Tollesbury Time Forever (24 page)

Part of me began to think that everyone, every fucking person that knew me or worked with me or passed me in the street, knew what I was up to yet I still could not stop. I thought often of killing myself but the devil wouldn’t allow it. I had lost the power to end my own life from the time that bastard American GI cripple put his empty cock up my seven year old arse. It was just the devil now in control of me. I lived in form only. And I thank the lord that my brother and his wife took Simon to the back of fucking beyond to go and live in the country.

I got myself a bed-sit and held myself in contempt the remainder of my life. I never did what I did to Simon to any other kid. Not that that makes me in any way deserving. Death is the best thing that ever happened to me and that’s the fucking truth of it. At least instead of all that oil and grease I now have flowers upon me."

Well that’s what I heard anyway. It could have been the whispering of the cemetery grass or the conjoined spirits of the corpses beneath me or maybe it was just in the air that only I breathe. I uncrossed my aching, ageing knees and stood as best I could. As I did so I felt for a moment that I would be taken away by the breeze so light did I feel. I was a balloon, the head of a dandelion, a bubble ubble, a breath of warm mist. I was upon this earth but floating all the same. I leaned forward and stroked the top of Uncle Len’s gravestone.

May he rest in peace.

Forgiven.

Beauty, beauty, beauty.

There have been times in my life when I have glimpsed beauty, when it has sought me out for a brief moment, only to flitter away into the world that only others inhabit. I once heard a regular in The King’s Head exclaim to one of the barmaids that beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder and that as she must hold more beer than most during the course of an evening, she must therefore be the most beautiful woman in the world.

She had promptly dropped the pint she was passing to him, and for which he had just paid.

“And how beautiful do you think I am now?” she had asked.

Beauty, beauty, beauty.

Beauty isn’t a face or a painting or a meal or a house. Beauty is the wonderful coming together of all senses at once in a specific, undeniable, unrepeatable moment. And moments, as I was beginning to learn, are all we really have.

Beauty is nothing but that which is beyond the shadows of this mortal life.

And so it was that I came to write a letter to my wife.

Juuliaa

Juuuuuuuliaaaaaaa

Juuulia

Half of what I say is meaningless

But I say it just to reach you…

I know it’s been twenty years or so that I last saw you and Robbie, but I need to see you both as soon as I can. If we could meet up, that would be so great. I would understand if you didn’t want to.

I’m not sure if you are still at this address. I do hope so. That means, not only will you get this note, but you might be
able to meet me at Mo’s Café in Tiptree any time on Saturday 30th August. I will be there all day.

A change has come upon me, Julia. It’s a long story.

Simon

PS I Love You

You

You

Yoooouuu…

The Post Office in Tollesbury is at the top of Station Road, opposite The King’s Head. It consists of a counter at the back of the Corner Shop. The Corner Shop itself is best described as an off-licence which sells some other general goods. It was taken over recently by a chain of shops and the sign ‘Boozebusters’ was erected big and bold. The people of Tollesbury have a Parish Council that represents them who decided that such a sign was not in keeping with the village ethos and it was thus quickly removed to be replaced by the name of the chain itself.

Imagine driving into a lovely country village and seeing The Hope Inn on one side, the King’s Head on the other and opposite that a quaint old fashioned shop called Boozebusters. What a scandal! The fact that if you go further into the village you will find The British Legion Club (selling beer), The Sailing Club (selling beer) and The Cruising Club (selling beer) could perhaps make the casual visitor think that perhaps Boozebusters is not the name of a shop but of the village itself!

Ah Tollesbury - I raise a glass to thee!

I had learned from experience that Mr Postman does not come and collect letters that need posting no matter how much you say please, yet he will at times deliver unwanted correspondence unbidden. He won’t stop to make me feel better once he’s delivered a card or a letter, not even for a minute. There was nothing for it but to go to the post office with my Julia note, buy a stamp and post it. I owed my wife that much, at least; and a walk in Tollesbury can only bring
you closer to beauty - even if it’s just up to the corner shop and back.

The heat hit me like a cartoon spade the second I stepped out of the house. Tollesbury seems to have a weather system independent of all others. When it’s warm elsewhere, it is sweltering here. It’s pointless listening to the weather man, you just have to go out and experience it. And I can think of no finer pleasure.

