Eerie Sundays

Autumn, Sunday teatime
The veil is wearing thin
Scents from the past
Slowly meander in

Stealthily they creep
Upon the fragile air
I look around and half expect
To see you standing there

Among the shadows and dying light
In the place that was your home
A sense of presence fills the air
A touch so slight and cold

They say I ought to be afraid
Having spirits in my home
But I quite like these eerie Sundays
When you stop by to say hello

copyright carol ann lewis 2020

Residual Sadness

Its waking up in the morning
To feel an empty side of the bed.
Its answering phones at the times he rings
To find someone else there instead
Its every love song you've ever heard
Played on the radio all day
Its looking at your road and knowing
You should have gone the other way.

Its seeing the whole world holding hands
When yours touches empty air
Its seeing a closed door begin to open
And hoping he's standing there
Its having to become a stranger
When you know all there is to know
Its hearing the future calling you
When you don't want to go

Its walking down a crowded street
And feeling totally alone
Its watching the warmth of a passionate heart
Slowly turn to stone
It's your soul trapped in shadows
While the sun warms your face
Its the afterglow of ashes
As burning feelings begin to fade.

Published 2004 by Anchor Books

Mother's Secret Life

After the morning's last goodbyes
When the house is quiet and still
When all the daily jobs are done
And there's time to kill

I have a place I visit
Not somewhere you could be
It's far away and nowhere
And only meant for me

Near a forest by a stream
In a cottage made of stone
In the shadows of the mountains
Lives a biker all alone

A giant six foot prop forward
With shoulders four feet wide
Muscles like small mountains
With a big black motorbike

His green eyes hypnotising
And all his hair shaved off
With pierced eyes, ears and nose
And face like he's chewing a wasp

He's the one your mother warned you of
Don't go out with him he's scum
Til he hands me chocolate then I know
He's as soft as a puppy's bum

He doesn't want my ironing skills
Or wash and hang out his clothes
He doesn't want me to cook his food
Or clean his house, oh no!

With my hands on his leather gear
My head fills full of sin
As I imagine the vibrating sensation
Of my legs around his engine

But just like Cinderella
When the clock strikes three
I have to leave my biker
For the real world calling me

Soon the house will be full again
With complaints of the day so bad
And everlasting choruses of
"Mam can I have ..."

But after the evenings last goodnight
When all are sound asleep
I have someone who visits
But not someone you can see

It is my six-foot biker
We ride off into a dream
To the shadows of the mountains
And his cottage by a steam

Image by Pixabay free images

Night Scent

Just for a moment tonight
In these brooding charcoal hills
A sunset of melting fire
In air so warm and still

It seemed the world was wrapped
In a hazy rose glow
It was the perfect image
Of a day so long ago

You said would be forever
Words I wish I'd never known
Though the picture is still perfect
I'm standing on my own

Breathing in the same night scent
Under the same eternal stars
Wondering why it all had to end
Wondering where you are

Then just for a second I feel
Enchantment destroy the gloom
As if there was an angel
Right with me in my room

Wrapping her wings around me
Feeding me images of you
Stealing your thoughts she lets me know
That you've remembered too


Published in 2004 by Anchor Books
copyright carol ann lewis

Image by Pixabay Free Images

Isolated Isolation

What a beautiful evening
The sun setting in the sky
Scent of jasmine on the breeze
Bumblebees flitting by.

But here I am with no one
Isolated in my house
The world so very quiet
Like a comatosed mouse.

Encased in deafening silence
From morning through til night
And I cant find the words
Try, though as I might.

To describe the nothingness
That's eating away
Holding hostage, my life
Day after day after day.

Some they are lucky
For behind their closed doors
They have group isolation
two, three or even more,

But me, I am alone
Can you comprehend what it's like
To have zero human contact
Every day and every night

Yes sometimes the phone rings
Or there's a text to be read
To break the monotony of a life
That feels like it's dead.

Life is so cold now
There's no laughter for me
No arms around me at bed time
To hold me while I sleep.

And so I drown in the depth of my dreams
To pray this nightmare will end
That happiness will find me by morning
And never abandon me again.

From New Inn to New York

This is the story of my first cousin (twice removed),  Ivor Levi Frederick Boden.

He was born on 16th January at Lower Mill Row to parents William Alfred Boden and Sarah Jane Baddeley.  He was born with what may have been a hormonal growth problem, today we call it Dwarfism, back then he would have been called a midget or something far worse.

He was born into a large family.  He had three brothers - William, Isaiah and Alfred.  He also had three sisters - Ann, Sarah and Iris.  Another sister Ruth died before her first birthday.

By the time of the 1939 register the family had moved to 47 Woodfield Road, New Inn.

Job opportunities would have been very limited for Ivor.  Many people with dwarfism ended up in the circuses or theatres.  This is exactly what happened to him.

By the 1939 register, Ivor had moved to Brighton and was living at a place called Pantzer Mansion with nine other 'midgets' as part of the Willie Pantzer Troupe of Performing Midgets.

Willie Pantzer was born in Germany.  He owned Pantzer Mansion from 1930 up until the second world war.  He was a performer and called the troupe Willie Pantzer and his Lilliputians, sometimes 'midgets' or sometimes comedians.  All ten of the midgets were adult men who had simply never grown physically.  They were often seen exercising in Preston Park on their mini bicycles and spending time at the local café.  From photographs they appear quite happy and were performing on stage with the likes of George Formby.

Once war broke out, the troupe stopped touring and never went on the road again.  Some carried on, calling themselves 'The Mighty Atoms'.  Willie Pantzer died in Brighton in 1955.

Pantzer Mansion was built in 1871 and was originally called Withdean Court.  It was situated a short walk from the corner of Withdean Road, Brighton and London Road.  A large red brick building in an acre of land, by the 1960s it had fallen into disrepair and had been abandoned.  For local children, inside it was the classic gloomy building that gave rise to it being haunted  - until its demolition.

On the 19th September 1949 Ivor Boden arrived in New York.  He became involved with James Moran who worked in publicity, creating crazy publicity stunts.  In 1951 Moran had the idea of flying three midgets on kites in Central Park.  Each was insured for $25000.  According to Moran it was perfectly safe.  The heaviest midget did not weigh more than eighty pounds and he had already tested his kites with a one hundred pound suitcase.  There was no danger - unless the line snapped!  The plan was for Ivor, George Shurety (also of the Pantzer troupe) and Elsie Shultz to hold placards advertising commercial products attached to a thirty six square feet kite. "We'll chance anything" they said.
The police though refused a permit and it never happened.

Into the 1960s and the trail goes quieter in the search for Ivor.  We know many Broadway shows employed midgets, so too did the circuses, Barnum and Bailey for example but so far no sign of him at either.  However there is a reference to an Ivor Boden in, what has to be the worst Christmas movie of all time - Santa Claus Conquers the Martians!  He played Winky, one of Santa's elves.  The film was shot on Roosevelt Field, Garden City, Long Island, New York and was released in 1964.

The last reference to Ivor Boden is his death in New York in 1977.

If anyone can add anything else to this story, Id love to hear from you