My Name Is Pat Dooner

Transcript.

My name is Pat Dooner, I was born and raised in O’Brien Street. I was born in 1914. I will try to tell you my life’s story.

I remember when I went to school, I went to the Nuns’ School and my mother used to give me a bowl of porridge going to school. And then, when I got to the school, the nuns would give me a cup of hot milk and a round of bread, I wasn’t the only one, there was quite a few of us.

Then when that was finished we went to the classroom and had this (indistinct) , we used to do prayers, these were the first things we used to do and then, when this was done, we used to have a little tray with sand in it and we used to do all our drawing, writing our names and making all sorts of things and that went on for quite a long time and then the nuns used to tell us little stories out of a book and one thing and another and I remember them very well.

And we were introduced to a slate with a wooden surrounding and a piece of chalk. And that went on for quite a long time and we was doing that and we thought it was great and anyway then we had a piece of paper and a pencil, we done some work with the pencil, probably we were doing that for quite some time and then it was time for us to move on into the Masters’ School

When we Clapped In the Street.

When in the first days of C-19 Lockdown we clapped on the street, it seemed so innocent and  unconditional. But that was around 9 months ago. Time for a child to be conceived, born and begin to thrive.
We're not right now, where we thought we should be and it feels like a deal has been broken. 
I put this together on the 29th of May 2020. The day we were informed by someone that we might stop.
I've heard today a suggestion that we should do it again. A lot has changed since the Spring of our seasons and in this Winter-it really is a "Winter of discontent,"- I wonder if that time of hopeful innocence has slipped...
We're not right now, where we thought we should be and it feels like a deal has been broken. 
I put this together on the 29th of May 2020. It was the day we were informed by someone that we might stop.
I've heard today a suggestion that we should do it again. A lot has changed since the Spring of our seasons and in this Winter-it really is a "Winter of discontent,"- I wonder if that time of hopeful innocence has slipped...

When We Clapped In The Street

The early days were frightening and the truth?
These days still are!

This "thing"
It seems it starts when you feel below par

A sore throat
An aching head

Hard to breath

Coma

Dead.

It seemed then and still does

That not much can be done

An invisible "thing" 
Had won.
And in the face of defeat

Someone suggested that we  clap in the street.

The kid down the road 

Again and again

Proved that trumpet lessons 

Are sometimes in vain!

Then, after we'd clapped there

Were those who'd say
How can you clap 
When they're on such low pay?
Why are you cheering?
How can you do it?

The whole thing is a mess
Can't you see through it?

And the answer is "yes,"
It's a mess.
So why clap?
What meme?
What trope?

We clap for ourselves,
For others,
For hope.

Gwendoline Looks at The Skies

A person who lives quite close to me has deteriorated of late. Her behaviour is consistent with some of the features of dementia. I've known this person in excess of 30 years and there's a difference between "neighbourliness" and friendships-and it's okay.

I've put some words together

Gwendoline Looks at The Skies

Detached. Her house is detached

and lonely

She still lives there and only, 
Gwendoline looks at the skies.

Detached. He is detached

 and lonely

So many plans but the thing is only,

Gwendoline looks at the skies

Detached. It's what she

has become

It's what he has become.

And as he watches their 
Plans fracture
He hopes that something might distract her
and help her once more to be

It's arrived!
So has she!

Then gone...

and he can see in her face 

that she looks for that

Place

Feeling

And time
The connection, just one
But one that connects to cruel seconds then gone.
Gone.

He slumps in a garden chair

Carefully placed strategically where

He can keep her safe in his eyes.

And cups his forehead 
In grief beyond disguise.

And Gwendoline?
Gwendoline looks at the skies