This story was written in 2007
The spring sun shone sparingly through the net curtain. The
old woman had briefly closed her eyes against the rays that had permeated
through the uncharacteristically dirty windows. The downpour that had been
ejected from the clouds in the previous evening had left a film of dirt that
had come down with the drops of rain.
With a slight shaking of the head, she pulled herself back
into the real world and sat upright in the red high-backed chair. Almost in one
movement, she bent over to ties up the laces on the sensible brown walking
shoes after widening the distance over the tongue so that her wide feet could
be encased in the premium leather uppers. When she was satisfied that they had
been fastened sufficiently, she raised herself from the chair, with the
stiffness of a spring that has not been used for some time. The arthritis was
an indicator of climatic change, a barometer of the unsettled weather that she
was observing.
She walked more steadily towards the door and picked up a
discarded coat. This she placed gingerly over her shoulders and buttoned up,
concealing her tweeds mid-length skirt and the knitted brown cardigan.
The front door was opened and she noted that, once again,
the postman had not brought her any mail. When you reach my age, she surmised,
not even the credit companies with their discounted loans are interested in you
and the firms that specialise in the older age group think that you have either
died or used up all your life savings.
She shivered, as there was a noticeable contrast between the
coldness that is felt in the early days of the year and the warmth that is
experienced behind the shield of the windowpanes. She checked her coat pockets
to make sure that she had her house keys before pulling the door firmly shut.
As she did so, she looked around the house. There were very few alterations
that had been made since she had inherited the cottage from her parents all
those years ago, even the same tone of dark green paint had been applied to the
woodwork. From the top of the chimneystack to the perennials in the garden, the
place was almost like a living museum, a testament to a time that was not all
that long ago in her mind. There was no doubt that the next inhabitants of the
house would make ‘improvements,’ a misnomer by and large used by people who
were embarrassed that other people had also lived there.
She made her way, firmly and steadily, down the garden path,
observing the new life that was making itself known. The vibrant winter
aconites, the cheerful snowdrops and the regal crocuses were some of the
messengers of the good news that winter was not the end. There were green
shoots of asters beginning to show shyly and the red youthful leaves of roses
that were signs of resurrection after the hibernation during the harshness of
winter.
The wrought iron gate had been carefully maintained and
opened smoothly as it had been oiled faithfully. The constant repainting had
denied the corrosive power of rust any leeway. The path leading up to it had
been rigorously looked after – moss had been treated and the autumnal leaves had
been swept away to be resurrected as useful leaf mould to be spread around the
property.
The woman looked both ways before she crossed the road for
she knew that her faculties were not as acute as they had been in her formative
years. When she was satisfied that there was no danger from any vehicle that
was driven by wheels, she made her way to the other pavement and on into the
nearby field.
The ground was hard, as the harsh effects of the frost had not ceded to the gentle spring rain that was
forecast on the morning radio programme. There was sparkling in the grass, like
diamonds waiting to be plucked from the surface of the earth. She
half-remembered from her Sunday School days that her teacher had read to them
that their days on this planet would be transitory, supported in her evidence
by a Bible verse that their lives would be brief like dew on the grass. She
shivered at the recollection, the morbid thought cutting across the enjoyment
of a newly created day.
She looked across the valley, with trees re-clothed in their
brilliant verdant garments. Memories came back to her of those times, not so
long ago in her mind, when she observed the men in the air in combat against
the enemy. She could still sense the anticipation of the chase when she cheered
her champions into battle. There was the rattle that scarcely be heard at
ground level when the fighters shot their piercing missiles at each other.
There was the sickening feeling as the British plane dived mortally wounded
towards the trees with a black tail of smoke following like some ugly Chinese
kite. However, there was also the cruel sense of justice being done if the
stricken plane happened to have been flown by the enemy, for there was the
morbid fascination with the collection of souvenirs from the fallen foe as the civilians
felt justified in collecting trophies of war.
It was from this field that she had seen the course of
history being changed forever. It was also from this place that her world had
been changed forever. It was here that Bert, the butcher’s son, had bravely
held her hand and sworn that he would love her for all of eternity and beyond.
She had laughed at his romantic, idealistic view of life but he had clearly
meant all of the words that came out of his mouth.
She remembered the last time that they spent together. He
was in his dark green uniform, ready to take on the people that had prevented
them being together as they should have been. They wanted to get married but
the vicar stated that all the wedding slots had already been taken and, in any
case, her mother had refused to give them permission as her daughter was under
age to be betrothed without her consent. There had been a large sense of
unfairness at the time, but perhaps it had been the best decision.
Bert and the young lady, as she was at the time, had stopped
at this very stile on their last walk together, and he had given her a
lingering kiss, the taste of it was still evident in her senses. As the wind
now gently brushed through her short grey hair, he ran his fingers through her long auburn tassels and down her face like a man going blind who wants to
retain all the remembrances before his vision is taken away from him.
