Aoife's Blog: Charlie Ratchford Centre 4
May 5, 2011
Here's another piece inspired by the experiences of the older people at the Charlie Ratchford centre. What has struck me most about working with them is their incredible gift for survival and the extraordinary lives they've led. One older lady told me how she goes round on her bicycle delivering organic vegetables to Camden residents who are housebound. I said that was very good of her and she replied that it wasn't, it was a privilege.
Not Invited
On the train the children were laughing and singing but she was crying,
she didn't want to go on her own with only sandwiches for company.
They sat in the station for hours, small frozen lumps of coal
waiting to be picked up. Mainly she remembers being hungry.
For tea, one slice of bread sliced so thin you could see through it
with a scrape of jam. She had no money but in the end she
sent a letter without a stamp saying she was starving
to her parents who arrived to a table laden with food.
They weren't fooled for she was covered in boils
from malnutrition and the doctor said even in the worst slums
of the East End he'd never seen a case as severe as hers.
Of course there was no rationing in the Café Royale,
in the Trocadero, if you've got money you can get
anything in this world. It's easy to be sentimental
about what counts if you've never been a widow
fibbing to your three children that you've already
eaten because in those days the allowance simply
didn't stretch that far. You were on your own.
And if you think no one in this country is going hungry
in the twenty first century you should try Guantanamo
as her friend used to call that hospital.
She saw a patient there with Parkinson's with
a tray of food placed just out of her reach.
Though she rang the bell and asked for it to be
brought nearer, nobody came till it was too late
and the meal was cleared away, uneaten.
So much for loving your neighbour as yourself.
Though she'll never forget the vicar's housekeeper
feeding them cake instead of punishing them
for stealing apples all those years ago during the war.
A small kindness she keeps vivid and warm as the best
cure for such petty betrayals and incomprehensible hatred.
by Aoife Mannix
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