Burdened with groceries we crossed the road.

Look right, look right, the traffic comes from there.

And then a waif, in tears.  “Come quick, come quick,”

he said.  “Me mum ‘as ‘ad a fit.  She’s a laying over there.”

 

We ran, there she was, down on the ground, shaking,

out for the count, an epileptic fit, but she was on her side.

Has your mum had one of these before?  We asked.

“Me mum, she ‘as ‘em na’ an’ then.” He smeared his nose.

 

What is your name?  “Antony.”  He said.

Me Mum, ‘er name is ‘lizabeth.  Is she a’right?”

Yes she will be fine, we will call the ambulance

Do you have a dad?  “Ye’ but ‘e don’t live wi’v us no mor’.”

 

“‘e’s gone, I don’t see ‘im na’, since ‘e beat me Mum.”

“Will she be a’right?”  He asked again.  Yes Antony

“When will the doctor come.? Can I go with ‘er?”

It makes me scared when me mum is sick.”

 

“Where do you live Antony?”  “The second ‘ouse, next road.

White door, number twenty Malvern road.

Perhaps I can play on the swings till she comes ‘ome?”

Lets wait and see.  You are a very brave boy Antony.

 
 
David Garlick, Fenny Stratford, England, September, 1996