Eleven. Green Dock Lane.

by

Thomas Leathan-drum

Chapter 1    

Captain Simon Monaghan

   The small hand drawn map, many a time unfolded and always returned to once first folded—its edges frail, its creases worn, its colour yellow; and again in the hand of Captain Simon Monaghan.     It is now only habit he refers to it—for he can see all in his mind that is drawn there~there in faded ink is the street name and the number—only to an experienced eye do the strokes of the pen— so many years before scribed, providing the owner with its meaning.

    Tucking once more the map to his coat pocket—returning his hat to his head and his glove to his hand—he encourages his horse with gentle pressure on reins of leather ... forward.      Together as one, as friends, and as companions do—drink from the same trough, eat food from the same pot and share hay as a bed ... under the open sky;  under trees as old as the world, behind hedges of bracken with goats and sheep-all drawing close for warmth.      If only Latimer (for that is the name of the horses) could converse ... the distanced travelled (if only in his mind) would be halved, with time shared in conversation—many a varied topic they could discuss ... that of War, Religion, Politics, and of good times and bad.

Chapter 2

  It is now time to declare to all, and lift the coat of deception.      

    The house is as I remember ... maybe the stone walls and the tiled roof have aged —maybe the front door (on closer inspection) has less colour (in my youth was a bright red) maybe the hand painted house number— eleven—(painted black) could do with a repaint.      Turning into Green Dock Lane my eyes rest upon these memories—recalling that day—returning home to find my mother called by her God.     She was sat at the table, resting her head upon her apron—folded in perfect placed of pride.      Placing my hand within her open palm I cried for us both (as we were both now alone) her with her God.       I with mine.

    I shall take this time to share with you this description ... this house is that of three generations before the time I knew it ... it is where my father, his brothers and sisters— born and lived, and where my father brought my mother once wed.

    So ... from the street the visitor is welcomed into the room I came to know as my grandmother's favourite—and in later years - I found comfort there.    Now empty of furniture—yet then—one stood on a small  carpet square in fine condition, with bright colours drawing your eyes to the painting of "Christ" hanging above the mantelpiece, and to grandfathers clock.    

    If you had called on business—for this was a house of Monaghan Shipping Company - no time would be spent in this room.       However, had you called for no other reason than to spread idle gossip, grandmother would learn from you—over tea and home cooking.     The circular oak table —where drinking tea and home cooking took place, dominated the room—as I recall ... it had one large pedestal central leg, and four chairs (each of different style and period) under the single window~a window that let the morning sun shine through—with curtains of cotton fabric—a singular chair, a cane table with a lantern, and a sowing box.

    As young children; I and my brothers and sisters - I recall never spent much of our time in this room—the scullery was our place of happiness ... where all things for the young took place (such as) cooking and eating, for our mother was a fine cook of bread—there was a door to the wash house and one to the  stairs—that door taking us up to our bedrooms.      The attic was my favourite room—there spending my idle time in dreams.

Chapter 3

Marriages, Births and Deaths.

   Of cause there are more rooms to this house to described, and wallow in the memories-memories for mothers and fathers ... uncles and aunts, of cousins and friends ... of adventures for young and old—(such as) marriages, births and deaths.     

    Uncle Simon (a name I was given) married Burrell Warshorpe - what a great day that was ... all the people of our village came.  He was well respected and liked by all who came in contact with him, either in business or pleasure.    He found fault in no one and never failed to help a friend or colleague  when asked ... his time he spent on others with no cost to them; this Miss. Warshorpe liked and at the same time disliked of him— but as we all know love in its infancy sees nothing as a hurdle, or nothing that cannot be over looked.     He with his brothers (my father being of one) share the running of the Monaghan Shipping Company - from the day their father died.     His death came with little notice.      Three years from that date, my uncle Simon and his wife let (she was with child.)    Three years from that date I was born.

    Both the Monaghan Shipping Company and the Monaghan family were expanding—new ships coincided with new births ... my proud parents had their first son: Harry - following shorty after a second son: Able (then a third son.)   Simon.    (This my entry into the world.)      Two years passed before born to my mother—twins; Rebecca and Gabriel.         As the sons progressed from boys to men—each educated in business skills and seamanship; each with a different path to success in the field our father— planned and mapped before us—as did his father before ... our sisters were taught to cook and sow.

