Outside in the winter night, snow spattered, unseen, against the other side of the steamy glass, glass which reflected back images like mirrors against the dark beyond.
It was a fairly crowded Friday evening train, but not full, there were still a number of empty seats, one of which was next to 21-year-old Paul Hartley.
The carriage was occupied by a mixture of weary shoppers, shopping bags bursting at the seams and commuting workers content that the weeks work was done, all journeying homeward at the dark days end.
A cheerful crowd though, Paul thought, pleased with themselves for a variety of reasons, bright faced and hearty and full of seasonal cheer and anticipating the Christmas holiday and seemingly oblivious to the drafty carriage, and the winter weather beyond it.
Paul sat alone as the train rattled out of Nettlefield Station and felt lifted by the quiet jolliness as he contemplated the collective countenance of his self-satisfied travelling companions and then she appeared, and Paul was all at once lifted higher.
Because there she was, larger than life, vivacious and self-assured, covered with snowflakes and laughing to herself.
It was his snow angel, Linda Parsons, with snow covering her like sugar on a doughnut, a delicious confection he would have gladly consumed.
Linda was wrapped up against the cold in a red woolen hat and coat and a long-knitted scarf draped about her neck.
Still laughing, she shook her head and the light brown hair that hung beneath her hat, danced about her shoulders and the snowflakes settled on them melted away from her soft curls.
There was a rosy redness on her cheeks, almost matching the hue of her coat, either from the cold winter evening or a liberal taste of Christmas spirit, a little of both Paul assumed.
Linda made her way unsteadily down the train between the seats leaving wet snowflakes in her wake with her full-length coat swishing from side to side.
She moved almost gracelessly, which Paul thought suited her well, as she tottered a little in her high heeled boots, perhaps due to the lurching motion of the train or the Christmas punch and eggnog at the office party.
As Paul studied her she was still laughing softly to herself, which he thought also suited so well, and then she saw him, and her eyes lit up like beacons, and he sighed as he looked into those wonderful, sparking, laughing eyes as she stopped and stood momentarily open mouthed, and then her smile illuminated the carriage and his heart soared at the sight of her and as Paul returned her smile she flushed a little deeper red.
It had been almost a year since he had last seen her, and she was his lovely lost love, Linda, and it had been a hard year for him, in which he had locked all his feelings for her away, but the instant he saw her they were back with a vengeance.
It was like a door had opened in his heart and they all rushed out, he had missed her so much in that time, but he didn’t know just how much until that moment.
They were never lovers, only ever friends, but very special friends, very close friends, though nothing more.
They liked each other’s company, they would have lunch together, journey to and from work on the same bus, shared a cab when the need arose and laughed a lot together, shared confidences, and talked incessantly, because they were best friends but that was as far as it ever went, though he wanted more, he wanted so much more but Paul didn’t want to lose what they had together, so he said nothing.
He loved her so much that it hurt, but she was not free for him to love and Linda was not free to love him even if she had wanted to, so Paul contented himself with their special friendship and his unrequited love remained just that.
If that was all he could have then better that than nothing, so he was happy to love her unconditionally.
They had plenty of opportunities to see each other as they both lived in the same road in Millmoor, he with his cousin and she with her parents, and they both worked at St Augusta’s Hospital in Nettlefield, where Linda was a clerical assistant and Paul was a porter.
And that unrequited love affair could have gone on indefinitely had circumstances not changed for him when his father died.
As a result, he had to move away to look after his mother and he didn’t see Linda again, not until that moment.
When she was standing in front of him, his angel, larger than life, smiling, blushing, laughing and oh so lovely.
Paul stood up and smiled at her again and she threw herself at him and Linda hugged him so tightly and as she did so, he smelled her hair as he held onto her and was intoxicated by her scent and all the old feelings flooded back, over whelming him.
Paul had often dreamt of being reunited with her, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected such a reaction from her.
“Could it be my love is not unrequited?” he wondered
They sat down heavily on the lumpy seats in the rattling carriage and to all intents and purposes were completely alone.
They sat looking at each other in silence not wanting to lose sight of one another just in case the spell was broken.
Linda removed a glove and put her hand on his as if testing it was not a dream and he was really there, in substance.
“It really is you” she said and then she slipped her hand into his, her delicate fingers lacing between his, her hand so small in his grasp.
For the remainder of the journey they reveled in each other’s company as they caught up with the lost months, filling in the gaps of their time apart, and as they did so they remained oblivious to their traveling companions, it was as if they had never been apart.
