Saving a slice for Philip

August 19 1947

Crash!  The distant sound immediately jolts me from my slumber and I pull the curtains apart just enough to spy the time on the small clock beside my bed.  Today is my birthday!  I have asked Molly, Ruby, Joan and Elizabeth to come over for my party.  I only asked Elizabeth in the hope that maybe her brother Philip might come along too.  He is a total dish and I have had several conversations with him.  In my head.  But only one actual talk when I dropped a glove on the way to school and he said “I think this is yours”.

Judging by the sound of the crash, I guess mother has secretly got up early to make my favourite cake but gave her position away inadvertently by the symphonic cascade of tins falling out of the pantry. I imagine she is cursing silently. There are thirteen red and yellow candles waiting in the drawer to be planted.  I will make sure I save the biggest piece for Philip if he comes.

December 25 1961

The usual early morning bird call has been replaced by the bells from St Mary’s appealing for all available Christians and the sound of Edward riding his brand new tricycle.  He has also discovered the trailer, shredded the wrapping and joined it on.  Catherine has filled it with empty cans that rattle busily with every fracture in the concrete path and he shrieks with delight while his little legs spin furiously.   I send my first Christmas prayer of the day hoping Bert at number 52 has at least a little Christmas spirit today. 

March 16 2016

A rhythmic squealing then the sound of objects hitting the floor stirs me.  Following the raucous is the sound of laughing.  Is it my birthday?  Is Ruby here, or Janet?  Is Philip here? I get out of bed, grab my dressing gown and open the door.  Two dark-skinned women are outside my room gathering a tray and its contents that have fallen off the metal trolley. 

‘Morning Deirdre,” says the one with the badge that identifies her as Jamie.  There is no sign of my friends, only a long corridor with door after door off it.  Directly opposite my room is a door adorned with a photo of a man casting a fishing rod in a river looking very happy.  Underneath it says his name is Ted Spencer.  On my door is a photo of a woman in her thirties, her shoulder length hair in curls and looking like she has had three wines already and the slight blur suggests it’s not posed.  She also looks happy. 

“Here are your pills my love,” says the other holding out her hand.  I don’t know her but she seems kindly.

 

 “It’s Marjorie’s birthday today,” says Jamie.  “There’ll be savouries, cocktail sausages and chocolate cake,” she adds. 

I immediately feel better about the day.

 

“I love birthday cake.  Do you think Philip will be coming?”

Andrew Hawkey