Oh Shenandoah!
Hello there,
Who am I? Well my name is Dodie, I am a Mistress of the Web.... No not a Spider, they have eight legs. I, on the other hand, or should that be foot, have two.
Actually I spend many a long hour sitting at my computer, writing stories and poems, making playlists and anything else that comes to mind at the time. This tale however, although mostly true is a bit on the sad side, so I will give you a few moments to get your hanky or tissues.
It happened a few weeks ago to my good friend, well she wasn’t an especially close friend, but we did share quite a few good times together.
Her name? I don’t think you will have heard of her but within the “Crazy Writer’s Society” she was known as Sherry Merry.
This had nothing to do with her drinking Sherry or even with being merry, for more often than not she was tearing the male populous to pieces, from Prime Minister down to Mr. Jones. Ty Bach Tut, that lived next door to her, poor man.
Talking about tut-tuting, I am digressing already so to cover a long friendship into a few paragraphs, I will begin.
Ms Shenandoah Meredith Evans, for this was her full title, was the only offspring of an Irish Mother and a South Walian Father, two characters themselves. Her Mother Colorado Liffy Evans, gave, her daughter, the name Shenandoah. Why, I hear you ask? It seemed that even though she was full blooded Irish, Colorado had always wanted to go to The United States, to become American, It never happened, she called herself Colorado and then she moved to Wales, just as the war was ending, in the hope of catching a Yank to take her back to America. Of course she never met her Yank, instead she moved up to North Wales and met Gwynfor Meredith Evans, and the rest is obvious, a year or so later along came Shenandoah.
Shenandoah was not happy with her name, she never had been, Guaranteed, whenever she was introduced. . she was always met with . . . . “Ah Shenandoah, as in the river I presume,” which eventually gave our Sherry a phobia of water and especially bridges.
Getting her to cross a bridge, sober or awake while walking was practically, no definitely impossible and so it was a vehicle across or the long walk round.
Which reminds me of the time we went on holiday with a few mates, unfortunately we left it up to one of the guys to do the booking and it was going to be "The Most Wonderful Surprise, Girls."
Oh it was. I'll never forget the look on her face when we landed at the Marco Polo Airport, dear Peter had only booked us ten luxurious days in the Antony Hotel in Venice of all places, it truly was a disaster, and I doubt whether the poor guy ever walked without a limp again.
But that was another story, some other time maybe.
Like myself, Sherry Merry being born in 1944, was a child of the 60’s, We actually met in Rhyl of all places, though I must say it was a lot cleaner and more fun than today. I was working on the Dodgem Cars, in the Kiosk taking the money off the lads, and Sherry was going out with a very strange creature called Steve. I did find out later when we met up again that she was only going out with him because he had a scooter, a Vesper I th
ink she said it was.We met a few times, she got a job selling rock along by Twigdons and I went into tattooing down by the Marine Lake.
Her parents it seems still lived in North Wales, but had moved up market a little and had bought a house in Llandudno. Boarding place, not sure if they're there any more mind. We drifted apart then for a while only briefly seeing each other at the Cavern in Liverpool, or was it the Lecarno in Manchester, it's not important. Anyway that was the last we saw of each other until two years ago, when she moved to Ponty.
THE THRUSH'S SONG
Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me! Kiss me!