So, envelope in hand, I intended just to go to the Post Office and post my letter to my wife; but there was more required of me than that. It was my task to recognise beauty wherever it be and that is what I did. The result humbled me. I will explain it as I felt it, for that is all I can do.

Stepping out my side door front door concrete ground in plinkle colours

of stones and chips and pebble heads

all hard unblinking despite the sun

- and shadows fall just where they ought -

My plastic glass door clicks so shut unlocked

Enter thee who feel the need

no need to plead just click and enter

don’t break it open

mine is yours

and you are welcome to it.

From dark to light the flight is flit

I’m in the world now

not my houseworld but yourworld

that opens up to me like the hollow black mouth of a leering creature

Yet

I SEE ONLY LIGHT -

could be the glinting of the teeth

or perhaps

I have been in the gurglebelly

and am in fact

on my way to heaven!

Neighbour's brick wall faces me all crazy shapes of deep design

yet sturdy strong unfurling

so unique in every aspect of divine mish-mash

holding up the slates that

but for its own robustitude

would scramble down to meet my feet and bury me deep in a clattering curvy crish crash

pile.

The dits and dots of weather tracks

that have impaled the mighty brick

strike me now as but tattoos

upon the human form;

marks of mystery rent by Gods

part now of the majestic whole.

I tell myself it’s just a wall

but I’m learning now it’s

Much

More

Than

That.

And now the gate that squeaks and creaks

to me goodbye hello

depending upon which way

I deign to go.

This fine day I, the unhinged,

unhinge the hinge

and turn and pat it on the head,

latching back the naked latch

back into its cosy bed.

So all is safe at my castle home -

the door is closed,

the gate is shut and there I am

Exposed

to the waiting world.

East Street is before me now left and right

one way down towards the sea

the other to the

very edge

of Tollesbury

where all my sense of safety stops

where far beyond in little towns

that you may feel are rather quaint

but

to certain ones like me are nothing

but barbarity where looks and stares

and wayward glares

bang like nails into the lid

that houses both my heart and soul;

the very thought doth make me shake

with trimble tremors and pimple goosings

that mark me out as a man who is

at mercy to the strong straight lines

of every single machination.

I don’t mean to decry the earth for I find it wonderful

It’s just that my experience

Has led me to a criss cross road

Where all the traffic

Moves

So

Fast.

So I do a right eyes to the ground

my shuffle legs and schoosh schoosh shoes

softly schoosh schoosh as I move

like a jazzy drummer with his sch-toom-sch-toom brushes

backbeat to the light and heat

shuffle feet

shuffle feet.

And there I am in a wild west town,

the green print shop next to the razor‘s edge then onto the grave graveyard

- paper, scissors and stone if ever I saw it

all in a row upstanding and

just

there.

Then the old congregational church

on the other side

demure and aloof

with trees for ultimate protection

of

the ultimate perfection.

But this is not the wild wild west,

not even the wild west end,

‘tis Tollesburyville

and that is all.

The smell of baking bread is with me now

it is all of me

consuming me

I breathe it in and I breathe it out.

Past the corner shop I am drawn,

The King's Head gasps as by I slip

and there into the bakery

through its tiny door I bend myself

and enter.

I have no money in my pocketsses

but am just content to stand in that tiny corner

close my eyes

and get high

Not a soul asks me to leave;

Unlike the baker, I have nothing to prove…

And I floated down from the low ceiling

in perfect silence and

merged into the day.

And that is what I did.

My feet sighed so soft and most unneeded

for

the scent and beauty of the village whole was what carried me

back

home.

So there I was, in my haven-heaven

Sanctuary

relieved.

And the letter

Well

that was still in my hand.

Bugger.

That’s a problem I have you see. The wayward meanderings of my mind will at times, and indeed more often than not, inhibit my ability to complete even the most simple and necessary of daily tasks. Some may call that a symptom for which medication could be the answer. I prefer to see it as just one of those things.

I was standing in my kitchen, a little bemused when a shadow knocked.

It was the Postman.

“Hello Mr Anthony”

“Hello”

“I was just passing and wondered if you had anything you wanted me to deliver today?”

“Just this letter here. Well it’s more of a note really.”

“Do you have a stamp for it?”

“Sorry. No.”

“Not to worry. I just happen to have one right here.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“So if you would like to hand me your mail?”

“There you go.”

A pause.

“You know what, Mr Anthony?”

I shook my head - for so many reasons.