JUST BELLA

Bella McHugh died yesterday,

by her tiny worn body the vicar prayed.

Curtains closed, the hearse stood in wait,

outside the small house on the council estate. 

 Jasper the cat viewed his empty bowl,

the fire in the grate, long burned out and cold.

A charity van arrived at the door,

kind hands reached down to the cat on the floor.

Cold, starved and terribly thin,

they considered he was just about to give in.

News bulletins flashed throughout the day,

the celebrity in silken splendour lay.

Amazing wealth, power and fame,

could not delay the reapers claim.

Morbid crowds shuffled past the coffin,

family, friends, even the Queen sent her boffin.

Bella McHugh could only stare

at her small soft hands and long flowing hair.

Turning she heard a gentle sigh

as a storybook angel drifted by,

slipped a white silken robe over her face,

and carried her swiftly through time and space

to a far better place.

Something is wrong, its decidedly queer

this is not my place, but they know I am here.

"After all, I'm famous" he said with a cry,

"there's absolutely nothing my money can't buy.

I'll sort it, excuse me, please open this gate,

each man has his price and I don't like to wait".

The approaching young girl held a small purring cat,

 she smiled at the man as she passed where he sat.

The dream she had cherished had now come to pass,

and the gates swung wide open for this humble lass.

There would never be hunger, sorrow or pain

 she started to walk down the long winding lane.

The cloudless sky was a brilliant blue,

fields full of flowers, every possible hue.

She lay in the grass and just stared into space

as a honey brown rabbit gently sniffed at her face.

It nestled beside her, licking her hand,

even Jasper the cat seemed to understand as

creatures she'd cared for appeared as if planned.

Amazed he had watched the young girl pass through

walk into the distance then disappear out of view.

Gates firmly closed the guard took his place,

would you please let me in, surely you know my face.

But the man gently smiled, shook his head in dismay,

"You must go back, try a different way,

you might find this book a useful aid

when you travel the road and decisions are made.

This is not my place, its decidedly queer,

the room was cold, dark and austere.

A bucket of coal and a loaf of bread

hard wooden chair and a lumpy old bed.

Children played in the nearby street

in ragged clothes with dirty bare feet.

"I'll sort this, he muttered "this can't be right"

did I have so much, while they had to fight, 

just to survive.

And somewhere an angel smiled.

Bella McHugh could only stare

at the beautiful garden she knew she would share.

A distant figure moved closer now,

she knew that walk, she knew that face,

and rushed into his warm embrace.

And a gentle breeze whispered

"This is His Kingdom"

T.Hills.

This poem was dedicated to my mother-in-law.   Although she could be a very volatile personality at times she had a heart for orphans, the homeless and needy animals.   She worked hard all her life and even by today's standards would still be considered poor. 

Amazingly her family history was only revealed many years after her death.   Her great grandparents were wealthy quakers living in considerable style in St. Anns Square, London.    Her ancestry goes right back to a rather notorious King and a certain lady called Nell well known for her favours and the many children born out of wedlock.

Even though throughout her life she occupied a very small council house she never spoke of her past connections other than that her childhood was hard and they were very poor.    Her mother had been disowned by her wealthy parents when she married a young doctor without their approval.   Her father died young and her widowed mother struggled to feed her children.    Bella sacrificed any career she might have had and went into service at a large city hotel working as a Chamber Maid.

Thankfully today things have improved somewhat, but the old boy network is alive and thriving.   How many times did you realise that actor was the son of a very famous film star, or that that positively trashy book was written by a woman with connections that assured it was a best seller.

  

Perhaps because of my materially comfortable childhood I didn't feel the need to impress others or be first.   I accepted my place without question, happy just to be.    Sad the children of this generation who are encouraged to have figures equivalent to an anorexic hour glass.   Feeling inadequate and ugly in a world of air brushed photographs bearing little resemblance to the young woman rushing down the street in leggings and tee shirt with no make-up and straggly hair.  That is the real person.   The rest is false.   

When a young girl working in the local chip shop with that lovely smile and friendly manner  is considered not likely to get anywhere without a win on the lottery, and that dream evades most whilst making others ridiculously rich.  Who wants that nightmare.   Would they love you because you are

you, or is it the money.  

Which brings me rambling along to that wonderful piece of English Literature by C.S. Lewis.   The Great Divorce.   In Chapter 12 the spirit guide and the traveller from Grey Town were aware a very grand procession was approaching with a very special person in its midst.       The Traveller is expecting this to be some great celebrity from earth and there is the merest hint of whom it might be, but he is assured greatness and fame in that place and fame on earth are very different.   The chapter continues explaining that this ordinary woman had a very special place in God's country.    Very much along the lines of those who would be first will be last.  Matthew 20 - 26 - 27   I would just love to see someone make a film on this book.   Quite a challenge and well worth reading.

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