The bomb site
is the best place
for chickweed
Helen said
so you went
to the one off
Meadow Row
and gathered up
handfuls of the stuff
and took them back
to your flat
to feed the budgerigar
you were looking after
for the old couple
along the balcony
who had gone away
for a few days
you watched
as Helen poked
some through the bars
of the bird cage
with her fingers
and you noticed
her tenderness
and determination
as she pushed it
through the narrow
gauged bars
her tongue poking out
of the corner
of her mouth
her eyes focusing
through her
thick lens spectacles
does it sing?
she asked
don't think so
you replied
least I’ve not
heard it do so
she talked to the budgie
in her little girl voice
and sang a few lines
of a hymn
the budgerigar
just stared at her
and walked up
the other end
of the perch
with a beak full
of chickweed
as she sang to it
she held her head
at an angle
and one of her plaits
of brown hair
hung downwards
do you want
to come back
to my place afterwards?
she said
you can help me
bath my doll Battered Betty
and then
Mum'll get us
some bread and jam
or bread and dripping
and a mug of tea
you had wanted to go
to the bomb site
for half an hour
to gather ammunition
for your catapult
but she had that look
about her face
that made you say
sure why not
and so after poking through
the remaining chickweed
and washing your hands
under the cold water tap
in the kitchen
and drying them
on the towel hanging
behind the door
you walked down
the concrete stairs
and out into the Square
and down the slope
into Rockingham Street
where you walked past
the coal wharf
where coal trucks
were being filled
with sacks of coal
and by
the Duke of Wellington pub
where you used to get
bags of crisps
and bottles of Tizer
on Sunday evenings
then under
the railway bridge
and she talked
of some boys at school
who called her 4 eyes
and fish face
O don't mind them
you said
they just can't see
your beauty
too blind
dumb idiots
do I?
she said
have beauty?
sure you do
you said
putting on
your serious face
never seen a girl
with more
and she smiled
and gazed at you
through the thick lens
of her spectacles
showing the large
brown conker like eyes
when you got to her place
her mother
was just finishing
bathing a young kid
so she let Helen
have the water after
to bath Betty
and gave her
an old towel to dry with
you helped her
prepare the doll
but she took off
the baby clothes
an old cardigan
that had seen
better days
and a creamy dress
with small buttons
at the back
which were a hell
of a job to undo
and a pair of
doll panties
that fitted tightly
and were a struggle
to get off
well
Helen said
the water's nice
and soapy
so we can wash her
as it is
and so you watched
as she dipped the doll
under the water
(it might have drowned
had it been for real)
and held it there
until bubbles came out
of the neck
and she lifted Betty out
and wiped her over
with a flowery face cloth
and Betty’s eyes
opened and closed
and you helped dry
and studied
(as boys tend to do)
the seriousness
of Helen about the task
the tongue hanging
from the side
of her mouth
her eyes focussed
the head to one side
like an animal
trying to understand
a human command
and the small hands
working with calm concern
just as you'd seen
your mother do
when she made a cake
or rolled out pastry
for a pie
once the doll was dry
and dressed
she put Betty back
in the tiny cot
her dad had made
from an orange box
and her mother said
sit down
and I’ll get you
some bread and jam
or bread and dripping
and mugs of tea
and off she went
to the kitchen
humming some hymn
and you looked at Helen
sitting there
with her plaits of hair
and big eyes
showing no fear
and a smile
from ear
to lovely ear.
BATHING BETTY
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