just have been a reaction to seeing his surprised look. Yes, that must have been what it was. It had been a long journey, and he must have been more tired than he’d thought.
Then he spotted the plaque, directly under Trinity Close, previously obscured by the clothes:
This is the site of the village school where, on the 23rd August 1944, during a severe storm, an American bomber crashed with the loss of 61 lives. This included 38 children, 2 teachers and 21 civilians and service personnel. Always In Our Hearts.
John thought.
‘Isn’t today the 23rd August?’ he said
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Dearest Ida
By Dawn Keeley Caunce
Dearest Ida, I had a terrible tumble in the market square, so I’m having to use Jonathan’s ductaphone for a while, that and the fact that I can’t find that lovely floral note book I bought, you know the one laced with lavender?
I haven’t quite got the hang of this contraption though – too many buttons on these fandangled things.
Odd because I don’t recall that stone last time. Half an inch up, council eh? It’s not how it used to be. Eeeh, remember when young Kenneth used to sweep the streets? Kirkham never looked as grand. How proud he was dressed in his uniform. Been out of work for so long, shame the mill had to close. He was ever so down after that. I’d watch him at the top of the gate, coughing and spluttering, putting the world to rights with next door's cat. Who was going to take him on at his age? Such a relief I can tell you.
Do you remember the mule room, with me at the headstock ready with my oil can? Such a shame when the doors shut on the last Friday. Remember how slippy the floor was, soaking in oil? No wonder you broke your arm just before your 14th birthday. Scream? My, it curdled through the mill’s walls. Mind you, we heard a lot of screams come to think about it.
Now before I forget, and the tape runs out, I got a lovely piece of bacon today from the meat van. It’ll go lovely with some fresh tomatoes. Thinking of you always.
Testing testing. . . Dearest Ida. Been to Silverdells today for a nice bit of parkin. Gooey and full of deliciousness. Moira’s young lad was getting - now, what did he call it? - a ‘sneaky latty’ yes that’s it. All froth and no trousers. Oh, hang on someone’s at the door . . .
I’m back now Ida, someone wanting me to take a parcel for next door. Now where was I? Oh wait, before I forget, there was something I wanted to tell you. Now what was it? Jonathan says I should write a list. Why’s this machine beeping? Hang on a minute, Ida . . .
Right, I’m back. Needed to nip to the shops for some batteries. Ere I bumped into Maureen, you remember? All teeth and no hair. Well, I took a trip up to the graveside to see Kenneth, thought I’d wash him down, and put some new flowers in the thing. . . Now what’s it called? Jar, yes that’ll do. So there I am putting flowers in the jar, and I noticed Maureen crying near the gates. That new fella has left her, well I mean we all knew that bringing a boy toy back from Portugal was asking for trouble. Telling me all about her congenital rights – luckily St Michael’s was ringing in the background. Right off for a cup of tea now.
Ida? It’s me again . . . Now where did I put my teeth? Wait a second while I put the lamp on . . . Now where’s that switch?
Big hoo har today in town.
Rapappazi everywhere. Apparently there was a big star signing books and chests in the book shop. Bosoms lined up all down Poulton Street. We’ve had a lot of book signings of late – have to say I quite like them; it brings a certain amount of je na say whats it to the town.
Right, bed for me, I’m up early tomorrow – got to finish that pattern for Lillian’s new baby. Did I tell you it came early? Took us all by surprise. Apparently, she was in the Co-op and gush. Going to have to go to sleep now Ida, I’m catching the midnight candle. Speak tomorrow, old friend.
Dearest Ida, Got caught short while in Morrison’s with Jonathan the other day. He insisted on salmon and some of that Holland Day sauce for his tea. . . ‘Have to nip to the little girls’ room,’ I said to which he prattled on for half an hour about “little girls’ room” being a youthanism. I tell you, it’s no wonder he’s single. Some would say it’s odd living with his old mum at his age. I'm sure he will meet someone soon; surely fifty four is not that old?
I went up to the new park today, kids whizzing up and down on that zip wire thingummy. Tell you, it’s given Kirkham a whole new leash of life. Don’t worry, there’s still that lovely aroma of ginger biscuits wafting from the factory. Eeeh, I could just dunk a lustful lemon cream crunch in my tea. . . I’m going now Ida, its Corrie Orry time. . . Ken’s up to his old tricks again. Night night petal.
