'To John, Wherever He May Rest' by Federica Silvi

The Keats Hill Community Library 

Senior Citizens' Creative Memoir Workshop 

Week 3 assignment: Pick a place you go to reflect. Where is it? What memories come back to you? 

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Name: Anita McRae 

Title: “On the bench at the North-East corner of my neighbourhood park” 

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To John, who once a week looked over this park through the windows at the Viscount and Carriage, nursing a pint while his family believed him to be at Sunday mass. 

To John, who swore to Anita that there was no one else he'd rather walk through the green with, but always, to the day of his death, continued to wear the cologne Dora Laforge used to love. 

To John, who enjoyed his strolls more than anything, aside perhaps from watching football. Lifelong Reds supporter, and sole responsible for his daughters learning curse words before the age of six. 

To John, who some days would spend more time on this bench than his own sofa because, as he used to say, at least the rubbish pickers didn’t nag him for smoking his cigarettes. 

To John, who sat here every morning, because he had long lost the energy to run, but his dog still had plenty. Imperfect husband, loving father. No matter what, very much loved.

'Sea View' by Amy Wilson

It takes him a few minutes to find the right bench, working in the dark with a flashlight. It’s further along the road than he remembered but once he finds it, he turns off the light and lets the darkness and the sound of the waves wash over him. He runs a finger lightly across the inscription. He doesn’t need to see it to know what it says, “In loving memory of Tim Barnes, who loved this view.”

“There’s some irony for you,” he thinks. He really did love this view and now the only way he can experience the place is in darkness. He thinks of his ex-wife, newly wealthy with her half of his life insurance pay-out and newly married to a man who thinks, like the rest of the world, that Tim is dead. He’s sure that the inscription is her idea of a sick joke, cleverly disguised as the love of a grieving widow.

He lets out a long sigh. He’ll have to be gone come first light, but for now Tim is content to sit and listen to the waves crash on the beach. 

'The Thames will carry her sons forever' by Maria Thomas

It’s not really a bench, more a polished hunk of tree-trunk. A section planed smooth to accommodate weary haunches, a poignant inscription carved in caps: 

THE THAMES WILL CARRY HER SONS FOREVER

BRUNO - CONRAD - MAX

I think of the heart trees of Westeros and it strikes me that this piece of oak carries a trio of hearts, a sextet of hearts, an infinity of hearts. Who knows how many lives these boys touched: Bruno, Conrad, Max.

I imagine their ashes, their atoms, scattering into the water, merging into a whole and travelling with the currents to the ocean. Evaporating under the swollen sun to form ominous pewter bulkheads, blown westwards to Cotswold elevations before joining Father Thames once more. Carried in his currents cyclically, forever.

'Insight' by Stella Turner

 

I’d walked this route for years, never noticing the plaque on the bench.

 

In loving memory of my dear wife Kate Collins died 26^th June 2021. Peace at last for her and insight for those who rest here.  

 

I read it three times. It must be a co-incidence, my name and today’s date. I felt queasy. Not wanting to sit down on the bench I leant against the nearest tree.

 

Letting myself into the tiny flat I could hear him snoring. I made us both a strong cup of tea. Putting the mug down beside him I nudged him awake. He seemed surprised to hear me. 

 

“Hello love, had a good day” 

 

I didn’t tell him about the bench. It sounded so irrational. The other Kate Collins must have died months ago and the bench dedicated today. I told him about the walk along the canal, how bright the sunshine was and the funny things the girls had said at work. He smiled; he never let his blindness get him down.

 

Sitting on the bench he felt the sun on his face. The colour of the grass was amazing. He hadn’t seen it for twelve years. Accelerating, to avoid the child running into the road, his wife had managed not to hurt either the girl or herself but inflicted life changing injuries on him. He held no bitterness or malice. 

 

It had been so easy; his brother was ruthless in his enthusiasm. Each day he changed the plaque for today’s date.

 

Pledging his soul to the Devil and the life insurance money for his brother’s silence he had made a pact. Kate for his sight! Kate, for her part just fell into the canal and drowned on his birthday. Job done! 

 

'The View' by L Hall

I looked at the plaque screwed to the bench: “In loving memory of Terry, who spent many a happy hour admiring the view.” Turning, I looked back to the tower block that rose from the ground like some ancient monolith. A grey pebble-dashed obelisk, unseeing eyes wide-open and also grey as they reflected the overcast sky. Had Terry really admired this view?

“Hi, sorry I’m late. Some idiot on the bus refused to pay their fare, so I’ve had to walk from Gallowgate. Anyway, I’m here now. Should we get started?”

I smiled and stood up in reply, muscles already tightening in anticipation.

“Right, quick warm up, then we’ll get stuck in. I’ve planned a new circuit for us today. You’re going to love it!”

I smiled again. A smile I hoped was convincing, but felt like water: desperately apologetic, and lacking any substance. 

After fifteen minutes I was drenched in sweat and fighting for each breath.

“Ready for a quick break? Let’s grab some water.”

I slumped on the bench and wrestled my water bottle free from my rucksack. I took long, deep gulps.

“Whoa! Whoa! Steady, you’ll make yourself sick. Sip, like me. You need to rehydrate carefully.”

I took a few more sips and put the bottle down. 

“Do you think Terry really admired this view?”

“Pardon?”

“Terry,” I indicated to the plaque, “do you think he really liked this view?”

She looked perplexed. “Er, yes…well…perhaps? You never can tell, can you. Should we go through the circuit again?”

“No. You never can tell,” I replied standing up, the great grey view looming over me. 

'Indestructible' by Lucienne Cummings

 

Aaron Smith 2000-2014 – Loved his family and this Bay.

Not enough to stop him jumping off the pier with his friends, the mummified roses at my elbow say.

NFFD 2021: Prompt #9

 

The Inscription

This prompt was sent to us by J F King in response to Prompt #24 in the NFFD 2020 Write-In, which challenged writers to come up with their own prompt.  We thought it was highly appropriate for our anniversary year, so here it is!

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Look at an inscription on a memorial bench, e.g., ‘...Who spent many happy hours enjoying this view…’.

 

Who placed the plaque? Why? Is it really true? Would you re-word the plaque?

 

 

Write a flash that addresses some (or all) of these questions.

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If you’re submitting this to us, make sure to note that this is a response to Prompt 9: The Inscription.

You can submit responses until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 27 June 2021 for a chance to be published here at The Write-In.  (And yes, there will be opportunities to submit your own prompts this year as well.  Check back around midnight on Saturday, 26 June for details!)