Through a Glass Window (Revised Edition)

LGBTQ

Blackpool

Through A Glass Window

‘STAY AT HOME’ for as long as it takes to defeat the COVID-19 Pandemic … that, surely, is the message. I’ve pulled this piece out, another favourite, for it takes me back to great times in Blackpool, of working hard, of the room where The Four Seasons was penned over ten months. That gorgeous image captures the very essence of life at that time …

‘STAY AT HOME’ for as long as it takes to defeat the COVID-19 Pandemic.

In April, I dedicated this poem afresh to the millions, worldwide, our health workers, doctors, nurses and support, our support and infrastructure services, and doing all we can to encourage industry to move from domestic production to front-line production of the personal protection equipment and ventilators and surgical equipment we need to fight this pandemic and to succeed in the testing initiatives that will give us the upper hand.

In a way, that still stands. I remain sanguine.

Now, though, I’m inclined to say in British vernacular, get on with it, stop belly-aching, and give a wide berth to journalism. Give them five minutes a day, maximum. Then get on with running your lives and living in this present age. And stop belly-aching about the infringement of your civil rights because your Christmas plans have been disrupted. 99.99 per cent of you, if seated in Downing Street or in the Reichstag would shit a brick if you had to try and weigh up everything being presented to you. I damned well know I would!

*

As we grip the virulent new strain of Covid, let us not be too hard upon central government. We look around the world and we see leaders who have cocked a snoop at covid and turned a bare bottom in defiance. We look around the world and we also see good governance, reacting swiftly to stem the effect of Covid’s new strain.

We see in Germany, Chancellor Merkel taking very tough measures earlier in the week, being rebuked for it - Ich will mein Weihnachten, kommt was auch immer! - I want my Christmas, come what may!

Then the British prime minister finds that he too must now change direction. He is right to do so. The German chancellor is right to do so.

The one group of people I tire of is, alas, journalists.

We are damned if we do, we are damned if we don’t!

I am a passionate advocate of the free press. But in this age of total irreverence, it matters not the status of premiers, secretaries of state, chancellors, and presidents - all, without exception, are the meat and gruell of the journalist. Good journalism acts as a check and balance. Whining journalism, as we have here in Britain, plays to the uninformed, stokes the fires of discontent, and argues they do so in the name and furtherance of true democracy. In so doing, they take the very ground from underneath people’s feet.

*

‘STAY AT HOME’ for as long as it takes to defeat the COVID 19 Pandemic …

He sat silently, pondering events … do I measure up to the greatest generation?

The faintest movement of air caught the lace … have no fear … you do indeed measure up, all of you, your generation is as great as they were … so be strong, be valiant, be humble, be kind … you will see this through … just as they did … and equipped with an understanding of our responsibility to each other, and to this planet that even a month ago could not have been comprehended.

A great peace came over him, gazing as he did far into the future, and a calm that touched every sinew within him

Written in 2011 and reminded upon seeing this stunning image once again this morning, Sunday December 20, 2020 as we deal with the Pandemic.

I

The moon is high in the sky

A very icy night.

There will be fog in the morning

and the bells will sound across

the Mersey;

the heartbeat of the house

captured by the perfect rhythm

of the clock in the lounge.

Be positive

Fight all negativity

even though the sense of

evil,

the darkness pervading

and envelops,

threatening to stifle life itself.

The will to stand firm.

The quivering knee.

The gut-wrenched stomach

of another panic attack

or is it epilepsy?

The stench of redundancy

and an even greater stench,

the dirty breath

and sweaty odour

of an old man way past his prime

without a necktie;

a shrivelled up newspaper tycoon lookalike;

rude, abusive

self-important, intrusive

full of guile and cunning

heaped in lies and meaningless sentiments,

capable of arguing black is white

and east is west

a disreputable trumped-up individual

despised by all

but denuded that he is ‘Mister Popularity’

loved by all!

