a young girl then. He was my first. Swept me
off my feet. Swept my chimney, he called it, my
black chimney. What could I say? It was a
frosty morning. Frost clears away the flu and does
good for England. Everything’s in a mess
That time they let me play. Let the piccaninny join
in! that Bobbie yelled. I enjoyed it more than my
tapioca.
What would you say if I
took off my arm and gave it to you in a stew?
Got you there, got you there!
Why not?
It was the milkman and his wife who ruined it.
What made him marry a mad woman? The cream
curdled all, she would and all.
So instead of
doing nothing, you would rather do nothing! I
spit at you. That Ivy is a slummocky swine.
Her tits hang down. In really, you can’t see
her tits, she just has a bulge. She’s got no
tits, a long streak of gravy. What that Ivy
has done to me! How many times have I had
hot dinners than hot times? Where do they all
come from? She pinched my last piece of meat,
the piece I had been saving, she did, that Ivy.
But jesus will come for my end. He will lift
Me up into his heavenly boudoir and I will sing
with the angels all the night long. The stars
will shine down on Me when he comes, his Milky
Stout, and the sun will come out and beam upon
the starry firmament. And we shall all live
happily ever after ever until the end amen.
Aah, isn’t that nice. Except for Ivy,
she’ll not have an end, she’ll go on with her
gravy tits and sticky fingers all her life
until she dies and
Well well well! They can talk!
And what about the price of candles! A girl can’t
go on and on burning her wick at both ends, can
she? When
will we be allowed to see what really goes on?
Yesterday they won the war, all the Tommies came
home raving for it. Their only pride was between
their legs, like a dog’s tail. We worked over-
time. No fear of that, I said, when he came, I’ve
been a good girl, after my way, always fashionable,
I was, wore a hooped crinoline sort of dress,
starched sleeves, bare arse. Oh, we were proudish
then!
Now when I try to brush up my brushing, it hurts
under my armpit, hurts. I should go to the doctor.
He’ll help me, the doctor in Margery Street. Walk
up through Exmouth Market, buy some priest shoulder
at a stall, then up past that place in Amwell
Street that always smells of flux, opposite the
other church, and down into Margery Street, rest
my feet. Good doctor, he is, he’ll heal my armpit,
nasty nagging pain and then it comes sharply, ouch!
Or some smoked salmon scraps, not shoulder, only
a tanner a quarter, bits off the edges,
bones, scraps, one of my fondest favourites,
smoked salmon scraps from Exmouth Market, chew
them, get the bits out, just as good as they
pay earth for, lots more.
Hungry again, nothing
more till breakfast, there’s worst to come.
My one true, love. His hair was ravenblack, his
eyes were green, he stood four foot three in
his bare, the first one. My one two. One true,
several since then. He jostled me in the public
bar when I was a scrubber. I must have been
forty by then, a mere. The milk stout I remember
coming out of quart bottles. No one must know.
How many beans since then? There must have been,
one after one after one after one after one after
one, no No!
These things make us all. Try for the sky. Jesus
will. Not in here you won’t. Was jesus a shepherd?
Did they have sheep in the desert? He could
make food for them, fish and bread, wish he could
make me some now, I’m hungry. They don’t feed
us here. In my day I’d pop down the shop on the
corner for a quarter of Wall’s luncheon meat and
a tin of peas. That’s a good feed.
What’s she at now? Is she coming down here again,
yes. But not the twitcher, ha, she’s left
the twitcher up on the stage. Good.
Here comes horrible Ivy creeping down the table!
Ivy the creeper, after the work. They must be
finished. Haven’t done any. Who cares, who cares?
Can’t make me work. Just try it!
Ivy the creeper-
crawlie, can’t touch me!
You are a stinky woman!
Twitcher’s up on the stage, meeeeahr!
Now she’ll come to me next, without her twitcher.
Now.
Why should I work?
Leave
me, leave me! While there is no pie
we make hay, six times seven sends you to heaven,
whompot, whompit, whampit! It was a lively
leading lido when we first could greet groaning the
great dawn green with grassy longings, if only I
could now, how now how how?
This must be enough to be going on with,
there’s always tomorrow, after all, always — Pass
the Parcel, what’s this, I love games. Pass the
Parcel and I’m the winner, the postman brings me
a parcel, brown paper, must be mine, I’m a winner,
post today, late for Christmas, make sure I’m the
one who gets the lovely surprise at the end. Some-
thing to look forward to!
Off we go!
Next to me, me! Parcel for me!
Open it, the music’s stopped. Feels
soft, strip off the paper. What can it be?
Music. Oh. You bastard sod!
Cow woman Ivy, answering back, she always on my
back! Get off my back, you cow Ivy!
Next to me!
Here again. Stink. What is it?
Hold on to it. Unwrap some more. Yes, stink.
Rules? All right, have it!
I won’t be interested in your game any more, won’t
play any more. Stinking rotten game. Whose
game do you particularly, the long ones, I could
always give rise to a long long one, it was my
speciality in those days. Madam had four in
her room, she would give one to us girls as a
favour, she would, and I was always the most
special favourite, I was, I was, I was, I was,
I was, I was, I was, I was, I was, I was, I was,
1 was, I was, I was, was, was,
was!
All the bees, bottom, bum, behind, buttocks,
ARSE!
I know what killed him, I know what killed him
that night, too much of a good thing, that’s
what killed him, heart attack during the night
the doctor called it, but I know it was too
much of a good thing that killed him.
He was a good husband to me,
I had eighty children by him, too much of a good
thing done for him in the — Now what?
Travel!
I hate exercise. But
the twitcher!
Ooooh, so fat I can hardly move. Waddle,
waddle, what’s it matter now, don’t have to
attract the fellers any longer, so what’s it
matter? More a job to keep them away, ha ha!
Ha ha, that Ron, ha!
Round. Round. Keep away from that
stinking Ivy. One of these days she’ll bring
me to such a point that I’ll forget myself and