Seventies Stories 1972

Written by Sinead Looby |
Published on:

Seventies Stories 1972


The Cancer Chat.


"Oh she has, ye know, cancer'.

Discussed always behind a clothes line. A seven year old, although playing, straight away knows summat's up.                He begins to listen while still spinning the red wheel of his toy car.

"Jesus that’s shocking, god love her, only fifty". The reply blowing in through the white sheets.

"Everyone has cancer in them, it just depends if your lucky or not, to get it.”

Cancer, the seven year old thinks, what's that?  A seven year old will forget about it as soon as he hears it.

“There’s a cure for everything, and hunger is the best sauce”.  Another nugget from Granny Nash as she kneaded her soda bread.  Big brother Neil, who is saving up to visit a place called the Amazon Forest, also threw in his thrupenny bit.

“The cure for cancer, is in the Amazon Rainforest, but big buck business don’t want it found”.                                          What the bloody hell did he mean, and where was my soda bread to slaver in butter?

Waiting on my jeans to dry in the kitchen, another conversation is conducted in a lowered voice fashion.                            “Oh god Mary, don’t tell anyone but her cancer might have come back”.  Brief break to stub out a cigarette.                         “I know the consultant only comes around once a week”.  Beep beep of the washing machine, jeans dried.         Technology, some things moving on since the days of the washing line.  


In town, daffodils were everywhere, on people's lapels, for sale, all accompanied by the rattle of charity boxes under your nose.  “Help the cure for cancer, buy a daffodil”.  “Buy a bear show you care”, was another one.                                           It was “National Cancer Day”.  It has a day now.  Must be getting bigger now.  Their were “Big Cancer Concerts”.             Liz Taylor and Elton John Cancer Tribute Shows.  Celebrity cancer stories every week on the cover of those magazines that my mother had bought since the seventies.  Tut tutting at some of the more salacious stories whilst stirring her tea.  The actor James Cain was her favourite.


Tamoxifen, Diazepam, Temazepam boxes, all fell out onto my lap that day.  The day when my Mother asked me to get her some tissues from her bedside locker.  She had something difficult to tell me.  Walking down those stairs was like going back in time.  Seventies house still going strong.  Out in the garden she stood where the washing line used to be all those years ago, when my young ears had listened to that hushed phone call.

Turning around with tears in her eyes, l knew, l just knew, we would now both have that hushed conversation.


Copyright Sinead Looby.

Copyright ©

Author: Sinead Looby
Where rhythm is life, and life is rhythm


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