Harry Wells Harry Wells
Recommendations: 15

I removed a previous submission of this but resubmitted it at the plea of that sensitive lady, Lucy Rupena. Lucy, I have edited the last line and added a little to verse 4.

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Harry Wells Harry Wells
Recommendations: 15

Ginny Tickler


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A  true story. It happened to me, as a nine year old boy. I've never forgotten her.


England. Nineteen forty three.


She had a wheelbarrow
A plain square box
With long wooden handles
And bicycle wheels.


She had a beautiful face and a woolly hat
Fourteen, sweet, innocent and mute.
In the words of the era,
She was not all there.


She collected vegetable parings
A war-time measure to feed pigs.
When she saw children playing
She would stop and wait and smile.  
Always on the edge, looking through
An invisible curtain at a fairy story.



Boys would tease though not hurtfully.
The girls would say, ‘No! Leave her alone’.
They understood more.
Once only, I touched her finger tips
Through a sheet of glass.
And loved her across the divide.


She went home one dark afternoon,
Taking a short cut by the canal towpath.
They found her body face up in the water
Surrounded by floating potato peelings
That should have been rose petals.


Will she be there with other angels
In a place where the barrier has been lifted,
The haze removed and clarity restored?
I hope so. There are things I need to tell her. 1 comment


I removed a previous submission of this but resubmitted it at the plea of that sensitive lady, Lucy Rupena.
Lucy, I have edited the last line and added a little to verse 4.


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