"The Block Bag Lady"

Whatever happened to you?
Who were you?
A little old lady
Round the back of the flats.
Sat there for what seemed like
An eternity.
All day, every day.
Perched on your concrete bollard throne.
We never spoke
We thought you were crazy
Our only interaction
Was throwing sticks and stones
Which, unlike the rhyme,
Never broke your bones
And you never tolds us
If our names ever hurt you.
You were ancient then
When you looked three score and ten
Four decades past.
Even in the summer you wore
A heavy old coat
Woolly cardie with scarf round your throat.
Why did you sit there?
Open to ridicule
From little boys like me
Playing the fool
If we were brave enough.
In my head I can see you now
Though I have no idea how
My faded imagination can't really
Recall what you looked like.
If yesterday were today
It would be so easy
Facebook. Flickr.
Or a Tweet of your seat.
Social media so modern.
But we are talking last century.
Back then photos were to be cherished
Twenty four images on a roll
If your dad wasn't on the dole.
It wasn't cheap to develop your reel
Generally more costly than a family meal
If you lived on our council estate.
Not forgetting that once a year treat
If you had a summer holiday
The luxury of 36 exposures!
Contaminated by light
Or too dark at night
A head lopped off here
After ten pints of beer
All that expense so unfair
Rubbish photos not enough care.
Which explains why that crazy woman
Was never recorded for posterity.
Except maybe by the train driver
From the floor below
Mr. Haylett had posh cameras
All those years ago
Very well paid even before
Uncle Bob Crow.
Nobody will remember
The colour of her hair
Or how they tormented her
For a dare
It's safe to say
She won't be remembered
For anything.
Which is a shame
Because she must have had
Some sort of life
Maybe a fallen soldier's wife?
It's a pity I can't go back to chat
To the bollard where she sat
I'm sure she'd have a tale to tell
While I apologise for making her life...
Hell!

Dulwich Poet 5th April 2013

( When I was at primary school, in the mid-seventies, an old tramp lady sat for hours on end behind out block of flats, near the garages round the back. Everyone said she was a witch. She wasn't always there, but most days, when it was dry. Nobody noticed when she wasn't there, but noticed after a while. Everyone said she was dead. Nobody knew.)