Paul McCartney Angst/Hurt-Comfort Stories

Miss Daisy Hawkins

Alright, to celebrate the release day of Paul's new book, The Lyrics, I've written this story, which is based upon a personal essay he did called Writing Eleanor Rigby. I'm assuming that the information provided in that essay will be of the same nature of that which is in his new book, but I'm not certain. Either way, I hope you enjoy, and please do listen to the song provided above. It really sets the tone, especially the bit at a 1:25! By the way, this story isn't that angsty, but I did try to add Miss Hawkins worrying over Paul possibly becoming sick, just for the sake of this book being what it is, haha. Also, biscuit=cookie, so keep that in mind as you read. ;-)
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Liverpool—1956

A little lad with exceedingly large eyes stands upon the steps of a small home that would appear empty if you weren't aware of its occupant. The curtains are drawn, and there isn't any movement coming from within.

The young boy on the steps clutches a couple sacks of groceries in his thin arms, as he's been helping the elderly lady residing in the quiet house a bit for the Scouts' 'Bob-a-job-a-week'. He's gotten on with her quite well, and he's found, with a slight blush, that he's actually enjoyed her company.

He shuffles awkwardly towards the doorbell, trying his best not to drop the groceries. But, his troubles prove unnecessary when the door swings opened to reveal a hunched-over old woman, who sports snowy, white hair. She's bundled in a tatty shaw, and she wears little spectacles upon her wrinkled face. Her eyes gleam with an expression of utter joy at seeing the young lad before her.

"Paul," she warmly grins, which reveals not her teeth as expected, but rather her gums. "Come in, my good lad."

"Thank you, Miss Hawkins," the boy, or Paul, replies in a piping voice as he makes his way inside and lays the groceries on the woman's vestibule table.

The smell of freshly-baked biscuits wafts into Paul's nose, and his empty stomach can't help but let out a rumble.

Miss Hawkins laughs at that, and says, "I made you some biscuits, Paul. I knew you were coming, so I wanted to surprise you."

Touched by the woman's gesture, Paul feels his heart prick with a strange combination of affection and melancholy.

"Thank you, Missus," he smiles politely, his hazel eyes peering thoughtfully into Miss Hawkins' brown ones.

"You're more than welcome, my dear. You know I just love when you come visit me. You remind me so much of how my little boy used to be," she says as she motions for Paul to follow her into the kitchen.

"You have a little boy?" Paul inquires sweetly with a smile.

"Well, yes," Miss Hawkins replies in a tone that suggests sadness. "But he's all grown up now. I never really see him much."

"Oh, well surely he'd like to see his mum," says Paul incredulously. "I know I'd miss my mum if she went away."

Miss Hawkins sighes wistfully at that as she gives Paul a plate of biscuits and a cup of tea. "You're a good lad for loving your mum," she says fondly. "In fact, God Himself says to honor your mother and father, so it's very good that you do so."

Paul nods as he takes a bite out of the sugary biscuit. "That's quite good," he compliments her cooking, before his large eyes fall upon a little crystal radio set, which sits quaintly upon the kitchen counter. "Where did you get such a lovely radio, Missus?"

Feeling proud that Paul noticed one of her most prized possessions, Miss Hawkins grins broadly. "That was a gift from my husband, it was. He came home with it after he'd been overseas in the war. I still remember how happy his face was when I opened it. It was wrapped in a lovely pink paper, and he'd tied a beautiful white bow on top. I was so surprised by it that I nearly cried, I did. I'll never forget that day."