views like this. I catch with my father a
number twenty-seven bus several minutes after arriving
at the bus-stop in Hammersmith Road at the end
of North End Road. The northern end of North End
Road, that is. We could have caught a number nine
or a number seventy-three, to place them in numerical
order, had either of these splendid numbers been
opportune. But we catch….” What a load of old
rubbish! No story about it. Boring.
Where’s my other book?
Ah. “There was no doubt that Polly
Mallinson was dead. Indeed, there was no doubt that
Polly Mallinson had been murdered. But the mystery
was why anyone should have gone to such enormous
pains to murder her in such a complicated way and
to have her found in such a crowded place.
Ascot racecourse lies about twenty miles
to the south-west of London in pleasant wooded
country that is, alas, fast being eaten into by the
commuter octopus that is the metropolis. Each year
in the month of June the Ascot Gold Cup meeting is
held there, a race which attracts horses of the very
best bloodstock in the world to compete against each
other. It equally attracts the best human bloodstock
to be found in London during that sunny month,
the cream of which clusters into that holy of holies
called the Royal Enclosure. On this particular
Gold Cup day the race was won by Garlic
Clove by a head from Hiatus with Noseylad three
lengths behind, and as Sir William Scadleigh, KCVO,
PC, DSO and Bar, relaxed from the tension of watching
the finish at the crowded rail he became fully aware
of a pressure on him from behind which was natural
during the race but hardly necessary now it was over.
Reacting firmly but in a manner befitting an officer
and a gentleman, he gently eased back. The pressure
ceased, and as Sir William turned he was astounded
to see what had caused it. It was a young girl,
scarcely out of her teens, and she was falling. As
he automatically reached out to grasp her arm and
save her he became aware of several things simultaneously:
that she was wearing very nearly nothing,
that rigor mortis had set in anything up to forty-eight
hours previously, and that before she died
someone had been treating her very inconsiderately
indeed.” This is better, know where you are when
it’s telling you a story. “It was not
possible to tell what colour Polly’s eyes might
have been, for they were now only enlarged, bloodied
sockets. Sufficient remained of her hair, however,
to establish that it was almost cert —” Laugh! Now
what’s she on about? Stupid. Ha ha.
“Sufficient remained of her hair, however, to establish
that it was almost certainly red-gold. It was also
fairly certain that whoever Polly had annoyed enough
to cause to treat her in this way was a smoker, for
he or she had stubbed out innumerable cigarettes all
over her. Not normally a man who could be
easily shocked — he had seen too much of war and its
horrors for that — Sir William gasped as much as any
other member of the crowd which quickly gathered
round what was left of poor Polly Mallinson. Their
idle curiosity was quickly ended by the arrival of two
St John’s Ambulancemen who covered the body with a
blanket and summoned the racecourse police.
There was another reason why Sir William
was more shocked than perhaps he might
otherwise have been: for Polly was his —” Oh!
oh! oh! House Mother’s angry!
Sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll pay attention! Have to
be careful now, or I’ll be out. Don’t want to
cause trouble. That’s why I’m here, they transferred
me from Ravensholm because they said I was
a troublemaker. That wasn’t all. Can’t
look after myself, can I? Nearly froze to death
last time I was on my own. Would have done if that
young fellow from down below hadn’t come about the
wet coming through the ceiling. Fair pair of
knockers on her. Hooray! That’ll show her
I’m still paying attention. Could have
had one together if I’d started again sooner.
In London one summer, it was one of the times
he was on leave, very hot day, he took me to a
night club, forget where it was. Didn’t see much
in it, myself, nor did he. Did a strip for him
myself that night in the boarding house, much more
for him to enjoy. Oh, I was keen on it then! What
would Ted say if he saw me today? He’s well out
of it, that’s certain, well out of it. And he
didn’t have to bear much pain, either, except
right at the very end.
Doggie, doggie,
doggie. Must cost a lot to feed a great brute
like that. How much? Pounds and pounds a
week. This must be it now. Yes.
I could do it like that, once. Used to, often.
Don’t really miss it now, any more. What is it?
What is it to miss?
Listen to her!
No, doesn’t matter
~ ~ ~
Ron Lamson age 81 marital status widower sight 30 % hearing 45 % touch 55 % taste 40 % smell 40 % movement 45 % CQ count 8 pathology contractures; dehydration; incipient hypochromic anaemia; incontinent; inguinal hernia; inoperable rectal carcinoma; among others.
… again. The same again. It’s
not as though they tempted me
to eat and risk the agony down
below.
Cutting down
has helped, I was right. The
only way not to inflame the piles
is not to eat. Found that out
first time I had them. Don’t
feel any weaker, I was weak to
start with. Must eat something, though, to show
them, told them I was not a big eater, don’t want to be thrown
out, not on the streets again, couldn’t take it, the ramp, those
dirty Soup is what I should have, a man in my –
She’s taking my dinner! She can have it….
No, the House Mother shouldn’t hit
her like that, that twitcher is a wicked
twitcher
Say nothing, hurts to move, peck at this
I don’t want it,
weakens you, AH! my riveted arse,
aaaa! feels like nothing,
I can think
of nothing but the pain at the
very centre of my arse.
Say nothing
Keep quiet
Bear the pain without
saying
Soon have to move
again
aaaa!
Dropped it, she
has. Mess, mess, it’s all a mess. I’d let
the dog eat it, easiest way to clear up that sort of mess.
Tad would
have cleared it up in no time, Taddie would.
He was a fine dog, Tad, broke my
heart when he had to be put to sleep, there was more of
me in that dog than there was in myself at that time.