Chapter 1- Blue Bird

One



I was barely a man legal to drink when I first laid my eyes on the bluebird. I was in a local dive of a pub named the Great Carshalton Hall, a 16th century old pub, dilapidated with five hundred years of leisurely alcohol and drug abuse, it’s a building that, despite it’s contents of misery and defeat, possess’ an abundance of character. The Halls roof being somewhat crooked by the weight of time has its necessary and grotesque guttering hanging off in its essential places.

It’s windows, its doors all shabby and dated but containing a charm that I suppose no landlord has yet had the heart or wallet to replace.

The most attractive part of this historical relic could quite easily have been its retched pond, a pond in which when I was maybe nine or so, the curiosity of my childish ways for one reason or another led me to become entrenched in the center of.

It was a bog of mud so thick that eventually I had no choice but to scream at the top of my youthful lungs in search for help, and I did with a panic stricken, quite embarrassing cry, more resembling of a yelp, albeit through the fear exploding inside of me, convincing me that I was drowning, slowly and unnoticed whilst the sun beat down on me, shining, through the spooky nature surrounding this pit.

It came about that I was helped by a noble young man, who charged into my rescue, gallantly and bravely only to find that he, not being of a sober state in any way to say the least, had misjudged his path into the muddy abyss and he too found him self stuck. To which he found nothing short of hilarious as he called for what seemed like a thousand comrades of his amber drinking army to come and cheer us on.

Were these guys crazy I thought to myself, there we are, in my mind, soon to be consumed into the murky underworld and they would all rather sing about our plight. What a strange, happy bunch!

Sooner or later the whole goddamn collective of the Great Carshalton Hall had come to do the same. But after a few minutes or so, that in all honesty, felt like a lifetime, my panic subsided. I felt a reassured feeling overcome the thoughts raving in my head that, yes I knew we were sinking heavily but I wasn’t sinking alone. A strange feeling that, for a nine year old. We were eventually and thankfully pulled out by a gangly long willow branch, by the ingenious of one of the crowd.

  Every time that I entered The Great Carshalton Hall from this day forth I saw this retched pond with its overhanging willow trees and wished to god the landlord would at least make use of its stagnant demise.

It was whilst I was reminiscing  this old memory I held of The Hall and standing at its bar, with my longest serving and closest friend Joe Rock when I first noticed the bluebird fly past, briefly in my vision, then flutter back beyond the shabby cellar door. It was as if a divine ghost had just caught the corner of my eye.               

I managed to glimpse that she wore a jade green bandana which I rightly assumed was present to cover, what I noticed as a distinct lack of hair present on her feminine young head. But wrongly, in my mind I had assumed the cause of this naked scalp. I think we all would at that moment, I was certainly curious. I know I would be forgiven for making instant assumptions about bluebirds’ health. But in that instant, to see a girl of inexplicable beauty behind a most gloomy bar with these curious thoughts ringing in my head kind of have a powerful stay in the memory, and were soon to become the preverbal icebreaker to such bittersweet events to follow.

Joe Rock, who by the description of everybody who comes to meet him is what they call a livewire, began to tell a joke referring to house fires and sunflowers in his usual emphatic and boisterous way, and was capturing the attentions of the surrounding dwellers by being his usual energetic self, but not two seconds after the rapturous roar of male laughter had passed, before this sweet, young, vibrant bald as a coot girl was back in my sights.

“Hello Honey, what’s the joke and what can I get ya” she said to Joe, with a voice that sounded, well, squeaky and childlike, if I’m honest.  And Joe, a larger than life personality and almost it’s equal in stature, in comparison to me anyhow! Shifted focus onto me, naturally seeking any hint of suggestion, as I stood there, the earth shaking with nerves due to my obvious youthful insecurities in front of such beauty, and a constant immature nagging in the back of my head regarding the bald thing.