II

So why go on?

Who can one turn to?

Why is it always an empty bed?

Where are family?

Where are friends?

Whatever went wrong?

How on earth did I make

so many mistakes?

III

Can’t sleep

Can't rest

Can't see a future

Don't want to continue.

I'm tired

I ‘want out’.

There’s nothing I can

give back.

There’s no worth in me.

 

IV

Yet with the rhythmic beat

I look across to Eyford Lodge,

Vanessa two generations on

where once stood Isabel Alice

70 years before

at her Portrait

The Lady in the Drawing Room

and seen now in Carol.

The Lodge still stands,

the backdrop of forest

long gone, only existing now in

sepia yester-year,

Cotswold Stone,

Very posh.

Surviving hundreds of years,

yet we, by chance,

exceeding a mere three score

years and ten or twenty more

maximo!

V

Everything is in place

Part of me wants to believe

I will succeed;

that this present emptiness

is actually not empty at all

but a vessel into which

is poured yet more of

life’s experiences, lessons

and preparations to pass on

to others

down the line

and either side of me.

VI

Behind the curtain, drawn,

shutting out the cold night air

I know the Lighthouse stands

and with it sweet and pleasant

memories both there

and here.

Earnest conversations,

uplifting thoughts,

ambitions,

animated discussions on

architecture, the arts, history and accountancy

and a family’s massive contribution

to this great City.

If only…

VII

My eyes are heavy

That is good

for now, at last,

I’ll sleep

whereas before my head

was occupied with a thousand

thoughts of how to attain

eternal sleep . . .

but that quiet voice whispers

out of the dimly lit corner

of the room.

No. Let it go. Dismiss such thoughts

Just take one day at a time

for as Someone aeons past

described it thus,

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof[i] 

VIII

So let us end with thoughts of

a friend’s encouraging letter

yesterday when least expected.

Keep focused.

Do not panic.

Overcome the twilight panic attacks.

Sit straight.

Refuse to shake.

And when the moment has passed

and equilibrium briefly restored,

take the momentary respite

to move to another room.

Walk around. . .

make a drink.

Sit down.

Occupy the mind with

positive thoughts

books to read

paintings to admire

family portraits to inspire

and take it to the

lowest common denominator

of all. . .

That there is always, always,

always someone

far worse off

and who would give all to

be here in this room now

IX

And then maintain your faith.

Concentrate on priorities,

Don't allow yourself to drift

and even if, even now, you

are still bereft

pick up the phone

and make a call.

Just talk and touch again

the outside world;

then larynx restored

retire again to bed

and sleep in peace

and victory;

that you have defied

the darkest powers

and ventured forth

from the innermost

recesses of your mind.

X

In the morning arise.

Break Fast!

And then quickly

into town

be amongst the people.

And if perchance there is

time

and if the fog has lifted

take the Mersey Ferry

to Birkenhead

and have a well earned

mug of tea and hot sandwich

or Danish!

There! You see?

You have shaken off

the cloak of defeat!

You have booted into touch

that wily old devil.

Walk tall again.

Take in the Sea Air.

Feel the delight of Ireland

on your face

and the warmth and charisma

of her people.

Pass the time of day

with the guys and girls on board

and take the time to thank

them for making your crossing

safe.

Appreciate their hard and

unrelenting work.

XI

Any negative thoughts?

Then take tuppence

And throw them in the Mersey. . .

END

Liverpool

20 January 2011

Ian Bradley Marshall

Afterword

Written in the early hours

as the fog closed in

and

remained for two days

along the Sound

from the Lighthouse

at Fort Perch

to way past

Pier Head

Deepest, darkest Winter grips here

but now at last

there is again the faint outline

of New Brighton

and the Wirral beyond

(i) Matthew 6:34 King James Version

13 January 2023
All Rights Reserved

© 2023 Ian Bradley Marshall

First written on 20 January 2011, in the early hours