Open Writing

My grandfather was very proud of his pocket-handkerchief front lawn. He mowed it religiously once a week, up and down, in perfect straight lines, using his hand-mower, with a grass catcher. He rolled it occasionally with a big roller. Constantly watered and fed, it was better looking than a bowling green, or so he said, and nobody contradicted him. It was certainly the greenest lawn in Leicester Street. People walking by always complimented him. He attacked the smallest weed with his penknife, as soon as it dared poke through its nose.

Woe betide any child caught playing on it. As the lawn wasn't a very big area, we learned to keep off it, unless he was out. Then we'd take the liberty of jumping over the fence, in a running leap, straight onto it. I don't think he ever found out. Or if he did, he kept quiet about it. We preferred playing on the street. It was more fun.

When we saw him out with the mower, my sister and I always tried to disappear, but as the house was small, and we weren't usually allowed to go to other people's houses, we always had to come out in the end.

Across the street from my grandparents' house, about three houses up, lived Euleen Knight and her sister, Beryl. Euleen kept chooks. One of the jobs my sister and I had, each time my grandfather mowed the lawn, was to take the grass clippings over to Euleen for her chooks.

Beryl was a mystery woman. We were frightened of her, having heard only odd snatches of conversation about her. Her sister, Euleen, had promised her mother she would never put her in a home. Beryl had been a beautiful, attractive girl, but had caught meningitis, and now was not right. We heard she had to be tied up, if Euleen wanted to go out, and she couldn't get her usual minder to sit with her. Euleen was not right either, or so we children thought, or perhaps eccentric would be a better word. She wore old clothes, colours not matching, with frizzy, sandy-grey hair hanging out in fuzz. She talked in a little girlie voice, high up in the air.

Sometimes Euleen put Beryl out on a swing chair on their covered-in verandah, but the railing was high, and all we could ever see was the top of her head, as the swing didn't face the gate, it faced up the street. The front yard was a mass of bushes. If she was in the swing, when we took over the grass clippings, we'd run around the house, carefully keeping our eyes averted, to the back door, knock, and Euleen would come and take the sack of grass from us. Sometimes she gave us a brown egg each for our breakfast.

One day, we knocked on the back door, and Euleen asked us into the kitchen, which was just inside the back door. We went reluctantly, a few steps inside. The room was dim, with dark timbered walls and cupboards. With the shades closed, because of the heat, it was hard to see. Suddenly, in the doorway, an apparition appeared. A shimmering-white, ghostly, naked figure, with long, black hair. My sister and I backed against the door, terrified. Euleen looked around.

'Oh, Beryl dear, how did you get out.' she said. 'Just wait a minute, girls, while I'll take Beryl back to her room. She won't hurt you. It's only Beryl.'

As soon as she was out of sight, I opened the door.

'Let's go,' I whispered. We tiptoed out. I slammed the door shut, nearly falling over my feet, and we ran as fast as we could, as though the devil was after us. We jumped over the small, white, concrete wall, straight onto our grandfather's precious lawn, and sped inside.

'We're not, ever going to Euleen Knight's again, ever. We don't care what you do to us,' I screamed at my grandparents and my mother.

And we never did.

© Shirley Henwood