But apart they most certainly had been, she still worked at the hospital in Nettlefield and lived at home in Millmoor while he now lived in Nettlefield and worked for Stephenson’s Supermarket’s as a Warehouse manager.
Linda playfully chastised him for disappearing so completely from her life.
“I thought it was the only way” he said, intimating the disposition of his feelings to her for the first time.
“I’ve missed you so much” she said and squeezed his hand and then the train shook to a halt as all too soon they had arrived at Millmoor Station and their fellow travelers all rushed off into the winter air heading towards their Christmases.
Reluctantly Paul and Linda left their seats and disembarked from the carriage arm in arm, then hand in hand as they walked slowly along the platform, still talking and laughing, until they handed over their tickets and then stepped out of the Station and onto the street, where the shops were now closing and the town had settled down to a relative quiet, although from one pub Noddy Holder screamed “it’s Christmas” to the outside world and only the pubs and restaurants seemed to hold any attraction to the remaining Millmoorian’s.
Paul and Linda however were not interested in noisy hostelries, so they joined a small group gathered round the Salvation Army band and joined in with the carol singing in the town square before reluctantly strolling towards the taxi rank as the snow again fell onto Linda’s soft curls.
They were both bound for different parts of town, Linda, had to get home to babysit her sister and Paul was bound for The Downshire Grey where he was meeting up for a Christmas drink with friends.
They took their place in the queue of travelers eager to be home, Paul was eager to be nowhere else but with Linda and he shuffled along for the last few steps like a sulky schoolboy.
Linda was smiling as she turned to face him and kissed him gently on the lips, such a warm sensitive and tender kiss, their first ever kiss, and when their lips parted she smiled at him coyly and flushed a deep shade of pink.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long” she said, and Paul kissed a snowflake off her nose and cupping her flushed cheek in his palm he slid his fingers beneath her soft brown curls and caressed the soft downy hair on her nape as he pulled her sweet lips to his and returned her kiss.
Linda’s arms enveloped him, holding him so close, and so tightly, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose what they had found and not wanting to lose him again.
They stood locked in their first passionate embrace as the snow fell softly on the scene until Linda pulled away for a moment before burying her face in his neck and saying softly.
“I’ve missed you so much, I’ve missed your love for me”
Paul had waited so long for that moment, waited so long to hear those words, to hear his love returned and then they kissed again.
Taxi’s arrived and departed through the slush and the queue around them just kept moving as if unaware of the depth of their love.
After an indeterminate period, they moved from the queue and found a bench in the town square, in a quiet spot with a view of the Christmas Tree and talked.
The substance of that talk was of love, a shared love, an unquenchable love.
Not an unrequited one as Paul had supposed because Linda had the same profound feelings for him, she had always done so she said, but she had not been free to pursue her love for Paul a year earlier and she was still not free.
So, Linda was torn between the two loves in her life, torn between the comfortable familiarities for a good man, a loyal and dependable man, for safety if you like, and the passion she felt for a soul mate.
Paul was similarly conflicted, Linda was the love of his life and he would never, could never love another in the same way, but it wasn’t fair on Daniel, her other love, her childhood sweetheart, he hadn’t done anything wrong.
Paul had been on the receiving end of that kind of pain and he found himself unable to inflict it onto another, even if he were a rival, so the conclusion to their converse as they cuddled on the quiet bench was that their love was a forbidden one, and had to be set aside.
They could be best friends no more, not now the genie was out of the bottle, though they both wanted more, so much more.
Paul could not content himself with the special friendship that they had once treasured, not now that he knew his love was not unrequited.
There was no going back, now Pandora’s Box had been opened, but at least now he knew she loved him with the same depth of feeling as he loved her.
After they had reached the conclusion of their frank exchange they slowly walked hand in hand back to the taxi rank and kissed again in the falling snow.
They joined the queue and all too soon it was her turn and after a final kiss she got into a taxi and through the winter wonderland Linda departed taking Paul’s love with her.
As the Taxi drove away with Linda in the back, with her palm pressed against the glass, she craned her neck to keep sight of him through the snow spattered window until the very last moment, until the cab had gone from his sight.
Linda was gone from his arms, gone from his view, gone from his life but a Christmas happening had changed his life forever, after a brief encounter, fleeting, here and then gone.
Her scent was still in his nostrils, the taste of joy on his lips, and his soulmate was gone forever, yet she remained forever in his memory, forever in his heart.
He resolved that he would never see her again and moved away in the New Year to avoid another chance encounter and make a life elsewhere, but Paul never forgot Linda.
And when on a winter’s night he heard the Salvation Army play, or when the snow falls during Christmas time, or when he felt a snowflake on his skin, he feels her small hand in his and all at once she is in his arms once again, and he can smell her soft brown hair and the taste of her is on his lips and he hears her say “I love you” and Linda is his forever.
