Her parents
row at night
Fay heard them

from her bed
her brothers
young and small

innocent
in their sleep
she held tight

in her hand
her wooden
rosary

her small thumb
rubbed over
the plaster

crucified
two voices
in conflict

high and low
a duet
that threatened

harsh violence
Fay's body
huddled up

beneath wool
coverings
if only

Benedict
could be there
him there now

at the foot
of her bed
her 12 year

old white knight
and she his
12 year old

young princess
of their twin
childlike game

but he's not
he sleeps in
his own bed

in a flat
on the next
balcony

beneath hers
if only
he would come

sword in hand
standing there
at the foot

of her bed
protecting
with his mum's

small saucepan
a helmet
on his head.

We're on a bomb site
behind the tabernacle
looking for some
ammunition for

my catapult
which I carry
in the back pocket
of my jeans

Fay is looking
amongst the debris
of old bombed
out houses

or just area  
left where
houses stood
it's a sunny day

holiday time
no school
-makes me happier-
is this one too big?

she asks
I look over
no that's a good one
I say

she brings it over
to where I stand
she holds it
between her

thin finger and thumb
and she drops it
into my palm
I weigh it up

and down then
drop it into
my pouch
-a knotted handkerchief-

she looks at me
her blue eyes
searching me
her fair hair

brought behind
her head in
a ponytail
have you ever

thought about self?
I look at her
self?
I say

what do you mean?
the I of us
what we call me
I look nonplus

and look down
for more small stones
a nun at school
said the I

in Christianity means
the I crossed out
in the form
of a cross

in other words
our self is not
more important
than that I or self

of another
and as a Christian
we should put
the self

of another first
I find a small stone
and pick it up
and finger it

so the cross is
supposed to show
self crossed out?
I say uncertainly

she looks at the stone
I'm holding
yes that's what
she was saying

self denial I think
is what she meant
Fay says
scratching her head

this nun at school
does she ever
tell jokes?
Fay frowns

no not as far
as I've heard
well I could
tell you one

O'Brien told me
but it's not for girls
to hear
not girls

as good as you
I say
Daddy says jokes
are sinful to say

and to hear Fay says
when I innocently
told him one
the other year

a girl at school told me
he spanked me
and said never
to hear or say jokes

ever again
what was the joke?
I ask
shouldn't say

she says
there's only you
and me here
no one will know

if you tell me
except God
and I guess He's
heard it before

I say
she looks at me
her blue eyes
staring

ok but don't
tell Daddy
I told you
she says

I promise not to tell
your old man
I say
well a man took his wife

to the cinema
and as they waited
in the queue
a man in front of them

passed wind
and the husband
said to the man
how dare you

pass wind
in front of my wife
and the man said
sorry I didn't know

it was her turn
I laugh and so does she
and I like how
her eyes sparkle

when she laughs
and her face lights up
like a summer day
then she's looks

at her hands
that was good
I say
but it's sinful

she says
but the brightness
in her face and eyes
didn't go away.

