Saturday 23 January 2010


These are some of the pages from the diary of an Eleanor Rigby-

‘For the past twenty-two years, my job has been to clean up after wedding ceremonies have taken place in the little church. Today is no different. There’s been some wedding at the church and one of the bride’s maid’s kids knocked over the rice. I’m cleaning that up. After that is done, I am just going to stand at the window in my little room in the church. That is what I do every day. Everyday since he left me here.
He was an American soldier. He came to Scotland during the Second World War. My father was one of the richest, happiest and most generous men there. Same went for my family. I was the youngest amongst the six daughters. My father wanted to help out with the soldiers of the war and so volunteered to keep some in our house. Of all the ones that came, he was the most silent, my Jack. Everyone else was rowdy and loud. Jack only spoke to my father and me. He and my father discussed the war and other worldly matters, but to me, he spoke about all the beautiful places he had been. He promised me to take me there someday. This is why one day, we both left together, without telling anyone. We walked and talked and walked some more. When we reached Liverpool, almost all our money was over. He told me that he knew a friend there and he will go and get some money from him, so we can go to America. He told me to wait in the little church. I went in and a young priest named McKenzie let me sit in this little room while Jack would return.
And he never did.
I once wrote a letter to my father telling him about Jack, and the church, and Father McKenzie, and how I look out of the window everyday and maybe he could come one day and meet me there. He never came either.’

‘It has been a few days since that wedding. I haven’t been feeling well today. I think I will sleep for a while. Then I will wake up and look out of the window again. I think someone will come. I know they will recognize me by the expression I have kept all these years while looking out of the window. Father McKenzie says it is always the same, like I store it in a jar and keep it by the door. He is a good man. He writes the words to sermons every night and darns his own socks. Poor man is also lonely. So is everyone else. Not me. Jack will come. It’s not like I will die alone…’

We all know what happens after this. Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name. Nobody came. Father McKenzie wiped off the dirt from his hands as he walked from the grave. No one was saved. And all we can say is- Ah, look at all the lonely people.

This was a school magazine entry from me, but they chose an article on recession over it. Joy


  1. Nikhat, I LOVE your style of writing. No seriously !
    This even beats being the girl with the cow in your book ..

  2. You know how MUCH I love this story.
    Remember how much we would OBSESS over this song?
    God, everytime I hear it, it gets me.
    Just like Lady of Shalott.