On the eve of the fifth month of Godfrey’s passing, I sat down to write. Not for fame or aclaim, or readers opinion, just deep grief at the absence of his boundless joy. Twas a nudge at my shoulder, told me it was okay to tell his story, of an odd little boy and the town of Fermoy.

Up one side was the town of Fermoy, coal trains rattled past the long closed up Capital Cafe. Rumored to open again any day. And Godfrey a curious five year old, asks as they pass in dented old car. “Who lives in the big corner house Ma? Who lives in that house so fine? with naughty statues and lady’s things hung on the line? Yelled at for his asking did his Ma, years later he learned it was “Miss Maisie”s Gentlemen’s Health Spa”..

. Up one side was the town of Fermoy, on the better bit dwelt the elite, who looked down upon the dockside kids, pelted Godfrey with potatoes and frozen beet.Up one side was the town of Fermoy, where in her cottage lurked the dreaded hag, she sang raucous, drank, deep wrinkled of face, people crossed the street to avoid her place, but Godfrey danced with his Grandma old, and loved the stories that she told.

Up one side was the town of Fermoy…. Godfrey laughing recalled, busy was the High Street one block up from the sea, my big sister Alice threw a cabbage at the cop on the corner, he thought it was me. I ran so fast as Alice laughed, was caught and swatted on the behind. I was marched home and made eat the cabbage in a manner unkind.

.Up one side was the town of Fermoy.   “I was a farm girl from a damp Welsh valley..Twas a nudge at my shoulder,(perhaps just a twinge of old age) Just the breeze it was from the open window, could not be the soft susurus of his turning a page..tap and click of pen my imagination..with a sigh and sip of tea, bent to writing again. “He was a vagabond, so full of poetry”  And up one side was the town of Fermoy.


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