October 18, 2020
Grief Marks the Face
The story goes, it was reported in the local Courier newspaper, that my maternal Great Grandmother was killed at the age of 54, by a bus in that part of Woodbury Park road where the pavement narrows into disintegration, the side where the ballet school used to be. Cars that were driving too fast up that hill from High Brooms would come screeching to a halt, unable to see the pedestrian for the thick privet hedge. It is said that she died instantly. It is said that my Grandmother, her daughter’s chestnut coloured hair, my rich inheritance, turned white on her head, overnight. I knew a man I didn’t like very much, experience a terrible tragedy.