Sharon Gerber-Crawford

Visits


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      Dieses Buch erscheint als Band 1 der Belletristik-Edition poetis im Verlag des Institute for Science and Innovation Communication (inscico)

      This book appears as Volume One of the Edition poetis published by inscico Institute for Science and Innovation Communication

      1. Auflage 2017 / 1st Edition 2017

      Das Buch ist unter der ISBN 978-3-9814811-9-8 im Handel erhältlich.

      This book is available for sale under ISBN 978-3-9814811-9-8.

      Alle Rechte vorbehalten

      Die Weitergabe dieses Buches als Ganzes oder in Teilen ist nicht gestattet.

      All rights reserved

      No part of this publication may be reproduced.

      Copyright © 2017 by inscico GmbH, Kleve / Germany

       www.inscico.eu/verlag

      Cover-Foto: Robert Bräutigam

      (Taken in a Ruin Bar in Budapest / Hungary)

      For Eva, Maggie and Lila – my true inheritance.

      Your feet will bring you where your heart is

      An áit a bhuil do chroí is ann a thabharfas do chosa thú

      Irish Proverb

      Thanks

      To all those who offered practical help and encouragement.

      In particular:

      My husband Alexander Gerber for formatting and production and for pushing me out through the door to my first writing group.

      The Creative Writing Group in Berlin.

      The Schreibgruppe, Culucu in Kleve, Niederrhein.

      Erwin Kraut for editorial comment, proofreading and mentoring.

      Louise Churcher for proofreading.

      Vanessa Gneisinger and Fiona Kahlau for editorial comment.

      To my son Dylan, my family and my friends for helping me stay on track.

      Contents

       Foreword

       Visits

       Marching Orders

       Visiting Gran

       Visiting the Past

       The meaning of it all

       Me, aged six

       Memory Tricks

       Exposure

       The Journey Home

       The Playground

       The Big Brown Car

       Up Yours and Definitely No Surrender

       Inheritance

       A collection of rather banal memories

       A Safe Distance

       Making Small Talk in a Troubled Country

       Tour Of Duty

       Secrets

       Green

       She was invited to a wedding

       After Noelle

       A Walk In The Dark

       Into the Light – Dia non Dul

       Wishing Well

       The last time I visited

       In May

       About the Author

       Illustrations

      Foreword

      Whilst many of the pieces in this collection are based on real events, this is creative writing and not autobiographical. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously.

      Therefore, whereas, for example, my son really did ask me about Bloody Sunday in an airport bookshop (Up Yours and Definitely No Surrender), my brother and I were never turned into thorn bushes (The Playground) and there was no insurance man called Raymond (The Big Brown Car).

      Although I left Northern Ireland for good in 1990, somehow I am always visiting it inside my head. Always looking for that piece of myself I left behind. This is why I say I left Northern Ireland a long time ago, but Northern Ireland has never left me.

      Sharon on the dunes looking out across The Channel to the UK.

      Rattling down a road of my own making

      still alone, chasing ghosts

      from Berlin morning windows

      March sunshine seeks me out

      but I’m not playing

      I can‘t

      We stop

      „Bitte entschuldigen Sie die Störung. Wegen einer technischen Defekt können wir die Fahrt voraussichtlich nicht weiter...“ i

      But I can’t

      Stop

      Mourning

      from Berlin morning windows

      still alone, chasing ghosts

      rattling down a road of my own making

      last orders

      real women don’t drink pints

      and swear at real men

      or forget to comb the curls

      at the back of their hair

      so there

      and anyhow I’m not good for you

      and you’re certainly not for me

      but I know this

      so who cares

      My head is full of words, and worries and other people’s questions. Cycling home through the woods, in deep and earnest conversation with myself I suddenly realize it’s The Twelfth of July.ii Fancy that, and I can still remember that one warm 12th thirty years ago, nineteen years of age, home for the first summer break from university. I fancied myself in love. With Rodney. A bad guy, not even a very clever one. But a beautiful one. Warm grass