Tuesday, 5 December 2017
Wednesday, 5 July 2017
Mornington-By-Mere – (87) Sleeping Arrangements
The Armstrong’s lived at West Side Farm on the other side of the village where there were a number of cottages and small houses on the Purplemere road and Dulcets Lane which formed the part of Mornington Village known as Manorside
While their kin, the Appleby’s and the Hancock’s had farms at the other end of the vale and they had all worked the land for many generations.
But they were very close knit families and every year they had a family holidays together similarly they often got together oh high days and holidays
So on Boxing Day of 2017 it was the turn of the Armstrong’s to host the Hancock’s and Appleby’s who journeyed to Mornington for a celebration meal.
All three had large families and when the children grew up and had girlfriends and boyfriends no one knew until everyone arrived exactly how many people they had to accommodate for food and sleeping births.
Given the distances involved and the fact that drink was normally taken in liberal quantities there was always a lot of people who stayed overnight which often caused a bit of a reshuffle on the accommodation front.
In the case of West Gate Farm it was further complicated by the fact that the lady of the house, Beth Armstrong, insisted that the unmarried couples sleep in separate rooms.
Mainly because she was a good Christian woman and didn’t want anything unsavory going on under her roof.
So the result of the segregation meant Peter Armstrong’s girlfriend Glenda had to share one of the spare rooms with his cousin Alana Hancock he was forced to endure their enforced separation on the lounge sofa as he had had to give up his own room for his aunt and uncle.
He found it difficult to drop off, partly because it wasn’t very comfortable but mainly because his head was rerunning the conversation he had an hour before with his girlfriend Glenda, in which she had told him she was breaking up with him.
But it wasn’t that so much that was troubling him because he had come to the conclusion that he didn’t actually mind.
After tossing and turning for about an hour and then just when his eyes were beginning to get heavy he suddenly had an acute need to pee so Peter tiptoed his way upstairs to the loo and relieved himself.
He was yawning as he stepped back onto the landing and was not really paying attention and so he bumped into Alana Hancock coming the other way.
There was an instance of recognition and then she pushed him back into the bathroom and planted a wet sensual kiss on his lips.
He had always had a soft spot for Alana but he thought she was out of his league, but that aside she was kissing him, however he immediately disengaged and said
“We can’t be doing that”
“Why not?” she asked
“My girlfriend is in the room you just came out of” he pointed out
“Not according to her” Alana said
“What?”
“Glenda told me she’d broken up with you” she said
“Oh yes” he said and kissed her
When they returned to their own beds Peter still couldn’t sleep but instead of his head being full of thoughts about his ex-girlfriend Glenda, it was now full to overflowing with images and thoughts about his new girlfriend Alana.
While their kin, the Appleby’s and the Hancock’s had farms at the other end of the vale and they had all worked the land for many generations.
But they were very close knit families and every year they had a family holidays together similarly they often got together oh high days and holidays
So on Boxing Day of 2017 it was the turn of the Armstrong’s to host the Hancock’s and Appleby’s who journeyed to Mornington for a celebration meal.
All three had large families and when the children grew up and had girlfriends and boyfriends no one knew until everyone arrived exactly how many people they had to accommodate for food and sleeping births.
Given the distances involved and the fact that drink was normally taken in liberal quantities there was always a lot of people who stayed overnight which often caused a bit of a reshuffle on the accommodation front.
In the case of West Gate Farm it was further complicated by the fact that the lady of the house, Beth Armstrong, insisted that the unmarried couples sleep in separate rooms.
Mainly because she was a good Christian woman and didn’t want anything unsavory going on under her roof.
So the result of the segregation meant Peter Armstrong’s girlfriend Glenda had to share one of the spare rooms with his cousin Alana Hancock he was forced to endure their enforced separation on the lounge sofa as he had had to give up his own room for his aunt and uncle.
He found it difficult to drop off, partly because it wasn’t very comfortable but mainly because his head was rerunning the conversation he had an hour before with his girlfriend Glenda, in which she had told him she was breaking up with him.
But it wasn’t that so much that was troubling him because he had come to the conclusion that he didn’t actually mind.
After tossing and turning for about an hour and then just when his eyes were beginning to get heavy he suddenly had an acute need to pee so Peter tiptoed his way upstairs to the loo and relieved himself.
He was yawning as he stepped back onto the landing and was not really paying attention and so he bumped into Alana Hancock coming the other way.
