PROSE STORY
Gerry
A tribute for a life taken (our Irish legend)
A character to be reckoned if you got on his wrong side, kind,
respected, life and soul of the party, well, certainly in Gerry’s mind
after a few too many, same as us all, I suppose.
Always had your back, a pure wind-up merchant, who sometimes would not let it go.
The youngest of a wild bunch, three brothers and his sister (not so wild) from Dublin’s northside. As wild as he was, Gerry the one to keep the brothers calm, so we understood when his antics went awry.
“Aye, Gerry is the sane one of the brothers!”
His work became his lifestyle, a local London crew rigger
on shows large or small; trying out the tour rigger life just once,
being away from his girls, wife Catherine and daughter Erin was not the life for Gerry.
The itch for work crept in when a few days off would drive his family crazy!
A keen eye and intelligence, along with his disarming sense of humour with stars, crew or management, meant his Irish charm would always win over cutting through unreasonable management demands rife in this sometimes selfish industry, again, ensuing calm with a flair for people skills.
Gerry, a close friend, a brother, fire in his soul, that streak of the wild, yet still, calm and kindness in his possession, this bright shining flame put out.
One jovial night, Gerry took a break from watching his beloved football at his local pub to buy take away vegan delights for his girls and a cheeky burger for himself.
On the quick journey home, Gerry met with a striking blow from a cowards cane to his face; Gerry knew his attacker as they took to their cowardly heels.
The twisted mind of a want to be actor in tough-guy movies no less,
wickedness pumps from this wretched soul’s black heart fancying
a go at the local hard man; this was just the start.
Frustration, annoyance, Gerry returns to the football, a few more drinks with his brother to calm Gerry’s nerves against the pleas and advice of his dear wife, Catherine.
“Gerry, he is a mad fecker; stay at home!”
The return home after the pub finds Gerry taunted by the mad coward, a coward baiting for more, luring Gerry into the apartment block hallway,
Gerry confronts him without violence, only a shaking of the collar,
protesting the abuse of wife and Daughter.
“Leave them alone!”
This mad coward abusive, with past forked tongue, frightening Gerry’s daughter Erin and accosting Gerry’s wife Catherine on the streets of London town’s Brixton, one who enjoyed begging for cigarettes and pity of which Gerry and Catherine obliged.
Now a killer, as he plunged a concealed knife into my dear friend’s heart.
Gerry stumbles away from that rancid soul of a killer possessed,
realising it was more than just a punch, one more knife plunge
into Gerry’s back, followed by insane protests of innocence from this evil soul.
One more lighter shade of grey paving stone to add to the many
in London town turns black as blood stains its porous surface.
On this cold street pavement, last breath whispers of love
for Catherine and Erin in his brother’s arms, my closest friend died.
Air paramedics bring our dear friend back,
only to burn out on the cold sheets of a hospital bed.
His Wife, his Daughter, family and friends who are many, bid
Gerry their painful last goodbye.
Myself in Thailand, spoke a final farewell as Catherine held the phone to Gerry’s ear.
That was a time to drink the bar dry before travelling back to London the following day to be with Catherine and Erin.
Their strength kept us all from tumbling down into the deepest darkest of black holes.
A jury full of pity for a twisted evil soul, prosecution weak, defence flamboyant, entertainment is the requirement these days.
Oh, the poor devil, given mistaken low doses of medication, he knew not his own mind! Afraid of two Irish brothers and what they would do.
So they let this evil fecker go.
Not a mark on Gerry’s fists, proof he had used no violence.
A stabbing in the back would naturally carry a verdict of murder;
Game over.
Watching from the Old Bailey court gallery, I saw minds made up,
the sickening feeling in a gut full of frustration, a sense of doubt and disbelief as yawning jury members threw the case for a boring, unconvincing prosecution.
If this murderer was their neighbour, would the outcome have seen his pardon?
The Judge wanted this fecker put away for life, an obvious danger to society.
Free again to stalk the streets of his old killing ground, breaking condition rules, taunting neighbours, in arm’s length of Gerry’s Catherine and Erin, police inaction gives their blessing for a pardoned devil, a devil with history awash with twisted tricks, twisted tricks to prize his innocence from the weak jury mind.
Justice Has Not Been Served!
For Gerry Gaffney. Irish Legend. March 02.1973.- May. 21. 2018.
Thank you as always,
also & for giving my words a platform. 🙏✨🙏✨🙏✨Thank you all for reading and your precious time. Always. J. 🙏✨
