Time To Tell

Mr and Mrs Hill lived next door, 

Violet and Jack.

My mother would send me round

with messages

and as a child, it was always Violet

who opened the door.

But as I grew older, it was always Jack

who opened the door.

He would engulf me in a tight hug

and force hard kisses on my mouth.

I tried to find excuses not to go there,

but my mother didn’t understand

and I couldn’t tell, not then.

I knew I no one would believe,

that it would be my name blighted

for such deviance, for telling such lies

about such a nice, kindly and quiet man,

a grandfather figure whose name would stay pure.

Years later as my wedding day drew near

and invitations were being sent out,

Violet told the neighbourhood that ‘grandad’

was the first to be invited.

But he was not invited.

Even though his granddaughters were bridesmaids.

Even though his son was the Photographer.

Even though his daughter drove me to the church

in her bedecked Morris Minor.

He was not invited.

And now it’s time to tell

all about Jack Hill.

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