There was an instance of recognition and then she pushed him back into the bathroom and planted a wet sensual kiss on his lips.
He had always had a soft spot for Alana but he thought she was out of his league, but that aside she was kissing him, however he immediately disengaged and said
“We can’t be doing that”
“Why not?” she asked
“My girlfriend is in the room you just came out of” he pointed out
“Not according to her” Alana said
“What?”
“Glenda told me she’d broken up with you” she said
“Oh yes” he said and kissed her
When they returned to their own beds Peter still couldn’t sleep but instead of his head being full of thoughts about his ex-girlfriend Glenda, it was now full to overflowing with images and thoughts about his new girlfriend Alana.
Tuesday, 13 June 2017
Downshire Diary – (99) The Tomboy Chorister
Danny was going to a Christmas Concert at Abbottsford Cathedral which was well attended as usual and when he when inside he saw the wonder of a manger scene, it looked so very life like and real, and there was a good reason for that, because it was.
In fact it was a wonderful scene and captured the mood perfectly as “Ave Maria” played softly in the background.
Part of the wonder of the stable of Bethlehem were the live animals, who seemed perfectly at peace away from his Uncle Jacks farm
Then he saw his younger brother dressed as Joseph, and his sister as the Virgin Mary, not exactly type casting he thought to himself rather uncharitably.
There were also three of his cousins playing shepherds, two Uncles and a maiden Aunt representing the Magi and his father was the angel Gabriel.
In fact the only one of the tableaux that was not a living member of the family was the Christ child which was actually one of those robotic dolls that pregnant women, with more money than sense get to practice motherhood on, supplied by one such woman, Aunty Evelyn.
His mother would also have been in it but for the fact that she was the Vicar and was part of the clergy taking the service.
Whereas his contribution to proceedings was as soloist in the choir in which he was performing “o holy night”.
He waved to his many kith and kin as he walked towards the vestry and as he did so his mind was preoccupied with two things, the first was a wish, to give a faultless performance in front of such a large congregation and the second was his hope of getting Heather Jones under the mistletoe at the party afterwards.
In fact it was a wonderful scene and captured the mood perfectly as “Ave Maria” played softly in the background.
Part of the wonder of the stable of Bethlehem were the live animals, who seemed perfectly at peace away from his Uncle Jacks farm
Then he saw his younger brother dressed as Joseph, and his sister as the Virgin Mary, not exactly type casting he thought to himself rather uncharitably.
There were also three of his cousins playing shepherds, two Uncles and a maiden Aunt representing the Magi and his father was the angel Gabriel.
In fact the only one of the tableaux that was not a living member of the family was the Christ child which was actually one of those robotic dolls that pregnant women, with more money than sense get to practice motherhood on, supplied by one such woman, Aunty Evelyn.
His mother would also have been in it but for the fact that she was the Vicar and was part of the clergy taking the service.
Whereas his contribution to proceedings was as soloist in the choir in which he was performing “o holy night”.
He waved to his many kith and kin as he walked towards the vestry and as he did so his mind was preoccupied with two things, the first was a wish, to give a faultless performance in front of such a large congregation and the second was his hope of getting Heather Jones under the mistletoe at the party afterwards.
Tales from the Finchbottom Vale – (99) Christmas in Sharpington – Jenny’s Tale
(Part 01)
The traditional seaside resort of Sharpington-by-Sea with its Victorian Pier, seafront hotels, crazy golf, The Palladium ballroom, well maintained gardens, promenade, theatre and illuminations, has all the usual things to have a great time by the seaside, as well as amusement arcades and of course the Sharpington Fun Park and 55 year old triplets, Alex, James and Jenny Wardle live together in the huge house they grew up in, in the grand neighbourhood of Granite Hill, which in a nod to San Francisco, the locals had nicknamed Nob Hill.
“So it’s Christmas time again” Alex said as he looked out the window.
“As if anyone could fail to notice” James added as he and Jenny joined him at the drawing room window.
Even without leaving the house they could see more than half a dozen houses decorated to the hilt.
Every coloured light imaginable, Santa's on the roof or climbing a ladder, sleighs, elves, snowmen, bells, stars, baubles and last but by no means least standing almost four feet high that perennial favourite Winnie the Pooh.
Alex was taken aback, what the hell did Pooh have to do with Christmas? And later as he and his siblings walked down to the seafront he noticed that every other house seemed to have one, there was even one on the pier so he guessed there must be something in it.
He didn't recall mention of him in the bible and in all of the many nativity plays he had seen over the years Winnie the Pooh was conspicuous by his absence and although there is a donkey in the story it wasn’t Eeyore.
