Corinne

(I am wrestling with quite a few different writing projects at the moment. The cold, however, is nipping at my thoughts and makes me slow and low in energy. In a former life I am sure I was a creature that hibernated! Anyway, here is a Port Brokeferry piece that had an airing some place else, but tweaked it now belongs here. The picture to the left is by George Clausen and at the end of this post are pictures of the poet, W B Yeats, and his love, Maud Gonne.)

COR-BLIMEY CORINNE.

Mr Bredwell’s name is Dodie. It is a funny name. A strange name. Maybe that is why he gives us all funny names too. He calls Geraldine Jellybean, and Benjamin Bend-in-the-wind. They are not cruel those names. Just funny. Like Dodie is funny.

Me, he calls Cor-blimey, though my name is Corinne, and he puts on a funny voice when he says it. Not his usual voice, his lips twisted and sounding like he comes from somewhere in London, not the posh bit. Cor-blimey he says when he sees me, and I like it when he does.

He took our class once, did Mr Bredwell. It was when sour-faced Miss Grayling was off sick. Her name’s Alice, and some of the girls call her Malice. That’s a bit like what Mr Bredwell does, with the names, except Malice is cruel. Anyway, Mr Bredwell took the class. We did poetry.

First he told us about the poet. I don’t remember his name. William something or other. He was in love with a woman. That’s what Mr Bredwell said. Only the woman did not love him back. That’s called unrequited love. I remember that. And this poet, William, loved her and loved her. But it made no difference. He hung about her house, laughing and pretending he was alright. Mr Bredwell laughed then, pretending he was the poet. You could tell it wasn’t a real laugh.

The woman that was loved, Mr Bredwell called Maudlin. He said that the poem he was going to read to us was written out of love for her. He told us which page it was on in our books, but I closed my eyes and just listened, like it was music.

It was very beautiful, the poem. You could tell William was in love with Maudlin. He talked of laying the cloths of heaven at her feet. I could see in my head what those cloths were like – all starry and bright. I could see William laying down the cloths, like Sir Walter Raleigh and his cloak over the puddle for a queen to step on. In my head it was just like that. Then the poet said he didn’t have any rich cloths. All he had was his dreams. And he spread them under her feet. I remember the last line word perfect: ‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams’. I thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world I had ever heard, and I hated Maudlin for not loving William after that.

Mr Bredwell’s name is Dodie. It is a funny name. Feels funny in my mouth. Makes me giggle when I say it. And he calls me Cor-blimey. And I have written the last line of the poem on a scrap of paper and pinned it above my bed.