Sorry I’m late today, Ida. Been to Kirkham Baths with Jonathan. I know! Me in a cozzie. Got a lovely printed one from the boutique on the high street. Gapes a bit though.
Lucy, the lifeguard, seemed quite taken with my Jonathan. They're going on a date tomorrow night; no doubt end up in Lytham, like we used to do. . . Right, Ida must dash, I’m meeting Doris at Bingo and we both know how much she hogs them blotters. Hey, the Doctor says my hand’s healing well, should be able to start writing again. Shame. I’ll miss this thing; we've become quite good friends.
Ida? I can hear a noise. . . downstairs. . .rustling about. I know, don’t be scared. It’s not the first time if I’m honest. Haven’t told Jonathan, he’s been eyeing up those homes again. I caught him looking at the brochure. I’m frightened Ida. Jonathan’s out with that lass tonight, gone up to the Kingfisher at Wesham. I know it’s probably my hearing aid playing up again. Hang on I’ll give it a whack. Ah, that’s better.
Do you think it’s time for a home, Ida? Can you really see me sat around a table playing canister? It’s Jonathan I feel sorry for. I haven’t told you but because of that dreadful fall, well, he’s been having to help me get undressed. I have to face it Ida; I'm no spring chicken, and if I’m honest I must be a hindrance. He’s no time for me anymore, not since the life girl came on the scene.
He shouted at me the other day. All I wanted was a bit of company, said he had to meet Lucy. That’s all I hear these days. Don’t get me wrong, Ida, she’s a lovely girl but do they have to go out quite so often? Surely one night in with his old mam isn’t too much to ask? Hang on, I need a tissue. At least, that rustling has stopped. Must have been that oak tree on the windowpane again. Kenneth said the roots would cause us issues. I miss my Kenneth. He would know what to do.
Dearest Ida, Jonathan has made me another appointment with the doctor; says I must keep it this time. I know I get muddled, and I’m hard work but I’m scared Ida, really scared. I went to a shop in town, and it wasn’t there. I’m sure it was there the other day. They all seem to be shutting down. I’m tired if I’m honest, life isn’t how it used to be back in the mill, back in the mule room, on the third landing near to the window watching the spindles shunt up and down. Oh, I do miss you Ida. I’ve a feeling I will be joining Kenneth soon. Doctor said it was only a matter of time, told me it had spread. Haven’t mentioned it to Jonathan, can't find the words somehow.
If I close my eyes, I’m walking through the park with Kenneth, snowdrop kisses gather in clusters around the base of the trees. Kenneth would say it was like us whispering and chatting in the wind. I stop for a rest and sit on the grass beneath the cold wintry sun. I’m tired now. Goodbye Ida, I’ll miss you my dear. Kenneth’s here now, he’s come for me. I’m ready now my love. I know it’s time. . .
Jonathan pressed the button, and the machine whirred to attention. He walked in a sombre motion over to the window and smoothed down his black suit jacket.
‘Dearest Ida. I’m sorry I shouted at you,’ he said.
He choked back the tears as he spotted a new formation of delicate, white snowdrops in the garden peeking up from their soiled home.
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Kirkham Prison
By Alan Hardaker
Kirkham Prison: a rose in the hand
The golden fleece of the system.
The penal promised land.
Inmates moving everywhere
Each one with their heads in a spin.
A total sense of freedom,
It does what it says on the tin.
Green grass, flower beds, trees that dot the lands,
The only things that are missing
Are bikinis on golden sands
And little tastes of normality
On home leave beyond the gates
Where you can spend time with your family
And catch up with your mates.
But just like a canine on an extended lead
You’re dragged back before you can run.
They don’t want you scaring the neighbours
And you’re far too dangerous to have fun.
Yes, Kirkham Prison: a rose in the hand
And just like every flower has its thorns
You get too complacent
And let your guard down
And they will quickly show you their horns.
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Winter Friendship
George Beet
Friendship buds and blossoms
like summer in full dress.
Friendship brings a harvest
of joy and happiness.
Friendship is sustaining
through winter, wind and snow.
Friendship can’t be hoarded;
by being shared, it grows.
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Tales of Ancient Wesham
Bronwyn P Horne
The Gallows at
The Kirkham Community Fiction Anthology Page 2
