Kathleen and Kenneth were sent from this world in 1910, before the War and the slump, it was just the narrative in my head that saw their father in despair after the trenches. Harry left in 1917 so he and they were possibly born about the same time. Strange the way these things turn out.
I have no belief in an after life, so why do I keep their graves clear and nick a poppy for Harry each November. Because they are part of my story I suppose.
Dunno why Harry is even in our church yard, he should be with all the other adolescent skeletons in the Army and Navy churchyard down the road. Church yards everywhere, full stops in our landscape. Sudden stops. Centre of our own story then no more words.
Kathleen and Kenneth were drowned in a barrel, a friend googled them. She is a solicitor and likes to know the detail. She does a lot of Family case work, so must have a lot of details in her head.
My mother does Family Tree, she likes to know - not just the names, but where they lived, each and every address, what they did for a living, the tree stretches wider and wider, a manic oak shading many graveyards.
They are all dead, she will be, we will all be.
One day someone may read my gravestone just the other side of the hedge and muse on my story. Doesn't know she [would be a she] could read my Blog. or maybe she will, it won't tell her much except I can be a miserable cow.
How can the rest of you not be, that is my question. Even as a child I found it terrifying that I had not always been here,
Where was I when I was not. Where will I be when I am not.
There was a play on television, a man was injured and lost his identity, he had no idea who he was, I had nightmares for years. That and crossing the burning bridges and running away down the dark tunnels of course.I did get over the bridge in the end when I was in my 40s maybe, and stopped dreaming that one, must mean something.
I dream every night, big extravaganzas, Sometimes in my dream i think this would make a great film; a great comedy once, believe it or believe it not. I must write the plot down I think in my dream, giggling, no I won't forget it, it is just too perfect and hilarious. Obviously I can never remember.
Usually I resent my dreams, all that effort and tension, every night, Leave me alone, let me rest. Then just as I fall asleep next night I can almost touch the previous dream,then it waves rudely and I am off on a new roller coaster.
My son says he doesn't dream, doesn't have headaches either. is this fair!!!?
I have worked out which is the real life, as I can remember yesterday, but i can't remember my dreams.
Are Kathleen, Kenneth and Harry dreaming? Of course not, that is horrible writerly whimsy.