A good boy really.
Our Father, who’s Aunt’s in heaven
...
James always took the short cut
home through the graveyard when Mrs Robtham dropped him on the corner after
school. Most days he would jump from grave to grave and dare to balance on the
big square tomb. But today he was downhearted, trudging along with the shameful
mothers day card in his satchel.
… Harold be thy name …
His teacher had impressed upon the
whole class that Mother’s Day was the one chance they had to say ‘thank you’ to
their mummies for a lifetime of care and love. James believed her with the
fervour of the converted and was desperate for his card to be the best, but
Sally Peter’s pigtail ruined everything.
…. thy Kingston come …
‘Well James, your mummy’s going to
see what a naughty little boy you are when you give her that card. Not a nice
way to say thank-you, is it?’ He teacher said as she got out the mop.
…thy will be done on earth as it
sits in Heaven …
‘Oh never mind now sweetheart,’ Mrs
Robotham trilled as he sat in the back of her musty Morris Traveller with her
two sons, tears running down his face. ‘Sure your mammy knows you love her very
much, she won’t mind. You say a prayer to the baby Jesus and he’ll show you the
way.’ She winked at him. ‘He knows you’re really quite a good little boy at
heart.’
…Give us this day our snaily bread…
Mrs Robotham had got them all to
sing ‘come by yar’ then. She was in the choir with James’s mummy, and once a
man in a black suit had told her she had ‘the makings of a professional
singer,’ so she sung an awful lot, even when the occasion didn’t really merit
it. James once heard his mummy say that she had the ‘makings of a Shepard’s
pie,’ so he often wondered what exactly Mrs Robotham was missing, and hoped
that she’d find it soon and shut up.
… so give us our trespasses…
James reached the big square tomb,
but he didn’t feel like climbing it. There was a small group of people at the
front of the church, so he waited for them to go. One blew his nose on a large
white hankie before he got into a car.
After he watched them drive off,
James glared down at his bag. The offending sugar paper card, once proudly
decorated with yellow tissue pansies, was now mere evidence of his crime. He
wasn’t sure why Sally Peter’s pigtails were so tempting, but they were, and he’d
succumbed.
…as we give those some trespass
against us …
He’d been as surprised as Sally
when the safety scissors, so woefully inadequate against paper, sliced right
through her pigtail. As it landed at her feet, Sally lashed out, hit the paint
pot and blue paint comprehensively destroyed his mother’s day card.
…But deliver us from weevils …
No one had been at all upset about
his ruined card, which James thought unfair. After all, the hair would grow
back.
…For mining the Kingston…
He’d nearly reached the end of the
graveyard, a short hop over the wall and he’d be home. Tears threatened as he
thought of how the tell-tale card was going to break his mothers heart and make
her think he didn’t love her as much as he did.
… The power and the gory…
Perhaps if he finished the prayer
the baby Jesus would hear him and send him a hundred cards from heaven, each
more beautiful than the last? Or maybe he’d send a huge box of milk tray
chocolates, or a big bottle of perfume, or a vast bunch of flowers? Jesus must
understand, he’d been a child too, he can’t have been good every day and he must have loved his mother Mary
Meek-and-mild. They always said how nice she was, though James wasn’t clear as
to why her surname was Meek-and-mild and not Christ.
… for ever and ever …
He screwed his eyes up and felt his
way along the wall of the church. He told himself if he didn’t stumble once, the
magic would work. As he uttered the last words of the prayer he opened his
eyes, sure that this was the moment, this would be the time when the baby Jesus
would finally come through for him.
…ahem.
‘Happy mothers day mummy!’
‘Why thank you James, what
beautiful flowers, wherever did you get them … oh.’
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