The stable did not house Piglet and the wise men did not travel from the east with Tigger bearing gifts of Huney.
Nor in any of the Christmas traditions around the world is there a single reference to Pooh as one of Santa's helpers, there was Black Peter, and the Jolly Elf, there was even the devil figure Krampus, but no Pooh, but it appeared to him, that the people of Sharpington were giving him pride of place on their lawns that Christmas.
As they turned left onto the promenade the early winter sun broke through the mackerel skies exposing patches of the bluest sky and if he had had any remaining doubts that Christmas was coming to Sharpington they were soon dispelled as the promenade was decked in its Christmas garb.
Inflatable Santa’s climb the walls of the Fun Park and the pier was draped in LED icicles.
Then when they passed the Seaview Hotel they saw what looked like a cheery red-suited burglar hanging from one of the balconies and they all laughed before they went their separate ways.
Jenny had never married and had spent all her adult life in the halls of academe at the University of Downshire teaching medieval history, but when she turned 55 the academic fire went out in her so she retired.
She also decided it was time for her to try different things, things she had never done before or indeed had never had any regret at not having done it, so it wasn’t a bucket list.
Nor was it really a list, she didn’t write down what she might try and then tick it off afterwards, it was more a case of stumbling across something she had never done before and diving right in.
The new experience that week was ice skating, which she had never done, nor roller skating for that matter, she had a terrible sense of balance so the thought never entered her head at any time in her life that she should give it ago until she moved back to Sharpington.
(Part 02)
The new experience that week for Jenny was ice skating, which she had never done, nor roller skating for that matter, she had a terrible sense of balance so the thought never entered her head at any time in her life that she should give it ago until she moved back to Sharpington.
In the 18th and early 19th Century the pond up in Jubilee Park regularly froze in winter and the well healed of the town would don their skates and take to the ice, but it rarely froze after that, the hard winter of 1962 was the last occasion.
During the industrial revolution the enterprising folk of commerce used ice from the fish processing factory to make an artificial rink and charged people to skate on it but that ceased when the fish factory closed.
But in the 21st century the technology existed to produce and maintain an artificial outdoor rink at a relatively low cost, so Sharpington had one on the promenade by the pier every December and it proved very popular.
And that was where Jenny was headed after she separated from her brothers.
On that bright sunny morning the flashing skates of hundreds of brightly clad figures made zigzag patterns on the frozen blueish white surface of the ice.
She actually felt quite excited as she approached but as she got nearer and it appeared that all the other skaters on the ice were clearly not novices she started to have doubts.
But then she caught sight of a tall angular man of similar maturity to herself who was struggling with grace, style and gravity and she felt heartened so she went and hired some skates.
Once she had donned her skates she made her first tentative steps on the ice and her courage began to desert her again so she stuck close to the rail and inched her way forward.
Before she got going she looked across the ice and admired the skill and confidence of the other skaters but when she joined them she had to focus all her attention on what she was doing, which was why she didn’t see the tall angular man until he bowled noisily past her and ended up in a crumpled heap on the ice in front of her.
“My goodness, you’re worse than me” she said laughingly “and I’m rubbish”
“Then you are a good judge” he said and laughed
“Let me help you up” she suggested after getting a firm grip of the rail, and after few comic near misses, that almost had them both on the ice, they managed to get him upright again where he too grasped the comforting rail.
“Thank you” he said “I’m Paul”
“Jenny” she responded
“Is this your first time?”
“The first time for many years” he replied “What about you?”
“No this is my first time ever” she retorted and laughed
“Then you’re doing extremely well” he said and then he nearly fell again.
“How about we do it together” she suggested and offered her arm and they moved off rather ungracefully together.
As they circumnavigated the rink they chatted almost oblivious to their surroundings and they found they had a shared love of history.
(Part 03)
Paul Morfett was not a native of the town but had lived in Sharpington for ten years since the death of his wife, they had lived in Abbottsford all their lives up until her passing, and after it everything in the place was a hurtful memory of her so he moved somewhere neither of them had been and so held no such memories.
As he was a writer by profession his location did not hamper his career and it had actually aided it, and he had written an additional four novels in his “Cross of Kings” series while he was there.
His historic books used material from a number of text books which gave his stories an authentic feel and he considered the academic authors as allies and although he didn’t know it at the moment she helped him to his feet she had been an ally in his writing because he had referenced the books of Professor J W Wardle on many occasions but by the time they stepped off the ice he hadn’t made the connection that his Professor and his companion were one and the same person.
They curtailed their ice skating duet about half an hour after the clouds began to gather and when they finally relented it was only because the expected rain arrived.