Cows mooed. Birds bubbled in a nearby hedgerow. Butterflies fluttered by. A Gatekeeper, Jane said, pointing to a butterfly fluttering by. Benedict watched as the butterfly fluttered along ahead of them. Wasn't sure, he said. He caught her out of the corner of his eye. Dark hair, let loose, shoulder length; blue flowered dress short sleeved. I ought not to say whom you can see and whom you can't, she said, pausing by the hedgerow, looking up the narrow road leading to the small church, if you want to see that Lizbeth girl it's up to you, she added. Benedict looked at her. She comes looking for me; I don't go looking for her, he said. Her eyes looked at him: dark eyes, warm, searching, honest-to-God eyes. What does she want with you? Jane asked. A sound of a tractor in the distant field. Whatever it is she won't get it, he said, eyeing her lips, how they part slightly, her teeth, small but even. She seemed hooked on you, Jane said. She looked at Benedict's quiff of brown hair, his hazel eyes. Guess she is. He tries to push thoughts of Lizbeth ******* in her room a few months ago and how she wanted him to have *** with her and he didn't want to and didn't. Much to her annoyance. He pictures her body semi-undressed, her bed waiting for them. He couldn't. Jane frowned. I had a word with her in the girl's toilet at school, Jane said, she showed no shame in wanting to have *** with you; I couldn't believe any girl could just do that. Benedict sighed. Some can and do, he said, I didn't want to and so didn't. She seemed relieved to hear that and walked on and he walked on beside her.  Why didn't you? She asked, have *** with her? He thought before answering, didn't want to say the wrong thing. He heard the cows mooing louder as they walked up towards the church lane. I wouldn't, not just out of lust, he said. If you loved her would you? She asked. He didn't love Lizbeth, he liked her for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, but it wasn't love. Don't think so, he answered. She was quiet and they walked on up the narrow lane. A blackbird flew over their heads. The smell of flowers was strong. Cow dung from the farm was as strong. He studied Jane's hand near his: slim, fingers narrow, neat nails. Do you love her? Jane asked. No, he replied. He wanted to say he loved her, loved Jane, but it was a big statement to say and he didn't want just to blurt it out. They entered the churchyard. The small church was nearby. Lizbeth had been here with him twice or so. Once suggesting they have *** on one of the church pews. Narrow wooden pews. Would she have? He asked himself as he and Jane walked past old tombstones. He guessed she would, but he couldn't, not there, not anywhere. Jane paused by a grave. He was a tractor driver who died when his tractor fell on top of him, Jane said, pointing at the grave. It looked new: new stone, fresh dug earth, flowers. O my God, he said, how sad. Yes, it is, she said. His wife and children had to leave the tied cottage afterwards. Benedict caught her perfume as she leaned near him. He couldn't identify the flower smell. He couldn’t imagine her wanting him to have *** with her anywhere. Yet, oddly he felt he could with her, but he knew she wouldn't so it was safe to think it. But not like Lizbeth who was gagging for it-to use her expression-, but out of a love feeling, maybe. No, he couldn't imagine Jane doing such. What did you think when that Lizbeth girl brought you here? Jane asked. Thought she was just going to show me around the church; she said she was interested in the architecture, he said. She lies good, Jane said. He nodded. They walked on around the church, walked past other graves, older, moss covered stones. Were you tempted to have *** with her on one of the pews? Jane asked. Of course not, he replied, looking straight at her. Never dawned on me that she'd want such a thing. How could she even suppose you would? Jane said. Because she wanted to, she imagined I must want it, too, he said. But on a church pew? She said, her voice having tones of disbelief. He sighed. I know and when I said people might come in she said serves them right for coming in, he said, trying to recollect her words exactly, but couldn't. Jane opened the small wooden door of the church and they entered. It was cool. The walls were white painted. The windows were painted with religious figures. This is God's house, Jane said, she shouldn't have even thought of such a thing. Benedict looked at the altar end. A small crucifix stood on an altar table with a white cloth on it. He looked at the side pews. He tried to find the one he sat in with Lizbeth and she suggested having *** there. It made him go cold thinking of it. Jane walked to the altar end and sniffed. Incense from Sunday, she said. He smelt it too. He smelt her perfume more. She was close to him now. Her body was inches from his. His body tingled. He knew he loved her. He wanted to say so; wanted to say it loudly to her, but it was the wrong place. He looked at her body encased in the dress. Slim, narrow, her ******* were small, but tight. She was curved. He looked away. He knew he ought not to think of her in that way, least not here. Let's sit and pray, she said, and walked into one of the side pews and sat down. He sat next to her, pushing thoughts of Lizbeth from his mind. Keeping the image of her lifting her skirt and showing him a glimpse of her thigh from his mind. Jane had closed her eyes in prayer. She was a parson's daughter; prayer was natural to her as breathing. He closed his eyes. Smelt her perfume mingled with incense. How did one pray at a time like this? He thought, pushing Lizbeth's thigh from his inner eye.

Hey Kid
Anne says

Benny follows
to where
she calls him

what is it?
he asks

go get my chair

your wheel chair?

yes my wheel chair
what other kind
of chair do I have

ok
he says
and goes off
over the green lawn

passing kids
on the swing and slide

pass the skinny nun
who has just come
whom Anne says
looks like a clarinet
she's so thin

in through
the French windows
passing a girl
who has ****** burns
but who manages
to smile at him

in down the hall
into the girl's dormitory
and takes hold
of Anne's wheel chair
and is just about he
to wheel it out

when Sister Blaise
stops him
where are you going
with that Benny?
she asks

he looks at the nun
with her stern features
and icy blue eyes

it's for Anne
he says

did she ask you
to get it?

he looks at
the crucifix
on the wall
behind the nun's head

no I saw she was
struggling
and thought it best
to bring it to her
he says

taking in
the Crucified's head
leaning to one side
eyes half open
as if He were
looking at him

is that the truth?
the nun asks

he nods
and puts on
his Mr Innocent face

all right off you go
she says
eyeing him
as he wheels the chair
along the passageway

and out through
the French windows
and across the lawn
at full belt

until he comes
to where Anne stands
propped painfully
on her crutches
any problems?
she asks

no
he replies
trying to get
the nun's
icy blue stare
out of his eyes.

