Worzel here- Even now, years since his passing, I oft avoid bakeries, for the scent of venting ovens reminds me so of Godfrey…one summer, on a mission he sought the perfect cinnamon bun, and always gave me the outside bit, brown and crusty, when we were out for Tuesday coffee..
Cinnamon Innards!, he told all who would listen, for Godfrey talked of anything, but beets to all persons. “I dislike beets”, Godfrey did make clear in frequent chat, to all on the #50 bus, or bakery cafe’ when we sat .
“If beets be the laxative of love”, he did extol,” then cinnamon innards, warm, soft and doughy be loves soul”.
We tried them grilled in butter, and bacon fat, he burned his tongue. We tried them iced and plain, we tried cinnamon buns fat-free, day old, we tried them whole grain. We baked our own, a project without nuts, and avoided all raisins, as when very young, his sister Alice told Godfrey, “all raisins are are bug guts”.
Cinnamon Innards!, Sticky spiced spirals, evocative of ever lasting life, I surrender cried the poet, aroma of cinnamon innards on the wind, remember Godfrey, poet prepare to grease thy chin!…
WISDOM FROM ALICE- Godfrey’s sister, Alice was a band singer most of her youth, now a curmudgeon, she centered wholly on herself. When I asked Alice what she loved most, she replied two years later. “I love a good prank of wit, and stealth and quality”. I speak of others, never in ill, only jest, “The Grand Cattle Parade” was one of my best.
The happy crowd all thought that the big parade was over, dispersing off to picnics, to the show grounds. Through Batley Town, down the High Street, twirling a baton came I marching mid a large herd of cattle that I’d found.
One made a very wet mess on the sidewalk, another located hours later in the Lady’s Wear Store, Two got in the post office, the rest found miles away, I was not allowed in the Batley Town Parade anymore…
CHASTISED AT WORK!- “Last customer I sold that style of shoe, won “The Har-Lottery, and the bonus prize to”.Boss Miss Mellissa Thmot waved her fingernails at me.” Now, Alice, that was inappropriate of you”. Very silly thing of Miss Thmot to do.
For I feigned great upset, and Miss Thmot, had to help my friend Nudge Giggleswick with the ill-fitting rubber boots he bought. Nudge, though well kept and clean, had the worst smelling feet in all of Skibbereen. Born that way, he did not know why, crowds scattered from his path, when Nudge whom I adored, barefoot on the beach strolled by.
He washed his feet in my front yard neath the tap, then sprayed, powdered and dried, with a special towel kept hung in a tree he was welcome inside. Miss Thmot thought she’d smelled it all, in her career selling the shoe, we carried her, gagging out back of the shop, left the boss to recover alone in the Loo.
I thanked Nudge Giggleswick for his help, said Nudge, “What any fine prankster would do, my dearest Alice, what any fond prankster would do….
THE CURMUDGEONS LAMENT- Why did you sit next to me?
You have many small children, all under three, weeing and eating the table salt, in empty Fish n Chip Shop, why do you sit next to me? I chose a quiet corner, the water to view, far from him eating herring and no where near you, no wobbly table neath my mince-tart and tea, why do you sit next to me?
I rarely go out to a film or a play, and I chose mid-week or a noon matinee’. Pick a lone seat, where over no ones large head I cant see .Oh why do you sit next to me?. On a walk in the gardens I rest on the grass, with my stick flick the ice-creams of tourists who pass. Idly I feed carrion bird and pigeon, nasty things, and still you sit down next to me, a grumpy curmudgeon?.
In the Doctor’s room, I wait in a chair, for step father Arthur, in Doctors care, sure enough down you plop, and tell me non stop, of every ailment and pain, when I do not reply, show your skin rash again. No, I don’t wish to see where the stick was removed, oh why do you sit next to me? Why do you sit next to me?…