    In this chapter we have covered, a marriage, five births and now must turn a thought to two deaths—each coming within six weeks—each death effecting a father, a mother and a brother in its own way.

    First came days of feeling unwell— regular coughs with little drops of blood  were common—each—becoming fatigue— together, or before one or after the other— then shortness of breath.        We noticed their loss of weight—then signs of their fever and of sweating bodies.      They both complained of chest pain.    The Doctor is called ... theses are the Symptoms of Tuberculosis; the family is told.

~~~~

    The morning brought the sun to the day of Rebecca and Gabriel's eightieth birthday ... it also brought an end to their short life's on this earth.        For this was the day~the day the illness that so troubled them both for so many years—won over their ability to run from it.        Their weak and fatigue young bodies on good days showing no fault—yet on bad days showing all the signs of death.

Chapter 4

  I suffered my mother's grief and her loss—for a long I time find peace and comfort in my grandmother's favourite room.

    With my leather covered pad under my arm and my pencil—with its sharpened point, placed behind my ear, and with my chores done ... I'm free to live in my world of dreams and fantasies, and free to wonder in my own time and speed—taking the path to the docks.      Not stopping to talk or play with those I know on the way.     There outside the gate house I sit and observe daily lies of I was engaged in the activities I record the movements of ships in the cargo captain sailors professional seafarers and men of trade.      Sitting with paper and pencil in hand ... those that know me stop and talk; some take interest in my stories and in my drawings—some ask after my mother.      Most days I stay there until late; then scurry home and wait for Harry to return from school.      After dinner Harry will check  the  spelling of my words; it is he who encourages my storywriter, and my pencil drawings. 

  ~~~~

   The years pass taking me from youth to a young man ... but my mind is still that of a boy.     When Harry with the support of his father (but not his mother nor mine) leaves for London.     Again I suffer my mother's grief and her loss ... even in my grandmother's favourite room I cannot find  peace and comfort.

    The night Harry leads—the McDonald's house, is raised to the ground (Killing all.)      The day after; Sara -  my true and only real friend dies.     My mother always said she is to frail—to small—she is just skin and bone—unsuitable for childbearing.       I found her bright and full of life.      She loved my writings and my drawings—never once did she think I was slow nor stupid.

    How a day can change life's of so many—and this day was one of those.       The news came by mouth.   Father Frances sat my mother in her chair by the window, removing his hat and placing it on the oak table.       Taking a silver flask from his jacket, pouring a little of it contents into an earthenware cup—handled to my mother (she did not drink of it until he told her the news.)       

    'The news I bring you … gives me no pleasure.'     The Father takes my mother's left hand, and continues.     ’There has been an accident on the docks.'       Their eyes meet —one pair with questions ... the other with answers.       Soon after this day after the many questions asked by                             my mother ... the bailiffs arrived.     They removed furniture and  belongings of my late father—followed soon after, those of my  mother … for three weeks and a day since that day—she too passed on.

    So it is with a heavy heart and a sad sole; I leave this house of my family, friends and memories ... each tucked safely in my bag.     Carrying my winter coat and spare boots, hat and thoughts ... my writing pad and pencils, with nothing keeping me here, I shut the door and head to the docks.         Even with the black rain filled clouds, holding fast —the drops eager to fall—only but for the westerly winds ... they would be on my head

Chapter 5

The voice within my head insists that this is what I must do.

This path I have known all my life leads me to my favourite green fields, where I have played as a boy ...  pretending to be Arthur  Wellesley, confronted by Napoleon.     I feel safe in the battlefields of Waterloo with the  air full of cannon smoke—sitting high on my horse; surrounded with my brothers as make believe generals, and soldiers in red coats, in their black boots—each armed with musket and bayonet.          In my mind I am with my father, my mother and with Sara (my true and only real friend.)     In my mind she is she strong—and tall—she beautiful and blooming—most suitable for childbearing.       I found her bright and full of life.      In my mind I have achieved victory over Napoleon and his army ... exhausted yet triumphant;   I am free to be myself, free to return to my place of my birth.

~~~~

         The voice within my head insists that this is what I must do.       So to that end.      I gather my coat, my hat, my canvas bag ... saddle my horse—and before the sun shows it head again~again giving light to the world as it is now.     I join the growing stream of the triumphant ... returning to their loved ones.

The End.