Ingrid
You were kind ...deep and silent
Beneath the tight curls of your hair
Which you did not like.
Your face was round and shy
Blue green eyes with bushy lashes
Thin legs ..white tottering heels
Plump breasts
We called it ‘playing trains’
Which made no sense at all...
What did we mean ?
Good teeth..
You were clean..
Your step mother was the dry biscuit
Your father’d met at Jacob’s Biscuit Factory
He was grey and stern..and polishing his car.
Your mother died when you were 12.
We always met in your house.
My house was full of fear and tension
Rooms of anger
Bi Polar curtains draping on the floor
We sat in your back room
Playing Elvis..hour upon hour
Though you liked Tommy Steele
We jived to get it right
For when the boys might come along
Me in Love with one ..you with another.
Did they even know we existed ?
We were boy mad..!
We glided thru the park on bikes to Orwell Bridge
To watch the boys dive into the River Dodder.
Things were bad for me at home
That day I broke down
I sobbed and cried in my despair
You stroked my hair..you who had no mother
So motherly and caring.
When you died
Your daughter was just twelve
How cruel the twist of Fate.
I tried to reach you , but I was too late.
A Tribute to a dear dead friend : Ingrid Armstrong.
Kristine Byrne. 9th June 2012