Elvis Has Left the Village
When I heard that Elvis had died,
my first thought was not that I
had lent him five pounds in nineteen-
ninety-something, but that came
soon afterwards. I had never
got it back. I did not think him
willing to address the point.
In truth, I got off lightly,
but ours was only a nodding acquaintance,
in the pub or the post office
or at the bus stop
on high days and holidays,
him done up in full Vegas regalia.
"Right, Tony?" Not really a question, more
a sort of ritual naming. He,
of course, could never remember mine.
He showed me once - the occasion
of the five pound touching - the scrapbook
of his one trip to Memphis
and its holy suburbs: the pilgrim,
ruddy-faced, sideburned, grinning
as though certain of the day when he
would join the heavenly Jordanaires
at the right hand of the King.
David Callin
