Bl**dy cold again, I report. I handed in my shiny new English essay and actually did some work on my next one, which I noted was on D H Lawrence’s Odour of Chrysanthemums. Talk about gearing up (natch, panicking) for the end of school. Like I say, we had 15 essays to write – this one must have been something daft like number 12 or 13. Anway, back to Odour of Chyrsanthemums… don’t know if you’ve read much Lawrence, but I do have to say this, it’s not all about swearing, far from it, as I think this short story demonstrates.
A miner’s wife is waiting for him to come home from work. As it’s payday, she’s not expecting him anytime soon – he’ll be at the pub spending his hard earned. Of course as she hears all the other men coming home, she starts to get agitated about his return. He’ll be drunk, she’s not got enough money to last the week etc… Only, he doesn’t come home, well not walking… or breathing even – there’s been an accident at the mine. It’s a powerful piece of work, it had quite an effect on me at 16 – I’ve precised it from memory without cheating and looking on wikipedia or similar.