The Secret Women's CliqueA Poem by David Lewis PagetHer
skin was dark and her hair was black, She
walked with a Spanish sway, ‘She
could be from South America,’ I
would hear the neighbours say, She’d
taken the cottage in Ansley Court, Put
seagrass mat on the floor, Then
given them something to talk about With
the shingle she hung on the door. ‘A
Course is starting on Wednesday week For
the women of Risdon Vale, “The
Secret Rites of the Shuar Revealed,” (For
ladies alone - No Male!) The
art of centuries, hidden ‘til now Will
be taught in a matter of weeks, Be
among the first to learn of these skills, (At
just sixty dollars, each!)’ Said
one, ‘It’s probably just a scam, For
what could she have to show?’ ‘This
village is such a bore,’ said Pam, ‘I’d
pay to see rushes grow!’ But
curiosity killed the cat They
say, in that wise old saw, And
half the women of Risdon Vale Turned
up to the stranger’s door. She
took the women, one at a time Examined
each one alone, Then
chose just six to make up the course And
sent all the others home. She’d
weeded out all the gossipers, And
the ones that were loose of tongue, Had
sworn to secrecy those she chose At
an altar with candles on. Not
one of the chosen ones would speak, Not
one of them say a word, They
hung together in whispered cliques And
wouldn’t be overheard. Their
husbands too, were kept in the dark When
asked, they would heave a sigh, Shrug
their shoulders, and raise a brow Though
everyone wondered, ‘Why?’ Ted
Wilkins wasn’t impressed by this And
took himself to the pub, ‘I
don’t like secrets,’ he told his mates, Then
left to head for the scrub. They
said he’d gone with Emily Bates, They’d
been having it off for years, ‘Her
cottage is suddenly empty too,’ Said
the wags in ‘The Bullock’s Curse.’ There
wasn’t a tear in the Wilkins home, She
seemed to be quite relieved, ‘I
always thought that she must have known,’ So
half of the Vale believed, A
woman alone is a tidy mark For
a man like Michael Stout, They
saw him creep to her house one night, But
no-one saw him come out. The
tongues were wagging in Risdon Vale About
‘funny goings-on,’ ‘The
preacher hasn’t been seen at church Since
that spat with Lucy Chong,’ Then
Red Redoubt who had beat his wife Took
off, when he knew the score, For
Gwen had bid him ‘good riddance’ when He
was heading on out the door. The
women met on a Wednesday night And
they burned a light ‘til dawn, ‘What
do you think they do in there?’ Said
the gossip, Betty Spawn, She
crept up close to the house one night And
peered at the light within, So
Pam came out and surprised her there, Said,
‘Why don’t you come right in!’ The
six week course was almost done When
the police came round one night, Kicked
the door of the cottage in, Gave
the girls a terrible fright. ‘We
need to know what you’re doing here, There
are rumours, round about,’ But
the woman from South America In
the dark, had slipped on out. There
were pots and pans and cooking things And
a smell of something stale, ‘We’ve
been learning all these secret things But
we can’t tell you, you’re male!’ Then
a cry came out from another room From
a lad in the local police, He
said, ‘There’s six new shrunken heads Out
here on the mantelpiece!’ David
Lewis Paget © 2013 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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