On the beach
in the sun
Anne sits

in her chair
her one leg
hanging down

her leg stump
out of sight
she's beside

Skinny kid
who reclines
in a small

blue deckchair
other kids
sit around

fussed over
by three nuns
from the home

the tides out
so some kids
paddle out

ankle deep
listen kid
I hear one

of the nuns
had you in
to question

in secret
what'd they ask?
Anne asks

it's secret
Benny says
I know that

but tell me
I'm your friend
Anne says

Benny looks
around him
about you

they asked me
about you
Benny says

Anne frowns
about me?
Benny nods

what'd they ask?
what you did
what you  said

and did you
make me do
anything

Benny says
what'd you say?
I said you

were my friend
my best friend
Benny says

what'd they say?
Sister Blaise
the fat nun

said it was
a big sin
to tell lies

what'd you say?
Anne asks
I told her

I guess so
was that all?
can I go?

Benny says
Anne smiles
good work Kid

keep the ****
penguins stumped
and things hid.

Ingrid hears
her mother's
cries and moans

in the night
flesh slamming
against flesh

she cringes
wondering
if she'll be

next in line
she is torn
by her fear

should she stay
just in case
her father

doesn't come
or should she
go and see

if her mum
is ok?
her room's dark

a slither
of light comes
from the moon

through curtains
a steam train
goes over

the steel bridge
just over
the roadway

she listens
for more moans
flesh on flesh

thump thump slap
she sits up
on the edge

of her bed
there are sounds
whimpering

then footsteps
in the hall
her father

shouting out
she cringes
she wishes

Benedict
was there now
she wishes

he could be
her young knight
in shining

armour on
his snow white
horse charger

but he's not
he's asleep
in a flat

down the stairs
she hears her
mother's moans

a door slams
then silence
she creeps back

into bed
carrying
Benedict

her young knight
in armour
in her head.

I was on the bomb site
off Arch Street
collecting pieces of wood
and newspaper

-******* in a ball-
and small pieces of coal
liberated from the coal wharf
near by

plus a few Swan Vestas
borrowed from
my old man's box at home
I lit a fire

near the railway arch
and Ingrid said
are you allowed
to do that?

not that I know
I said
what if a policeman
comes?

she asked
I'll just say
it was alight
when I came

and I was
keeping warm
I replied
but that's lying

she said
stretching the truth
a little
I said

she frowned at me
her bruised eye
was on the mend
and was just a slight

memory now
-her old man's
handiwork-
what if you get burnt?

she said
risk of the game
I said
I shouldn't be here

if my dad saw me here
I'd be for it
she said
you're always for it

I said
you've only got to look
at your old man
and he whacks you

I replied
not always
she said
looking away

he slippered you
the other week
for dropping
that bottle of milk

she said nothing
but looked across
the bomb site
at the passing buses

on the New Kent Road
I got out a small tin
and opened it
want a cigarette?

she peered at me
then at the tin
where'd you get those?
she said

I made them
I said
made them?
yes out of dog-ends

I picked up
from the gutters
and borrowing
cigarette papers

from an uncle
I made them up
she pulled a face
but they must have

other people's
spit on them
she said
but the papers

are fresh
I said
and besides
the burning tobacco

gets rid of that
she looked at me
and said
yuk

I put the tin away
and we watched
the fire burning
a Rozzer stopped me

on here the other week
and said to me
did I see you smoking?
I said

no I've not been smoking
I'd flicked the **** end
onto the bomb site
behind me

and he looked
at me suspiciously
and said
better not let me

catch you sonny boy
and he walked off
I'd have wet myself
she said

if a policeman
stopped me
we watched the fire burning
for a few more minutes

then we went across
the bomb site
to the chip-shop
to buy 6d of chips

and stood outside
and shared them
watching the small bomb fire
burning across the way

on that cold
November day.