Unfortunate Death: Eighth Calmacott

Posted by ractrose on 7 Nov 2018 in Art, Poems

Pastel drawing of man feeling compassionate



The Folly

Calmacott’s Brother





Unfortunate Death



‘Good you’re home in time, Arthur. You’ll have a guest for lunch.’

I heard a smile in her voice…she would not have smiled

Knowing I was home. I could hear their talk, although

the door sat closed. Stewart had followed on my heels, fretting.

‘Goddam you!’ He’d near trod on me. And he was carrying

it. That rage I’d felt was for Stewart.

When I’d snatched the hay fork from his hand.


Yes, I’d only gasped a little. I’d been careful of the blood.

The poor young man. I’d only knelt beside him where he fell.

I do recall I cried. I do recall I moaned and couldn’t stop.

I can’t think I’d been making such a noise.

Oh, Arthur, you were cold.


I was not…myself. You see, Calmacott, how she—

How Bessie, had that reckless prodding habit

An amoral will to be, at this moment

at this moment

Miring in excitement

—how she taunted. Though of course

the note was in her own hand


‘Yes, if Bess,’ Henry says, ‘had been born a boy

At fifteen, she’d have gone into the navy. Been a nob,

she would have ridden to the hounds. Dash, is what they call it.

There, you have circumstance, as well.’


And what if I had had a little room, a bed

Some Chelsea street where rents are not too dear

And the Mrs. in my name might be enough

For a decent place, serving at a tearoom

I know you couldn’t often come across

But I’d have welcomed you, visiting, and if you’d asked

Can you forgive me, Mathilda

I would say, Arthur I do




Unfortunate Death
Charcoal and pastel drawing of woman wearing clothing from ancient Britain

Let Them Go















(2017, Stephanie Foster)