MOLLY

As my life slowly unfolds in these pages,things happen that remind me of good times past.Going back 15 years or so,I worked for friends of mine,still selling grass-but they also had a tourist attraction there.My job was not only selling the grass,but sometimes doing tours through the museum and even cooking in the restaurant.Also on the estate was a Clock Museum."Haddons House of Clocks" owned and run by Max and Molly Haddon. Molly is what we'd call "A Character" She wrote poetry,she painted,she sang infact,she'd turn her hand to anything.She loved to talk,she'd talk the arse off a donkey--and very often I would be the recipient.Hours and hours,she'd knock on my office door for the loan of some milk "Max has buggered off with the car and I'm stuck here"--smoked like a chimney but often had no smokes-I smoked in those days and Molly knew it.Max was cunning,he could only take so much of Molly,that's why he worked full time.She was a lovely old bugger,as I say a pain in the arse,but a loving pain in the arse.Also in this poem is "Nick" the mechanic-well I say mechanic,I actually gave him two cars to fix that never got back on the road--he would always say he knew how to fix things -whether he could or not--very often not.
A few years ago Max and Molly moved their museum to the bush.A little country town called Ilabo.About three years ago Julie and I visited then there.Max wasn't in the best of health,and Molly was in the early stages of being "permanently bewildered".That was the last we saw of them.As I heard just last week that Max had died of a heart attack,and I hear now that Molly has been moved into a nursing home not far from where I live now--so I must pop in.Sadly the other character from this poem,Nick-is also dead.I wrote this poem in 1990.If I don't re-write it now,Molly,Max and Nick will all be lost to the dust of memory.

MOLLY

THAT BLOODY OLD WOMAN DOWN THE BACK,
SHE GETS TO BE A PAIN .
NO SOONER I GET RID OF HER
SHE'S AT THE DOOR AGAIN.
STANDS THERE WITH IT,OPEN WIDE
AND YAKS FOR HALF THE DAY.
BUT I KNOW,THAT IF I ASK HER IN
SHE'LL NEVER GO AWAY.
"FOR CHRIST SAKE MOLLY,GET IN HERE
AND SHUT THE BLOODY DOOR.
I SIT HERE FREEZING ME TITS OFF
WHAT DO YA THINK THE HEATERS FOR?"

"IS THERE ANY MAIL FOR ME TODAY?
CAN I HAVE A SLICE OF BREAD?
I CAN'T GET DOWN THE ROAD TODAY,
CAN SOMEONE GO INSTEAD?
I'VE RUN OUT OF ME CIGARETTES
AND I'VE GOT TO HAVE ONE QUICK.
AINT SEEN ME CAR SINCE LAST WEEK
ITS BEING FIXED BY NICK".
HA THATS A JOKE IN ITSELF
ME,I OUGHT TO KNOW.
THE ONLY MECHANIC IN THE WORLD
ON A PERMANENT GO SLOW.

ANYWAY,BACK TO MOLLY,
THE SUBJECT OF THIS YARN.
SHE'S THE ONE THAT WOUND UP ALL THE CLOCKS
OUT THE BACK,IN THE OLD BARN.
THREE BUCKS WILL GET YOU IN TO LOOK,
YES,THATS ALL YOU HAVE TO PAY.
BUT I TELL YOU FOLKS,I'M WARNING YOU
YOU'LL BE STUCK IN THERE ALL DAY.
SHE'LL TELL YOU THIS,AND TELL YOU THAT
JUST GO "NATTER,NATTER,NATTER"
AND FILL YOUR BRAIN,WITH ALL THE THINGS
THAT DOESN'T REALLY MATTER

BUT REAL DEEP DOWN,I GUESS YOU'D SAY,
SHE'S A LOVING SORT OF THING.
PAINTING,WRITING POETRY,
SOME SAY THAT SHE COULD SING.
I DON'T KNOW,I NEVER HEARD,
THE NOISES SHE COULD MAKE.
I WASN'T GAME TO RISK IT FOLKS
THEIR WORD YOU'LL HAVE TO TAKE.
BUT HER HUSBAND,MAX,A REAL NICE BLOKE
AND HARD WORKING BREAD-WINNER
HE'S MORE CUNNING THAN YOU THINK,
ONLY BEING THERE FOR DINNER.