“Well” Joe uttered, whilst the bluebird, a bars width away glared into me with a curious smirk on her face “Ehh…Carling mate, top, please” I said in a shamefully stuttered manner “Yeah same but a proper one cheers” Joe sarcastically relayed to the bluebird who then gave me another, this time humorous smirk and returned hastily back to her busy job.

Now when Joe finds something funny he usually breaks into kind of half laugh, and I wasn’t spared on this occasion “kheeeaaghh” he spurted, and in his lively and friendly manner began to ask what the fuck that was all about. “What” I said, responding in a disinterested manner, to which he let off a puncture of mocking air from his lips “pssssshhhhhhhhhh ha ha ha, well smooth mate”. He was right to mock me though, I’d acted like a pubescent kid in a bar full of regular old louts and peers of my own generation. But most embarrassingly of all for me I did all this in front of the bluebird. What a nobhead I reflected into my pint and walked blandly over to one of The Halls rickety tables, that has so evidently seen better days.

The table we chose was in the backroom of the Hall, a cut off section of the pub, overlooking the end of the main bar which attracted all the youth and barely legal customers, due to its only feature, an overused and worn pool table, which much like the rest of the Hall, was desperately in need of repair.

This cramped back room, always had an overly strong scent of stale perfume, rich with cigarette smoke, but it was nevertheless, an atmosphere second to none. Mixing local misfits with its more balanced characters and fusing them into what became a major highlight of my youth.

One such misfit was Rich, an immature and highly strung character, but very likeable too, loyal and devoted to his friends. To describe him is easy, think Pete Docherty by looks and a moderated Pete by nature.

As I filtered in and out of the conversation that had been going on for some time between Joe and Rich, I was consistently gazing at the bluebird whose existence and name up until now, for some reason, had passed me by.

Bluebird stood about five and a half feet high, below the jade bandana revealed a face that the great Rembrandt himself could have painted with only the finest and delicate of brush. Her high set cheeks create a wide, dimpled and soft smile radiating her warmth to an otherwise moody surrounding.

My first impressions of her appearance from afar led me to thinking that she was an adorably scatty girl, a kind of free spirited hippy, constantly flirting between one conversation and the next, whilst maintaining a constant supply to the army of drinkers.

For what seemed like eternity I was enchanted by the bluebird, she had an aura about her that had left me motionless, and stranded in a meditative and tranquil stillness. I liked this state of happiness I so briefly possessed; I wanted to be closer to her.

“Oi schnizzrat” said Rich, followed by a beer matt striking me clean on the forehead, to which the random humor and shock of the moment catapulted my attentions back into the pool Hall, and initiated a prolonged eruption of laughter between the three of us that left us all fighting for air, a belly laugh that continued so long it left us in pain and worn down.

“Schnizzrat? What the fuck is a schnizzrat” I said to Rich, knowing full well he hadn’t a clue himself as he gave me a proud hair brained stare. You see Rich does this; he creates strange humorous words as a means to communicate with his friends

“Dunno” he said “why you being so quiet anyway, what’s up?” “Yeah what’s up with ya mate, what’s on ya plate” replied Joe in a concerned manner. “Nothing at all mate nothing at all” I answered, but in my mind I was still at peace with my thoughts of the blue bird.

  Whilst Rich got up and went elsewhere still kind of laughing at the beer matt he’d so perfectly executed, my intrigue had come to the fore and propelled me to ask Joe, who was still kind of chuckling himself  “Who’s the girl with the erm… head, over there mate?”.        “Head?” he repeated curiously “What you on about?” being momentarily confused and looking around himself until knowingly from his lips came “aahhh…So that’s what’s been up with ya since we got in here” taking a hefty gulp from his pint he revealed the bluebirds name to me

  “Your on about Lola, Lola Parson” he laughed “one that served us, right, top girl mate, crazy girl though, she isn’t half as sweet as she looks mate, aside from the bald head of course” he laughed again, this time a little louder in preparation for what promised to be an interesting story “how do you mean crazy, she looks normal to me mate” I began to say back in a defensive manner. “Trust me, she’s anything but normal, she’s loco, take that haircut for instance you don’t think its natural do ya?” he enquired. “Well no, course not but it don’t make her crazy does it” once again defending a woman I’d only just laid eyes on. “Alright mate keep your hat on, she’s got a fella anyway, and ya know him I think, no need to get stroppy is there”. My acting all defensive had momentarily killed Joe’s strides into telling the bald story.

