The first time I went on the ferry across the Mersey, I took my mother with me in my handbag.We weren`t close, but at this present moment in time, we couldn`t be closer - me sitting on the wind and rain lashed deck - water dripping down my neck and cheeks - her resting quietly and protected on my lap. We didn`t often go out together so this was an unusual occurrence to start with.
We didn`t speak, and I didn`t know, and never knew, if our silences were companionable or just intervals of time that were necessary in order for the inexplicable and ever present resentments to flourish and grow.
Resentment - sadness - grief - deep loss - deep love - mix them all up and what do you get? This, I suppose.
If she could speak to me now - what would she say? If I could speak to her now - would she hear me and what would I say?
So I sit here, hearing nothing except the sound of the mechanical choking of the ferry`s motor and the squawking protests of the low flying seagulls, deeply breathing in this paradoxical peacefulness.
Although I`m not completely comfortable with what I`m about to do, I know for sure it`s what she wants. She said it so many times and it`s written in black and white.
She ends where she began but who notices her final tribute to the city she loved except me and the Liver Birds who stare indifferently out?
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Closing the door to Alex Taylor`s the undertaker behind me and stepping out onto the pavement, I can`t help but notice the rain has now started again in earnest. I struggle in vain to open my reluctant umbrella, but then spot MacDonalds across the road and decide to make a dash for it.
Sitting there with a relieved bladder and a steaming cup of lousy coffee in front of me, I allow myself to relax and think about what happens next.
My flight is booked. I`ll be returning to Turkey in four days. There are still a few loose ends to tie up, but when they are, I`ll probably leave Birkenhead and never return. Why would I? - I`ve never lived here, learned here, loved here, worked here. It`s just a place I`ve been visiting for the last forty years. My reason for that no longer exists. The connection is gone, I suppose, but it doesn`t feel that way and I don`t understand why.
I start thinking about yesterday on the ferry, but it`s too painful - enough time for that later.
I gather up my bag and brolly. Places to go - people to see. I`ll start with the bank. They should have sorted things out by now, surely?
Once outside, my head involuntarily turns left and I look down the vista of the shopping precinct.
I`ve no practical reason for going that way: in fact, the bank`s in the other direction, but it`s where my feet want to go, so I have to follow.
I look in the pound shop window on my left. It lets me know where I am for the moment just in case I`m confused. There`s no mistaking that red cross on a white background. I`ve seen enough of those white crescents on a red background to know the difference!
So many cheap bargains flew with me over the Atlantic and Europe to be given as gifts to unsuspecting in-laws who were so appreciative (Especially when I lied excessively about the price.)
The feet walk into Bon Marche. I look around and remember the countless times I would come in here and stock up on `school clothes` - smart skirts and tops. Female teachers in Turkey are not allowed to wear trousers. I was always amazed at how cheap the clothes were compared to prices in Istanbul. I`d often buy a nightie or a top as a surprise for my mother. Lilac was her favourite colour, but she liked pink, too. She was never effusive with her thanks but I could tell from the softened expression , she was pleased.
On, past Boots where I`d bought the blood pressure machine which everyone took the mickey out of me for here in England, saying I was obsessive about the health of my family. How could they understand that the lack of a National Health System and having to pay for literally everything connected to medical treatment down to a simple cotton wool swab used before an injection, made the purchase a necessity rather than an indulgence?
(picture 4)
Sitting there with a relieved bladder and a steaming cup of lousy coffee in front of me, I allow myself to relax and think about what happens next.
My flight is booked. I`ll be returning to Turkey in four days. There are still a few loose ends to tie up, but when they are, I`ll probably leave Birkenhead and never return. Why would I? - I`ve never lived here, learned here, loved here, worked here. It`s just a place I`ve been visiting for the last forty years. My reason for that no longer exists. The connection is gone, I suppose, but it doesn`t feel that way and I don`t understand why.
I start thinking about yesterday on the ferry, but it`s too painful - enough time for that later.
I gather up my bag and brolly. Places to go - people to see. I`ll start with the bank. They should have sorted things out by now, surely?
Once outside, my head involuntarily turns left and I look down the vista of the shopping precinct.I`ve no practical reason for going that way: in fact, the bank`s in the other direction, but it`s where my feet want to go, so I have to follow.
I look in the pound shop window on my left. It lets me know where I am for the moment just in case I`m confused. There`s no mistaking that red cross on a white background. I`ve seen enough of those white crescents on a red background to know the difference!So many cheap bargains flew with me over the Atlantic and Europe to be given as gifts to unsuspecting in-laws who were so appreciative (Especially when I lied excessively about the price.)
The feet walk into Bon Marche. I look around and remember the countless times I would come in here and stock up on `school clothes` - smart skirts and tops. Female teachers in Turkey are not allowed to wear trousers. I was always amazed at how cheap the clothes were compared to prices in Istanbul. I`d often buy a nightie or a top as a surprise for my mother. Lilac was her favourite colour, but she liked pink, too. She was never effusive with her thanks but I could tell from the softened expression , she was pleased.
On, past Boots where I`d bought the blood pressure machine which everyone took the mickey out of me for here in England, saying I was obsessive about the health of my family. How could they understand that the lack of a National Health System and having to pay for literally everything connected to medical treatment down to a simple cotton wool swab used before an injection, made the purchase a necessity rather than an indulgence?(picture 4)
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