Phase the First: The Maiden
Well. Where should I start? For sixteen years nothing
happened in my life, then this nosy parson tore it all apart
by telling daddy he was no poor drunkard, but rather Sir
John something-or-other: which tickled his proud,
lower-class heart. And O how, since, are the mighty fallen!
One lesson we've all learnt: daddy wasn't smart.
So off they sent me to this rich guy whom mum and
dad wanted me to marry - and I? I never said yes,
but I said no in various positive ways. I didn't let him
kiss me - but aye, in the end I did. I could have pushed
him off a horse half-asleep, but I held onto him that night.
Got laid,---------------------------------------------
Phase the Second: Maiden No More
---------got paid. A month later I said to him - 'You lied.'
And then I left, came home all alone, saw a red
paint-pot man condemning adultery. Religion is a drone,
I made my point clear; I said to the parson, 'I hate
your Church.' I had a baby, who fell ill out of the blue, I moaned,
rightfully named him Sorrow. Conveniently (for Hardy)
Sorrow died. And for a further two years I moaned.
Phase the Third: The Rally
Got to get a move-on. Couldn't live off my parents
all my life; parents these days. Couldn't be another man's
mistress; men these days. So in this jolly phase I made
my own living, and met a lovely gentleman. What son of a
clergyman wouldn't be learning to milk cows? I was dazed
a little. Again. Oh yeah, and he'd been to my village before.
Good times - virginal and simple times, I remember that day
as though it were yesterday. He danced with every girl
in town, but me. The unclichéd hands of fate.
I was a stunning daughter of nature to him, simple
and innocent (oh dear). He loved it when I milked, skimmed,
said I lived a life of poetry. We went on walks alone -
discreetly enough - early in the morning. I was Eve,
he was Adam, he said. I picked up his posh accent
too, dear listener, the one with which I now talk to you.
We fell in love - he thought I was some goddess, and I
thought he was some god - well, that part was true.
Phase the Fourth: The Consequence
He proposed to me. But you see back in my days
men were a bit off; wouldn't want you if you'd had
an ex. I thought maybe I should confess honestly
my great sin of having had a boyfriend before - or getting
raped as some seem to think. But I, a pure woman indeed,
was not true to my pure instincts (valid excuse this).
And plus, mum said there was no need. So we got married.
Phase the Fifth: The Woman Pays
But I couldn't keep my sexily rosy and excessively
closely described mouth shut. I told him on our
wedding night. He thought 'Christ what do I do -
pop into her bed, or be a snob and walk away?'
Then he must have remembered the sight
of my pretty face, and turned upstairs. But hey,
the story of my life, he saw this giant ugly painting
and decided, 'I'd rather be a snob.' And went down again.
On another fine night he sleepwalked
and carried me outside. I wanted us both to die.
No I didn't. Well, I say I didn't, but I kind of did.
Anyway, he gave me fifty quid, and said goodbye.
He told his parents I was pure, and said I was
free to ask them for money (while he was in Brazil),
though loneliness I must endure. But I thought since
I'd already been dumped, I might as well starve
and be poor. I wasn't the first girl to have gone mental
over him. Stupidity was contagious for sure.
I got a job on this bleak farm, my boss just happened
to have been punched in the face by my husband
and, poor man, he must have been really confused
by how much my looks had worsened. When he bumped
into me last Christmas I was a comely maid (or not
a maid, as he helpfully pointed out) - now my eyebrows
were gone. I nipped them off. What a virtuous legend.
And here, I was in the company of one of the mental girls
aforementioned, a friend from the dairy. It was like the
old times, though my spirits less high, lips less crimson.
Then I somehow overcame my pride and set off to my
in-laws to ask for money, but all that determination
was gone the moment I saw the girl whom his parents
so-adored, and he so-abhorred. She nicked my boots. I
ran away. But lo and behold, guess what was more?
Phase the Sixth: The Convert
There he stood, my ex-boyfriend - who'd wrecked
my life by taking me in when I went to claim kin -
him, there he stood, righteous and good, spreading
the word of the Lord. I would have raised an
eyebrow - but of course I couldn't. And look, who
else was there? Who but the red paint-pot man.
I walked away, as a good Hardian woman should.
He caught up of course, was quite clingy. I tried
to get rid of him by shocking him with my husband's
inconceivably agnostic idea: [insert idea here].
Though oops, I think I overdid it. Within the blink
of an eye he'd abandoned his new-found faith, and
clung to me even more. The future - our future
we both foresaw. I wrote to my hubby and warned
him (plenty of notice this time round), though
no loving letter ever arrived at my door.
Mum fell ill, I went home. Dad died, we had to move.
Ex invited us to live in his mansion, I refused. We got a ride
to this town - home of our ancestors (was mum trying
to be funny when she picked the place?) - but they'd lied,
we couldn't rent the house in the end. I'm just not
surprised. My life over these last few years could have
been an Australian soap. Or The Truman Show.
And at this awkward moment of desperation, who,
but the villain, would turn into my hero?
Phase the Seventh: Fulfillment
When he came back from Brazil, it was a bit
too late. He'd been fickle - or fickle at the wrong
time. He was not rich, not nice, not even that fit.
The morning he found me, I was holidaying with
my ex - gutted! But then, technically, was he not
more truly my ex-ex? And knowing my yo-yo
tendencies, I dumped my ex-ex for my ex.
In fact, that was not enough, no. Murder had to
come into this. I have always been the violent one -
seduced, not raped. You should know.
We ran off to this empty house, spent
five days there. I screwed two men - gentlemen -
within a week, what mother wouldn't be proud?
Then we walked on still to evade the police,
and bingo, came to the exact spot of Stonehenge.
I lie upon the altar now to sleep, I hear him say
'let her sleep'. As my life plays before me now
I see: it's been no melodrama; pure tragedy.