Spud.

arthur walker (1892-1980)

l.1892
Ellen and William had eleven children.
By the time Artie was born on Christmas Day, God had already
taken two back

ll.1959
He was bow-legged
and my hand felt small and warm
in his giant one
he wasn't shy about touching kids like people these days
All adults are omnipotent giants when you're five years old
But grandfathers are
special

He had the confidence to do and say what he liked
"Look at that fat tart over there, Sylvie," he'd say and wink conspiratorially at me
"You shouldn't ought to talk like that in front of Robert." was Ma's predicted reply. He was never disappointed
it was all part of the game. she took the bait every time.
And loved him for it.
He was confident

He used a cut-throat razor to shave
Confidently slapping the bonehandled glinting surgical instrument on the
leather strop hanging on the nail in the washroom
The smell of Potter & Moore shaving lather with the dogs on the lid
the dangerous operation was performed in silence
as i watched on in wonder
the dry rasping scraping whisper of the shining blade
harvesting the pepper and salt whiskers
wiping the peppered foam onto a strip of newspaper
Periodically dipping the razor into the hot water
Sylve reckons i should use a safety razor
but you don't get as close a shave in my book
he wipes his face with a flannel and a towel
gently takes my hand
and strokes his cheek
like a baby's bum he chuckles
with tie and his best hat and Californian Poppy he's dressed for Town

lll. 1963
Trains were his life
he was working at Islington by the time he was 13.
a boilermaker, eventually .The steam trains he'd help to create have probably
since been melted down for razor blades...
He'd survived The Depression where others hadn't
"you can't go wrong workin' for the guv'ment" he'd say before they invented
economic rationalism.
He had Concession.
free travel anywhere in the state.
And when he retired, a clock on the mantlepiece to chime away the hours he
didn't have to measure anymore
Bowden or North Adelaide?
he'd say, holding the timetable up to his good eye.
(He donated the other one to the government)
He liked giving you a choice.
If it was North Adelaide, we'd pull back the piece of loose iron
and take the short-cut
past the mallee roots
and across the tracks.
Or we'd pass the satanic mills of Brown's foundry with its acrid hot metallic
stink and thunderous nineteenth century machinery, past the workers' cottages
to Bowden station.
It was good
having a choice of lines.

He'd even trust you
to look after your own ticket,
a substantial thick slab of card sold to you by a man in a uniform and
punched with a funny shaped hole by another man in exactly the right square.
Later, another man checked that the hole
was in the right place

Sometimes,
if it was hot,
we'd go the other way
to Semaphore.
Pa would hold the sliding door open with his foot to let the breeze in and
you'd see the gravel and the sleepers just a blur.

Days spent with Pa. Exciting, illicit, dangerous.
The sign said This Door Must Be Kept Closed At All Times
but Pa didn't take much notice
of signs

The disgustingly delicious
rotten egg smell told you that
the sea was near
The beach was always covered in banks of seaweed.
The stuff close to the water was as shiny and black
as the coal at the gasworks but
the stuff further back was bleached and mottled like his whiskers.
Mum would never let me swim in my underpants
but Pa didn't care.
Bathers be blowed!
These look just like bathers-nobody'll know the difference. It's a Moral!
Afterwards he put my wet Y-fronts in a plastic bag and tucked them in his
kitbag.
Just keep ya legs together so no-one looks up Rundle Street he said out the
side of his mouth back in the train. You don't want Jimmy hangin' out!
Don't wear undies meself as a Rule

His bad eye was faded and lifeless, but the good one was as blue and clear as
the sea.

lV. 1967
despite what they'll tell you
it wasn't all patriarchy and sexism in the fifties and sixties.
Spud and Sylve had their agreed roles, but no-one's work was more or less
important.
Spud chopped the kindling
for the chip heater
he also baked the cakes.
My fourteenth year
Possibly the last summer i stayed with Ma and Pa.
Sylvie packing up the breakfast dishes
Spud and I making the beds
As we pulled up the faded lavender candlewick bedspread
he sighed
ahh, the old bed, eh
You wouldn't credit what this old bed's seen over the years
And he winked
(nothing embarrassed him. He'd even tell you stories about him and The Flame
when he was courting fifty years ago)
Then his eye got a far-away look...

I've 'ad a corker life, really
The Flame...
Four good lads.
All yous grandchildren..
I just 'ope I lives long enough to see you have a kid...

In mundane surroundings.
When you least expect them
The most intimate and signicant things
Just happen

I don't think i replied. I've often wondered since what i could have said if i
hadn't been fourteen/ embarrassed / dumbfounded.

But i remember the moment.

V. 1979
Matt was only weeks old when we made the Pilgrimage to Trembath Street to show
off the first born
I'd heard all about "Spud's Turn", I knew that he'd had a fall and was starting
to forget things.
But it seemed important to take Matt to him.
Sylve showered me with the love that she bestowed unstintingly on all her
family on the surprise visit.
Dad! she cried out with childlike excitement. Look who's 'ere!
She put her workworn hands on my cheeks and kissed me, then Lyn, reaching out
for white-swathed bundle
Isn't he a little dear!
Her handling of the precious gift
maternal, natural
(how many times had she done this before?)
We moved into the Sitting Room. Nothing had changed.
The clock tocked out finite seconds
Spud was staring at a point far beyond the wall he was facing, deep in thought.
Dad! Sylve repeated. It's Robert. And Lyn. Have a look at your grandson!
But Spud was confused
What was she talking about?

He didn't even know who Robert was.

Vl. 1980
I hadn't announced my arrival at the nursing home
i wanted to see that they were treating him alright
I just entered by a side door and happened to stumble on his ward almost
immediately.
It was dark and dank. Why was the blind pulled down?
The room smelt of old men, incontinence and poor bowel control
Spud was lying there looking for meaning in the ceiling
He wore a pyjama top and no pants
He lay prone, like a baby having its nappy changed.
Jimmy was hanging out...
I pulled up the sheet
to try to restore
his dignity.

We chatted a while
I told him who i was
he said he remembered me.
( How many dozens had yelled that Question at him? He was confused
It was easier to say you remembered everybody)

Then I ran out of words

What do you say to a human who has lost their memories?
We had no shared experience.
Just a commonality of genetic material.

I looked down on this Man
Heroic giant of childhood
so potent
invincible
Permanent.
Now shrunken,
shrivelled.
He had become
the Child.

It would have been good
If i could have wept then.

But big boys don't cry.

I held the memory and the tears
to myself
until one night in july 1996
at the age of 43
when i couldn't sleep
and stayed up all night
punching out the memory
on a computer
watching the letters go
wavy
through my tears.


© rob walker
(originally published in Southern Ocean Review #29 (NZ), October 2003)

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