'Tails'
A vehicle for Occold folk to have their say
or to exchange their thoughts

by Diana Davenport

Long a widow, too long a mother of two daughters, she clung to her ways, rejected help, actually detested interference. Like a dog-of-many-years she took rest when Nature bid her while tiredness muddled day with night. For half a week she lay there, comfortably sifting pale voices from the past, listening to the near-by sea, the gulls, the wind deliberately playing through bending hedges.

Most days the elder daughter opened her door with a spare key; brought her a light luncheon: shepherd’s pie, minced beef and mashed potato, poached egg resting on damp and crustless toast: that sort of thing. Easy, she considered, on her mother’s gums.

In truth the elderly person of whom we speak preferred, now, a simpler meal: currant cake, bread-and-butter, biscuits,. And these commodities were, indeed, already there upstairs, within her reach. Thus the gifted mid-day meals were, often as not, scraped from plate to lawn … provender for blackbird and hedgehog.

Time came when the more attentive daughter contacted the younger (both, understand, were nudging sixty). Mother seems unwell. Doctor had visited: said she was Good For Her Age So Not To Worry.

“Eating?”

“Not what I take in … chucks it to neighbouring cats.
Though visible biscuits debris suggests …”

What d’you think?”

“It’s like she’s dying.”

“Get the Rector.”

The Rector touched her shoulder, addressed her, clapped his hands sharply to test her hearing: caught no reaction. Shaking his head he looked full at the two elderly daughters.

“Last Rites,” they agreed in unison, heads bowed in awe, (or was it their shameful sunrise of relief?).

… and whensover her soul shall depart from the body it may be without spot …

When the bedroom was again her own, our nonagenarian shuffled to the bathroom, filled her little kettle, made herself a cup of strong tea, sought the Marie biscuits.

Last Riots indeed. She was only having a rest, had not wished to be disturbed. Tomorrow, she thought, she might get dressed for a little while. Might just manage to do a scrambled egg.

Last Riots, humph.