But by the time they had reclaimed their footwear the rain had turned to snow and the snow fell thick and fast as smoke from the red-hot coals of the barbeque filled the air with mouthwatering smells as fat dripped onto the charcoal.
“That smells good” she said
“Are you hungry?” he asked
“Starving” Jenny replied
“Well allow me to treat you to lunch” he offered “do you like Italian? I know a great restaurant called the L'uccello canto?”
“That’s my favourite” she said “So yes I’d love to”
As they walked briskly to the restaurant through the snow they passed Doily’s bookshop when Jenny stopped in her tracks.
Because in the shop window was a pile of books in front of a cardboard cutout of her lunch date.
“You’re Paul Morfett” she said “I know you told me you were a writer but you didn’t tell me you were a good one”
“Well I do ok” he said “have you read me?”
“Occasionally, I like that you do your research” she replied
“I like to get it right” he said
“Come on” she said and pushed open the door “I want to show you something”
They went to the back of the shop to the reference section and after perusing the history shelf she withdrew a tome and handed it to him, with the back cover on display.
“Do you recognize anyone?” she asked referring to the author’s photo
“I can’t believe that I’ve actually spent the afternoon with my favourite history academic and it turns out she’s not a crusty old professor” he said with the candle light dancing in his dark gipsy eyes as they peered at her from behind the flame.
“Well I’m releived to know that you don’t think I’m crusty” she said
They spent all afternoon in the restaurant as the snow continued falling outside and along with their favourite Italian food, a liberal amount of wine and a number of liqueurs were consumed and when they left they were merrier than the season.
They stepped outside and their shoes crunched on the snow covered pathways and they braced themselves against the cold and tried to draw themselves deeper into their coats as a promenade tram went by with its windows steamed up.
“Where to now?” she asked when they reached the corner
“I think I should get you home” he said
“But I don’t want to go home” Jenny retorted
“Well my apartment is just along the promenade” he suggested
“Will there be wine?” she asked
“There can be” he replied
“What about kissing? Will there be any kissing at your apartment?” she asked brazenly
“There could be kissing now” he pointed out
“Yes there could” she agreed and they passionately kissed as the snowflakes fell around them.
The traditional seaside resort of Sharpington-by-Sea with its Victorian Pier, seafront hotels, crazy golf, The Palladium ballroom, well maintained gardens, promenade, theatre and illuminations, has all the usual things to have a great time by the seaside, as well as amusement arcades and of course the Sharpington Fun Park and 55 year old triplets, Alex, James and Jenny Wardle live together in the huge house they grew up in, in the grand neighbourhood of Granite Hill, which in a nod to San Francisco, the locals had nicknamed Nob Hill.
“So it’s Christmas time again” Alex said as he looked out the window.
“As if anyone could fail to notice” James added as he and Jenny joined him at the drawing room window.
Even without leaving the house they could see more than half a dozen houses decorated to the hilt.
Every coloured light imaginable, Santa's on the roof or climbing a ladder, sleighs, elves, snowmen, bells, stars, baubles and last but by no means least standing almost four feet high that perennial favourite Winnie the Pooh.
Alex was taken aback, what the hell did Pooh have to do with Christmas? And later as he and his siblings walked down to the seafront he noticed that every other house seemed to have one, there was even one on the pier so he guessed there must be something in it.
He didn't recall mention of him in the bible and in all of the many nativity plays he had seen over the years Winnie the Pooh was conspicuous by his absence and although there is a donkey in the story it wasn’t Eeyore.
The stable did not house Piglet and the wise men did not travel from the east with Tigger bearing gifts of Huney.
Nor in any of the Christmas traditions around the world is there a single reference to Pooh as one of Santa's helpers, there was Black Peter, and the Jolly Elf, there was even the devil figure Krampus, but no Pooh, but it appeared to him, that the people of Sharpington were giving him pride of place on their lawns that Christmas.
As they turned left onto the promenade the early winter sun broke through the mackerel skies exposing patches of the bluest sky and if he had had any remaining doubts that Christmas was coming to Sharpington they were soon dispelled as the promenade was decked in its Christmas garb.
Inflatable Santa’s climb the walls of the Fun Park and the pier was draped in LED icicles.
Then when they passed the Seaview Hotel they saw what looked like a cheery red-suited burglar hanging from one of the balconies and they all laughed before they went their separate ways.
Jenny had never married and had spent all her adult life in the halls of academe at the University of Downshire teaching medieval history, but when she turned 55 the academic fire went out in her so she retired.
She also decided it was time for her to try different things, things she had never done before or indeed had never had any regret at not having done it, so it wasn’t a bucket list.
