In the washroom my reflection and I, Challenge one another-
A coagulated sweat, A Combat baby's brain, A moon that doesn't set- Ascending constant strain... Oh Anxiety, Paranoia, Obsession and Depression, Still perhaps, a poem just might set free this true confession: Confusion and Delusion The mirror's blunt conclusion Pristiq, and then Welbutirn, Art's inclusive-type solution.
another one's challenge; my Reflection , and I In the Washroom.
"Blood I want it giving up the fight blood I want it- Lay me down tonight" -M.Myers
I'm sure the teachers concerned and especially the Head and The Chairman of Governors whose Mayor-making I went to on behalf of school would hope it is my learning to read and write well enough to win handwriting competitions as well as pass public exams that occupies my brain and heart, but what sticks, really sticks to prompt a torrent of recollections is the reek of soap in the washrooms: 'twas a Carbolic Childhood mine.
(c) C J Heyworth September 2014
Mass conscription for Britain's Armed Forces in the two World Wars of the 20th. centrury scared the upper and middle classes to death about how unhygienic in their terms the "lower orders" were. There were improvements after World War I, but over my lifetime (I was born along with lots of others in 1946 when our fathers had returned from fighting the War) getting the "lower orders" scrubbed and far more healthy (free school milk), and that regimentation of cleanliness for me is still represented by carbolic soap which stank so strongly in comparison to the Cussons Imperial Leather we used at home. Of course there are other memories, often far pleasanter, but our remembered sense of smell is often the most vivid prompt to memory.