  As I see Rich returning to the pool Hall with a couple of other misfits behind him I decided that this was the perfect moment to use the world’s foulest lavatory.

  I began walking on through the side passage of the Great Carshalton Hall, which contains lifeless old photos of the local community in between the scraggy curtains, which in their day may probably have pleased an old lady’s eye.

  Slightly further on combined with these decors sat a marvelous white leather sofa, the most wonderfully kept piece of furniture throughout the Great Carshalton’s premises, probably because the landlord decided to stick two gas lamps either side to bring out the contrasting effect

I managed to fight my way past a couple of revelers who like most others who frequented the Hall were pissed as a newt. As I got to the door of this grotesque hole I could see the bluebird, Lola, standing aside the Halls tiny stage, usually held for Karaoke. She was slim and delicate, carefree and had an Irish pale healthy looking glow about her, not in any way resembling of my good friend Joes description.



She didn’t look crazy, not to me.



It was as I was caught in this trance yet again that I noticed I was blocking the entrance and had to go forth into the darkness of these wretched male urinals.

The floors in the male urinals were always soaked, with what ignorance thankfully allows you to believe is a water leak.

Never the less I tip toed towards the canister, pulling up the ends of my jeans in my stride in preparation for the necessary. 

Now I’ve been in this place before but the mess of it never bothered me up until this moment when I began unleashing a flurry of grumbles at the calm, simple looking gentleman standing next to me “when will they sort this shit out? Fucking stinks in here don’t it? Bet the ladies toilet is lovely and I guarantee they don’t have to put up with this fucking stench eh. It’s disgusting don’t ya think mate?”

The gentleman standing next to me who looked probably in his thirties and peaceful didn’t respond in any vocal manner at all and barely nodded.

Despite this I continued to barrage him with tempered questions “how long as it been like this mate? It’s a right state aint it, don’t ya think?” eagerly trying to get him on my side and by now, with my reason for being there almost complete, I wondered why he didn’t care about the situation.

It was at this time that I noticed the calm gentleman look over to me and point openly to his throat, mime and gesture to me that he was unable to talk.

“o shit, I’m sorry mate, you cant err…, I didn’t notice” I can honestly say I felt like a complete idiot, I mean pestering a man into conversation who couldn’t talk doesn’t make you feel the cleverest does it “I really am mate, I didn’t know” I said,  still feeling the fool.

  The calm almost reassuring man was absolutely fine and put his hand up in acknowledgement to relieve my embarrassment.

Sailing back out behind this gentleman towards the land beyond this bog, the door swung open and clashed into the wall. In stumbled a tall, ugly looking fellow, his face scarred with remnants of his childhood acne topped by a gash down one side of his cheeks, he seemed real shady and I ignored him.

“Alright Eamonn” he said in a slurred and loud tone, which to my absolute surprise brought about the response from the calm, simple man “Alright”

Did my ears deceive me? I wondered, they couldn’t have, and my face was a picture; I’d just been well and truly had by this gentleman named Eamonn, who, so apparently wasn’t the mute he made himself out to be.

I began laughing in disbelief whilst he held the door open for me to walk out past him, pretty much a small walk of shame.

30 seconds ago I’d been made to feel felt like a guilty, ignorant fool. But now I was a complete fool but this time it was funny, and Eamonn was laughing too, in a genuinely friendly manner though, so I introduced myself as Dean and went about my way. Laughing at how I’d been duped.