Nor was it really a list, she didn’t write down what she might try and then tick it off afterwards, it was more a case of stumbling across something she had never done before and diving right in.
The new experience that week was ice skating, which she had never done, nor roller skating for that matter, she had a terrible sense of balance so the thought never entered her head at any time in her life that she should give it ago until she moved back to Sharpington.
(Part 02)
The new experience that week for Jenny was ice skating, which she had never done, nor roller skating for that matter, she had a terrible sense of balance so the thought never entered her head at any time in her life that she should give it ago until she moved back to Sharpington.
In the 18th and early 19th Century the pond up in Jubilee Park regularly froze in winter and the well healed of the town would don their skates and take to the ice, but it rarely froze after that, the hard winter of 1962 was the last occasion.
During the industrial revolution the enterprising folk of commerce used ice from the fish processing factory to make an artificial rink and charged people to skate on it but that ceased when the fish factory closed.
But in the 21st century the technology existed to produce and maintain an artificial outdoor rink at a relatively low cost, so Sharpington had one on the promenade by the pier every December and it proved very popular.
And that was where Jenny was headed after she separated from her brothers.
On that bright sunny morning the flashing skates of hundreds of brightly clad figures made zigzag patterns on the frozen blueish white surface of the ice.
She actually felt quite excited as she approached but as she got nearer and it appeared that all the other skaters on the ice were clearly not novices she started to have doubts.
But then she caught sight of a tall angular man of similar maturity to herself who was struggling with grace, style and gravity and she felt heartened so she went and hired some skates.
Once she had donned her skates she made her first tentative steps on the ice and her courage began to desert her again so she stuck close to the rail and inched her way forward.
Before she got going she looked across the ice and admired the skill and confidence of the other skaters but when she joined them she had to focus all her attention on what she was doing, which was why she didn’t see the tall angular man until he bowled noisily past her and ended up in a crumpled heap on the ice in front of her.
“My goodness, you’re worse than me” she said laughingly “and I’m rubbish”
“Then you are a good judge” he said and laughed
“Let me help you up” she suggested after getting a firm grip of the rail, and after few comic near misses, that almost had them both on the ice, they managed to get him upright again where he too grasped the comforting rail.
“Thank you” he said “I’m Paul”
“Jenny” she responded
“Is this your first time?”
“The first time for many years” he replied “What about you?”
“No this is my first time ever” she retorted and laughed
“Then you’re doing extremely well” he said and then he nearly fell again.
“How about we do it together” she suggested and offered her arm and they moved off rather ungracefully together.
As they circumnavigated the rink they chatted almost oblivious to their surroundings and they found they had a shared love of history.
(Part 03)
Paul Morfett was not a native of the town but had lived in Sharpington for ten years since the death of his wife, they had lived in Abbottsford all their lives up until her passing, and after it everything in the place was a hurtful memory of her so he moved somewhere neither of them had been and so held no such memories.
As he was a writer by profession his location did not hamper his career and it had actually aided it, and he had written an additional four novels in his “Cross of Kings” series while he was there.
His historic books used material from a number of text books which gave his stories an authentic feel and he considered the academic authors as allies and although he didn’t know it at the moment she helped him to his feet she had been an ally in his writing because he had referenced the books of Professor J W Wardle on many occasions but by the time they stepped off the ice he hadn’t made the connection that his Professor and his companion were one and the same person.
They curtailed their ice skating duet about half an hour after the clouds began to gather and when they finally relented it was only because the expected rain arrived.
But by the time they had reclaimed their footwear the rain had turned to snow and the snow fell thick and fast as smoke from the red-hot coals of the barbeque filled the air with mouthwatering smells as fat dripped onto the charcoal.
“That smells good” she said
“Are you hungry?” he asked
“Starving” Jenny replied
“Well allow me to treat you to lunch” he offered “do you like Italian? I know a great restaurant called the L'uccello canto?”
“That’s my favourite” she said “So yes I’d love to”
As they walked briskly to the restaurant through the snow they passed Doily’s bookshop when Jenny stopped in her tracks.
Because in the shop window was a pile of books in front of a cardboard cutout of her lunch date.
“You’re Paul Morfett” she said “I know you told me you were a writer but you didn’t tell me you were a good one”
“Well I do ok” he said “have you read me?”
“Occasionally, I like that you do your research” she replied
“I like to get it right” he said
“Come on” she said and pushed open the door “I want to show you something”
They went to the back of the shop to the reference section and after perusing the history shelf she withdrew a tome and handed it to him, with the back cover on display.