There was his cheeky grin as he revealed two teeth missing,
the result of a courageous challenge on the football field. His short black
hair crowning the earnest face of a man
who was determined in all that he did. He would make a wonderful husband when
he came back from the war. It was a vision that had not been realised, a dream
that had become a nightmare as her hopes were shattered.
There was a wet sensation on her hand as she was aware that
she was wearing a somewhat idiotic grin as she remembered. She looked down to
see the face of a Golden Labrador, looking up in anticipation of a possible
playmate. There was going to be no way that the woman’s arthritic condition
would allow her to play vigorously with this creature who had recently been a
puppy. The shiny yellow coat was sprinkled with the wetness of the rain that
had descended that morning. The bright legs of the dog were bouncing with rapid
leaps with the eager anticipation that its new friend would join the games that
it wanted to play. The tongue of the Labrador hung outside of the mouth as the
dog panted in anticipation of future exercise. Its eyes were sparkling like a
pair of black diamonds with the brightness of youth, not dimmed by the cares
and burdens of old age. There was a desire on the part of the dog to enjoy life
and was grateful for having, seemingly, to have found a new companion to share
time with.
The woman looked down and smile with a slight upturn at the
corners of her mouth. It was good that she was distracted from remembering the
ghosts of the past and dwelling on the possibilities that had no chance of
occurring.
She bent down to take hold of the collar of the young dog,
where she had noticed something glistening from the sunlight.
She read carefully as she had left her reading spectacles in
the cottage, for she had not expected to come across such miniscule words
whilst she was out walking. The words on the dog tag, which were recently
engraved, proudly announced that animal still leaping to play belonged to the
new owners of the cottage recently purchased in the village.
The elderly woman grasped carefully and gently the blue
collar of the young dog before the two of them followed the footpath that lead
to the gate at the entrance to the field. The dog was still bounding, believing
that this action was part of the game. The road was crossed with carefulness as
she now had the responsibility of getting this dog home, as well as herself.
At the front door of the newly purchased home were a young
couple, wearing stonewashed denims. They looked ready for action on their
acquisition – putting in modern electric wiring, decorating, sorting out the
slightly overgrown garden – and yet there was an air of bewilderment. The look
of puzzlement was resolved when they saw the young dog being brought back to
where it belonged by the kind actions of the old lady who lived just down the
road.
They were relieved and stated that they did not know how to
thank her. This comment brought great relief to the old lady since, in her
mind, she did not know she would have felt receiving any gift of gratitude.
It was enough for her to know that the dog was returned to
the place where it belonged, with the assistance of the engraved piece of
metal.
As she meandered slowly up their garden path, having placed
the dog back in their safekeeping, she noticed plants that were beginning to
rouse to life after their long winter slumber. There had been vegetation that
had been removed when the couple moved in, but the front garden had remained
largely untouched either because they were too busy with other renovations or
because they did not want to remove its permanence too hastily.
The woman reached their garden gate, opened it unsteadily
and turned around to wave a final farewell, which was accompanied by a shy but
friendly smile. The couple one hand each, but both were more interested in the
return of their pet than in the one who had retrieved it from its wanderings.
Above her head, the sky had turned battleship grey. The
clouds, that had earlier appeared white and woolly, were now threatening to
soak her to the sin.
In a pace that she had not used for many months, she moved
hastily back down the road to her house. The gate was opened and closed by her
bony hands, the key fumbled for, and the front door was unlocked with great
relief that she had not felt the effects of any inclement weather.
She removed her coat and made her way to an old bureau in
the living room. The top drawer was pulled out and she removed a yellowed
envelope from it, which held her bitterest memories, remembrances of the day
that her hopes had disappeared.
The enveloped was tipped so that its contents were exposed
to the air. She recalled the awful morning when Bert’s mother walked up the
path to her parents’ house with the expression of horror written all over her
face. She had been informed by telegraph that her darling boy had been killed
whilst in action against the enemy. Her hair had summarily turned white with
the shock because her body could not cope with the news that the child that she
had given birth to had been returned to te earth so soon. The telegram she had
placed in the hands of Bert’s beloved for her to keep. The crumpled piece of
paper (now turning brown with the passing of the years) declared how the soul of her young man had been removed
from this world with his hopes unfulfilled and their dreams shattered.
Whilst recalling the dreadful events that were so long ago
and were forever recent in her mind, the woman felt salty dribbles falling from
her eyes and making a channel down her cheeks, tasting bitter when they reached
her lips.
Also in the envelope was a small piece of metal on a chain,
which was that they found of him after the explosion. It was embossed with the
briefest details of a man who had loved life and had loved her. The tag was no
longer glistening with the sun, but was tarnished with time. The woman cradled
it close to her chest. He might not have a place on and in the earth to have
called his home, but there would always be room in her heart for him.
As the tears rolled down her cheeks from behind her
spectacles with the pain of the memories and the agony of a life together being
snatched away, the rain lashed hard onto the windows with great ferocity.
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