Goodbye Ingrid 1958 Poem by Terry Collett

Ingrid's mum
was arrested last night
for bottling her husband
outside the pub
the other week
and leaving him
to bleed to death.

It was news
buzzing through
the Square
like a bees' nest
over turned.

Mum told me
this morning.

What's happened
to Ingrid?
I said.

Gone to live
with her big sister
and her boyfriend
in Kent I heard,
Mum said.

What a to do,
I said.

Poor Ingrid
a double tragedy.

Her mum'll hang
for that I expect,
Mum said.

I went up
to her flat,
but it was shut up
and a copper
was outside
on the balcony
giving me
the dark-eyed stare,
so I went away
from there.

Don't suppose
I'll see her again,
I mused walking down
the concrete stairs
of the flats
and out into the Square
with its dull damp air.

Be all around
at school.

Kids gossiping,
saying horrible things,
saying: didn't like
her anyway,
she smelt a bit,
had fleas,
never had
clean clothes.

I liked her
and will miss her,
I said to myself,
coming back to our flat
with the crusty bread rolls
Mum had asked me
to get from across
Rockingham street.

Some people
you never miss,
some you miss
all the time.

Ingrid's the latter.

The buzz was till
in the Square.

Just others yakking;
they don't matter.