arrived, a Social worker quite quickly on the scene. She knew Susan of old, knew her form.. her exits from Society.. her uncertain, wavering history.
Whispered words while I bounced the boy.
Vague as to the immediate outcome of this conversation. The first consideration being the child. I, as always, as ever, completely overlooked.. nothing said to or asked of ..will not go strong and say, ignored. A Rank Outsider, then I have always been simply, that.
Vague, long journeys to Broadstairs where Susan had a Aunt in a huge rambling house beside the Seaside. Not sure of the combination, whether we left Susan down there or the child. Feel it was the Mother and I would attempt to mind the child jointly. Whichever way, it hardly worked, Susan showed not the slightest improvement with the passage of time. Next thing, Susan and child in a Psychiatric Hospital, Shenley... just up from Mill Hill. Not quite so far as Broadstairs. Thank God !
A daily occurrence, my ride up the A.1. Visit mother and child, winter approaching. Other mothers there with their child. Evidently quite a common malfunction on the part of females to collapse out of Society. Other mothers talked to their children, to each other, Susan said nothing to no one. Simply sat bent, crouched, staring into space, inevitably a cigarette dangling from her fingers. I, starting to crack up with this performance ... wanted to so much put my clock back .... to not have stepped, so rashly in ... fed up with myself, my attraction to cripples and the disenchanted.
After a month, the staff turned to me. Called into one of their meetings "Did I have a solution for Susan?" They certainly did not. Reminiscent of so very long ago. Finola, another one no one had a solution for... To them she was deaf, blind and stupid, a easy way to dispose of her. Given to me, the first thing I did, to throw her hearing aid in the sea, out beyond the waves washing languidly on the warm, soft, sandy shore ... total consternation from them all. Next had her sight tested.. not blind, not deaf. She too had opted out ... for her own reasons ... far from stupid. Finally she could read and write, a pleasant girl of fourteen... the process, along with all the other children and their problems sucked me dry. Had no intention of being sucked dry again.
The group round the table waited uncertainly for my answer to the poised question. Another Sunny morning, light streaming through windows, bright light on white faces. Could hardly help it.... simply slipped out, so much as I tried to stop it, so much knowing it could be put more softly, more appropriately ... more gently. But at the end, tired ... "She needs a good kick up the arse"...true , then the truth, always unpalatable, brutal. I have always been guilty of it.
Winter gripped tight the trees, the sorrow, silence and desolation surrounding the encampment at Shenley. Only the children, smiling, laughing, oblivious to the strange behaviour of their Mothers. Children cared for by anxious, large nursing ladies, who looked at me with some uncertainty. By now, Susan and I meeting alone, she always standing expressionless, still silent in the centre of the small room, arms at her sides, early evening darkness creeping down long, polished corridors.
Had given up trying to say anything at all to her, given up shouting as if attempting, in desperation, to wake the dead. She on a downhill slope, becoming increasingly apparent that nothing was going to save her this time. Talk of adoption for the boy, incarceration for her. Again myself, unmentioned, no consideration ...out of question ... only the Father, someone to do the running, to try to hold it together, best able.
Xmas approached. English Xmas ... silent, White shrouded, country lanes, softness stretched over the landscape. Someone, somewhere once wrote "... and leaves the World to darkness and to me" which about summed up my feelings.
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