Back in the pool Hall Rich had been telling Joe and couple of other familiar faces from the Hall the details of a woman he’d been seeing recently, and that she was round the other side, sitting with the older generation of regulars. He was boasting that she was a little older than he was, some nine or ten year’s difference or so and that he was going to be leaving with her pretty soon for,  as Rich would so romantically put it “A bit of you know what”

He was finishing a story containing some explicit details just as I turned the corner from the murky passage. “Who’s that your on about then?” I said, just catching the tail end of the story and being curious as to who had found him so desirable. “Just some girl mate, little older than me though, anyways you lot I’m off, ta!” leaving with a smile on his face.

“Yeah see ya’ later Rich you lucky fucker” said one the misfits who’d by now placed himself comfortably on one the rickety seats on our table.

As Rich was walking out down the passage, Joe proposed we get a look at who he was describing.

  This being a good idea, we waited until Rich had walked down the murky passage and we walked sneakily down behind him, unnoticed together with two others from the pool room.

He made his way past the toilets, through the entrance to the main section of the pub bypassing the jukebox and the stage, in which the picturesque Lola was still preparing, with us lot unnaturally bunched up stealthily behind.

We settled on the edge of the bar visible to the pool hall, and waited, popping our heads over like meerkats, looking through the small crowd of drinkers barely recognizable due to the dimness.

“There he is, over there with that woman, Keeeaghhh, he weren’t lying was he” Joe said. “What d’ya mean he weren’t lying?” I asked. “Well he said she was a bit of all right, but ya know Rich eh”.

I’d have to say that Rich gave the right description of this woman. She had jet black healthy, shimmering hair, with tanned skin. Her figure was attractive, very womanly and appealing to a bunch of young men at the end of a bar anyhow. Her face looked familiar for some reason, and though she was said to be older than Rich, the contrast of them in the same space probably made her look older than she really was.

As the ill fitting pair left the Great Carshalton Hall via the back entrance, unaware to our spying on them an absolutely resoundingly perfect voice began to purr around the place which immediately lifted every hair to its tip with its jazzy essence…

“Blue ski-i-i-i-es smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see… bluebi-i-i-ird, singing a song… nothing but bluebirds, all day long”

I was entranced immediately by this singing that resembled the wonderful Eva Cassidy as I turned to see that the bluebird, Lola, was the portal from which all this divine splendor was pouring.

She looked so at one with herself on that shabby little stage. Purity was pouring out from her soul, but by the sound of her lonely tone, that tore me apart from inside, I was sure she wasn’t happy. I felt it, I could hear it; it hit me harder than I can ever describe, and I was knocked out in one.

When Lola finished what was a most perfect ensemble, she gracefully walked down from the stage, looked right into me, then smiled.

She glided out from the lights of the near by stage where I was now perched and fluttered back behind the bar to continue her duties serving the army of drinkers.

“Some ones got the hump with you mate” I heard Joe say in my ear. As my mind yet again returned to this earthly domain he repeated “some ones got the hump with you, I know em’ so we’ll be alright but don’t look over cos’ there’s a few of em’ been glaring you out since that song mate”.

As I turned to look toward the rear entrance of the Hall, clearly ignoring Joe’s sound advice I realized my error, I’d been there the past hour entranced by another mans girlfriend, and it didn’t go unnoticed, especially in a place of this sort.

As I looked into the darker part of the Hall to see who this lucky man was, it became clear that I had seen him before, only ten minutes ago.

This ugly creature was staring at me, beaming with hate which also aroused all the other frightening looking, charmless characters that were keeping his company. I was certainly in the lions den from now on, but I wasn’t leaving.

How could somebody as lovely as the bluebird be part of such a hostile herd? She can’t want to be, surely? Was Joe right?

I wondered for the rest of the night, though refusing to believe.

Who is she and how did she end up there I wondered, tell me about Lola, Joe. Who instantly begun to unfold all he knew.