Waste of space
Edward was always a BIG boy, he was the heaviest baby born in the hospital that year, He was not a well-baby, he had breathing difficulties, his skin was flaky and cracked and the warm pink glow from the other babies in the nursery was red as a psychedelic aurora borealis.
Skin creams, emollients and bathing liquids worked well and his skin greatly improved. The colour abated and was the softest grey shade that
Edward – was almost two months old before he was discharged and sent home.
Bye Dumbo shouted two or three of the those waiting in the hospital corridors.
It’s common knowledge Alberta, Edward’s mother said to her mother-in-law who walked proudly with the baby. He was huge in the parm, at the breast-feeding group, he was easily the size and weight of a two-year-old. Yet he was a babe.
Her son – Edward’s uncle remarked that Edward didn’t need a bassinette – more like a basin.
People are cruel, especially when they point their fingers in the hope of diverting their own peccadillos. A shield to deflect shame and self-interest.
They called him Dumbo – after the baby elephant in that cartoon and fat shaming is okay.
Everything else apart from his weight was well within the normal markers.
He walked at twelve months and twelve days.
He was fully toilet trained at thirty months
His teething was painful, but brisk –
His skin calmed down and his allergies to whatever had been there remained at bay.
He slept in his own bed from the get-go
“ Esme Wilcox “ said it was because there was no room for him in the BIG bed in his parents’ room.
Esme’s secret was that no one knew both of hers slept in her bed – despite at primary school.
That’s it said Edward’s Uncle
Edward – “You are a waste of space!” – and he tapped the six-year-old on the head and at the same time stabbed him in the heart –
“Slim down, take up less room.!”
“Yah monster !”
Four of the five birthday cards Edward received on his twenty-first birthday were identical and the fifth from his pen-pal in Duisburg in Germany.
Hans Bloch and Edward first became acquainted through a high-school modern languages department project called Forgive and Grow. They started writing to each other as a form of homework, but in his letters to Hans and in Hans’ letters to Edward, they could both loose themselves in the anonymous landscape of paper. On paper Edward was lythe and elegant and since they never exchanged photos he could always hide in plain sight.
Hans, because he never mentioned his grandfathers (both) and their exploits during the war, hid easily in the vellum and bond and in that small world no jews died. Neither of his grandfathers lied, they just never told the truth.
There was no need for lies, as there was no need for truth. On the run up to their birthdays, they were born on the same day, both boys would visit the post office and secure special edition stamps. Birthday card arrival was always a big event.
On one occasion, the cards arrived almost a fortnight early, Edward and Hans had agreed that with early arrival of cards that they would wait until afterschool to open them.
Caution cast aside as, they also agreed that when their birthday fell at the weekend, then the cards could be opened immediately.
Every evening Edward wrote something to Hans – about the wait for the bus, Hans had been intrigued by the idea of Double Decker buses and they had a pact that they would ride the whole bus route upstairs front seats from one terminus to the other, then back again. An affordable and great way to see the world. Or what there was of the world from Springburn to Govan.
News, nasty news of Hans’s sudden death, bewildered Edward for the rest of his life. He had no idea why God would do this.
Kicked squarely in the belly Edward became more and more introverted. The letter from his Mother Frau Bloch spoke of how Edward’s kindnesses had overwhelmed their family. How Hans had been lifted spiritually by their letters and how important it was for Hans to never have to explain his illnesses and perpetual health problems.
How Hans had loved the idea of the seaside, he had never seen the ocean. How the freedom of imagining going upstairs in a bus lifted him to spiritual heights. These wonderful conversations were key to the idea of him living out with the need for the enormous iron lung that dominated their living room. The pharmacy of medicines dotted on every shelf and tabletop in his bedroom and his writing desk, would be destroyed.
Every evening for more than a month, he read and reread that letter.
Yeasty, yellow-coloured, thick, salty tears dripped from Edward’s jawline on to that first and final, brutal letter from Frau Bloch. No more special stamps, no more birthday cards and no more Hans. He wept – and lay on his bed. The great bulk heaving and sighing, when the crying was over, he whimpered. Around ten o’clock that night his Uncle knocked on the door. I’ve got tea and roasted cheese going downstairs. Do you want some?
I’m not hungry – Not in the mood he was still whimpering and almost out of breath.
Uncle saw Edward clutching the letters holding the safest boyhood secrets and approached.
No need to keep these now, Said Edward’s uncle Hans has popped his clogs (or is that what Dutch people wear) – Time to grow up Big Man.
These are just a waste of space. A waste of space is exactly what these letters were not.
Kindness was absent in Edward’s upbringing. He was ridiculed more there than at school.
Age 18 or so
After a fairly good group of “Highers”, Edward applied to university to do something medical or at least involved with helping people.
He didn’t quite have the grades for medicine or pharmacy so he settled for applied biology with nursing and an interesting option on social care.
Freshers Week was not that, it was stale and sour, he like all of the rest of the newbies was out of his depth. He liked the buildings and the quadrangle suited his appetite for direct sunlight. He always shunned direct sun, saying it made him red, blotchy and very itchy. Once at Largs he had been badly burned and ever since that time he always took great care to be screened with the highest quality suncreams he could find.
His Uncle used to say of his 50-gram tubes of that Edward should get a giant tub. Instead of these “Poxy wee nonentities”
“they are just like you pal, a waste of space.”
Edward would have loved the big 500-gram jar of factor fifty but his GP ever worrying about cost prescribed two or three fifty-gram tubes. To save money.
One time he refused Edward a prescription until he brought back the empty containers to ensure that there was an actual need for a new, fresh prescription.
Life was harsh for Edward, but he was resilient and fair-minded despite the horrible things his family members said to and about him.
When he mentioned the doctor demanding to see the empty tubes his uncle quipped “Probably thinks you’ve scrapped it on to your toast or scones.
Or BOTH !”
Just like you do with everything else. Ain’t that so yah waste of space.
Edward wasn’t that big of an eater. He wasn’t nearly as greedy as his uncle. The one who said the harshest and cruellest things to him on a daily basis.
Life passed on and Edward concentrated on his studies, getting a good degree and with this he secured a job at The Royal Infirmary. He was too fat for his overalls which had to be made specially for him and he made the mistake of mentioning this at home. And his uncle suggested that Black’s of Greenock make world famous tents.
Michael Kerins is a writer and storyteller
He is the founder of S.L.A.T.E.Charity
Michael lives in Chryston North Lanarkshire
Scotland
© 2025 Michael Kerins