Florence Heyhoe

By Florence Heyhoe
County Down, Northern Ireland

Looking at both cars, he doesn’t see any damage. His door barely touched the one alongside, but this was enough to awaken the roaring bull inside who—primed and looking for a fight—leaps to his feet shouting, ‘Go back to your own country. You’re not from here. You’re nothing but a f…ing paedophile.’

The situation heats up and becomes more threatening. He has the wherewithal to phone the police. While they wait, the antagonist draws blood by scoring his nose with his car keys.

‘‘Officer, this man here assaulted me.’’

october morning
a world so broken 
the ground bleeds

By Florence Heyhoe
County Down, Northern Ireland

“Your father was a great man,” said Theadora,  “He used to stay at our house, he fished up Gortin way with my husband, they would talk for hours; they were good friends.” 

slippery eels
sizzling in the pan
caught netted

I know better. I have seen him cross the line at times teasing cats: tumbling into cruelty. He told me a story once of a Siamese that sprung at him from the top of a door, sinking in teeth and claws on landing. Serves him right. He beat the living daylights out of my brother, locked him in with the hens, used his fists and the strap to beat the good name into him.

cows in line
mooing a sad song
leather and meat

Folk spoke well of him, he was a pillar of respectability and helpfulness and an elder in the church. A diabetic, he kept his bible in the car amongst the sweetie papers and dispensed pills day and night. He put bad into me, secret sin in secret places, thrusting me to smithereens He photographed the children’s smiles in chapel and church.

peas in purple pods
round and green and sweet
hungry worms

First Published: Her other language 2020

By Florence Heyhoe
County Down, Northern Ireland

He took the children in his arms . . . and blessed them

I watch her marching into the middle of the road, wearing a white coat carrying her lollipop. The traffic parts like the Red Sea and the children cross over safely. Some walk hand in hand others skip. Most smile but a few are scowling on their way to school.

There are other places where they take children, herded like cattle, delivered. Crossed over to sordid places, devoid of smiles. Here, there, everywhere, congregations of lecherous deviants drool and throw silver coins. 

First Published: Drifting Sands Haibun, Issue 20

By Florence Heyhoe
Warrenpint, County Down, Northern Ireland

 If this town were a set of teeth, I would recommend a visit to the dentist for it is full of gaps. However, the hotel on the main street sparkles like a polished molar, after a recent renovation. It seems out of place amidst this yawning emptiness.

The people I knew as a child long dead: the schoolteacher who beat and threatened the children (including my brother), the grocer brothers in their brown coats … who were fond of young boys, the man, from the tick tock shop where the musty smell lingered.

Many buildings that were once businesses have been demolished. There is a library where the church used to be, and the mission hall has been converted to housing. The pharmacy where my father worked now dispenses fish and chips. I remember all the outhouses out the back and a maze of rooms upstairs where he photographed children. 

So many nightmares…trying to escape.

the colours 
of spring now
vacant eyes

First Published: cattails April 2024

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Resources

Northern Ireland Domestic/Sexual Abuse Resources
Hotline for men who have suffered sexual abuse https://www.survivorsuk.org/
Also see, The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk, available on Amazon

by Florence Heyhoe
County Down, North Ireland

by Florence Heyhoe
County Down, North Ireland