Enid told me
about the chair.
Just an ordinary
chair; wooden chair
with open spaces
at the back. Made
marks on her back
where he'd made her
sit so long and where
she leaned back. So
what did your old man
keep you in the chair
for so long for? I asked
as we stood by the metal
green painted fence
surrounding the grass
outside Banks House.
Cross examination,
she said, looking away
from me, her eyes behind
her thick lens glasses
gazing at the fresh fish
shop across the road.
What was he cross
examining you about?
Someone took money
from the money teapot:
15/- it was, so he said.
And he thought you
took it? She nodded
her head. Wasn't me,
I never took it. Who
did? No idea; my big
brother maybe, he
needs it, not me. I
looked at her standing
beside me by the fence,
our feet on the space
of pavement. Did he
hurt you? She bit her
lower lip. He kept me
in the chair. He said
he was keeping me in
the chair until I owned up.
And did you? I didn't take
the money. I thought he'd
give up once he realized
I never took the money
and let me go, but he
didn't, he walked around
me, hands behind his back,
asking me questions. And
where was your mother in
all this? She sat on the sofa
chewing on her handkerchief
saying: tell him the truth
Enid, tell him the truth.
Enid sat by the fence,
hands each side of her.
So what happened? I asked,
looking for signs of bruises
and such. He walked round
me and said: I'm not letting
you go until you tell the truth.
I said I didn't take the money.
He clouted me about the head
after ten minutes. You'll not
get off this time, he said.
My head spun. My mum
left the room. He told her
go get some tea on. I looked
at him, but only as he passed
in front of me, not all the
way round so sometimes he
was out of sight and I didn't
know what he was going to
do next. He hurt you after that?
I asked. He dragged me off
the chair and sat down himself
and gripped my wrist tight.
He made me stand there for
ages, him griping my wrist,
talking, talking. My legs ached.
Wanted to sit on the chair. She
was silent; looked at the fresh
fish shop. Then he dragged me
over, and hit me until I said
I had the money. And did you?
I asked. I knew she had.
The face told me. The eyes
behind her thick lens glasses
told me. She nodded, looked
away. A horse drawn coal
wagon went by along
Rockingham Street, the coal
man sitting on the sack cloth
seat dour faced. How about
some chips from Neptune's?
I said, looking at her, at her
grey faded flower dress and
the dull green cardigan, her
hair pinned back by two metal
hair grips at the side. I didn't
have it, didn't have the money,
she said, just said it because
of him hurting me. I know,
I said, don't talk of it again.
She nodded and we walked
up Meadow Row, in the slow
beginning coming down rain.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
Enid told me
about the chair.
Just an ordinary
chair; wooden chair
with open spaces
at the back. Made
marks on her back
where he'd made her
sit so long and where
she leaned back. So
what did your old man
keep you in the chair
for so long for? I asked
as we stood by the metal
green painted fence
surrounding the grass
outside Banks House.
Cross examination,
she said, looking away
from me, her eyes behind
her thick lens glasses
gazing at the fresh fish
shop across the road.
What was he cross
examining you about?
Someone took money
from the money teapot:
15/- it was, so he said.
And he thought you
took it? She nodded
her head. Wasn't me,
I never took it. Who
did? No idea; my big
brother maybe, he
needs it, not me. I
looked at her standing
beside me by the fence,
our feet on the space
of pavement. Did he
hurt you? She bit her
lower lip. He kept me
in the chair. He said
he was keeping me in
the chair until I owned up.
And did you? I didn't take
the money. I thought he'd
give up once he realized
I never took the money
and let me go, but he
didn't, he walked around
me, hands behind his back,
asking me questions. And
where was your mother in
all this? She sat on the sofa
chewing on her handkerchief
saying: tell him the truth
Enid, tell him the truth.
Enid sat by the fence,
hands each side of her.
So what happened? I asked,
looking for signs of bruises
and such. He walked round
me and said: I'm not letting
you go until you tell the truth.
I said I didn't take the money.
He clouted me about the head
after ten minutes. You'll not
get off this time, he said.
My head spun. My mum
left the room. He told her
go get some tea on. I looked
at him, but only as he passed
in front of me, not all the
way round so sometimes he
was out of sight and I didn't
know what he was going to
do next. He hurt you after that?
I asked. He dragged me off
the chair and sat down himself
and gripped my wrist tight.
He made me stand there for
ages, him griping my wrist,
talking, talking. My legs ached.
Wanted to sit on the chair. She
was silent; looked at the fresh
fish shop. Then he dragged me
over, and hit me until I said
I had the money. And did you?
I asked. I knew she had.
The face told me. The eyes
behind her thick lens glasses
told me. She nodded, looked
away. A horse drawn coal
wagon went by along
Rockingham Street, the coal
man sitting on the sack cloth
seat dour faced. How about
some chips from Neptune's?
I said, looking at her, at her
grey faded flower dress and
the dull green cardigan, her
hair pinned back by two metal
hair grips at the side. I didn't
have it, didn't have the money,
she said, just said it because
of him hurting me. I know,
I said, don't talk of it again.
She nodded and we walked
up Meadow Row, in the slow
beginning coming down rain.
A GIRL AND BOY AND TALE OF A CHAIR IN 1957.
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