Wispy clouds of smoke rise from the chimney at the end of the street. The street where our first house sat amid the gently curving road. The house where we brought up the two boys and our Kate. The house has double glazing now, a new white front door, modernisation, but no charm. At the end of the street was the cinema, my first date with Frank, coke and popcorn in the back row. The cinema now a German supermarket.
The King’s Arms is still busy, unlike the Crown, soon to close. I had some good times in the Kings Arms, I was funny, a wit, a teller of amusing tales; when I was alive that was. We moved away into the country, to get some fresh air, to have a slower pace of life. Hated it there, Frank loved it. He loved sitting around, reading, sitting around.
Kate went to University, the boys worked as builders. Frank helped the boys out a bit to get started, to get themselves established. Kate didn’t need help said Frank. Kate married an accountant had two children, moved to Scotland, hardly ever saw her.
I loved this street, Jane Brown at 23, didn’t seem to mind when her husband left her, she helped out with kids, she liked a glass of white wine, she said she’d keep in touch when we moved away, we never did. At number 17 were the Johnson’s; Gary made a pass at me one Christmas, was I upset, not really, it made me feel good, it made me feel alive. He died of a heart attack last year, he enjoyed the good life, if the good life is bacon and pints of bitter that is.
At the other end of the street is the park, we used to take the kids there. Swings and slides, a small pond. Trudging there in the rain, to tire out the children, it was like having a dog, it wasn’t the highlight of my life.
So when the family got together and wanted a memorial to me, something to remind them of the good times we had. The happy days at our first house in the curved street.
They decided to get wooden bench with a brass plaque in the park. A remembrance of me.
To remember my life.
A bloody bench!