“Do you recognize anyone?” she asked referring to the author’s photo
“I can’t believe that I’ve actually spent the afternoon with my favourite history academic and it turns out she’s not a crusty old professor” he said with the candle light dancing in his dark gipsy eyes as they peered at her from behind the flame.
“Well I’m releived to know that you don’t think I’m crusty” she said
They spent all afternoon in the restaurant as the snow continued falling outside and along with their favourite Italian food, a liberal amount of wine and a number of liqueurs were consumed and when they left they were merrier than the season.
They stepped outside and their shoes crunched on the snow covered pathways and they braced themselves against the cold and tried to draw themselves deeper into their coats as a promenade tram went by with its windows steamed up.
“Where to now?” she asked when they reached the corner
“I think I should get you home” he said
“But I don’t want to go home” Jenny retorted
“Well my apartment is just along the promenade” he suggested
“Will there be wine?” she asked
“There can be” he replied
“What about kissing? Will there be any kissing at your apartment?” she asked brazenly
“There could be kissing now” he pointed out
“Yes there could” she agreed and they passionately kissed as the snowflakes fell around them.
Those Memories Made on Teardrop Lake – (99) Clandestine Christmas
Daryl Bodle had a mission to fulfill but it was a clandestine affair that could only be undertaken in the early hours of the morning.
This in itself was not an issue for him as he was a nurse so he was used to late night activity.
He arrived home from work just after 9 o’clock, showered and changed and then ate supper of cheese and biscuits following which he fell asleep during Match of the Day.
The alarm on his phone woke him up at 2.45am, so he stretched and got up from his chair, went for a pee and set off.
His destination was the Funny Bones comedy club in Childean and his target was Sarah Hanratty, who was also a night owl as she was the owner and manager.
Sarah was a very stern looking young woman with short brown hair with gold framed spectacle’s which she liked to peer over the top of and because she rarely smiled she was considered to be a joyless person, and as her habit was to dress in black she was known as the
“The Wicked Witch of the West”.
Some people considered it a little ironic that a sour faced old spinster should own and manage a comedy club.
But it was only the people who didn’t really know her who called her derogatory names and thought her sour faced and joyless.
He drove into the car park and walked round the back of the building to Ms. Hanratty’s office and he looked through the barred window and saw her sitting at her desk with her back to the glass.
She was counting the night’s takings and he smiled to himself as he thought how much she looked like Scrooge in his counting house.
It would have been a good night, being Saturday night and Christmas Eve.
On previous visits he had let himself in the staff entrance however since they had a break in at Halloween they had tightened up on security and now employed a biometric system requiring the staff member’s thumbprint so on that occasion as he was expected he just tapped on her barred office window.
Despite the fact that his visit was not a surprise he nonetheless startled her because she almost jumped out of her chair, which she then swung around so she could check out the source of the tapping.
When she saw it was him her stern face relaxed into a smile and she began to fuss with her hair.
Daryl pointed in the direction of the staff entrance and she nodded her understanding.
As he stood outside the door he looked through the small glass panel as Sarah appeared in the corridor and she clearly wasn’t aware he could see her, because she began straightening her clothes and when she was about ten yards from the door she hitched up her skirt and adjusted her stocking tops.
He stepped away from the door as she opened it and once inside he said
“Happy Christmas Miss Hanratty, how are you?”
“All the better now that you’re here” she said and stood on tiptoe to kiss him
“Are you done?” he asked
“I am, I just need to put the cash in the safe” she replied “and then we can go home”
“I like the sound of that” he said and kissed her
Ten minutes later after locking the takings in the safe and setting the alarm they drove to Shallowfield and spent their first Christmas together.
This in itself was not an issue for him as he was a nurse so he was used to late night activity.
He arrived home from work just after 9 o’clock, showered and changed and then ate supper of cheese and biscuits following which he fell asleep during Match of the Day.
The alarm on his phone woke him up at 2.45am, so he stretched and got up from his chair, went for a pee and set off.
His destination was the Funny Bones comedy club in Childean and his target was Sarah Hanratty, who was also a night owl as she was the owner and manager.
Sarah was a very stern looking young woman with short brown hair with gold framed spectacle’s which she liked to peer over the top of and because she rarely smiled she was considered to be a joyless person, and as her habit was to dress in black she was known as the
“The Wicked Witch of the West”.
Some people considered it a little ironic that a sour faced old spinster should own and manage a comedy club.
But it was only the people who didn’t really know her who called her derogatory names and thought her sour faced and joyless.
He drove into the car park and walked round the back of the building to Ms. Hanratty’s office and he looked through the barred window and saw her sitting at her desk with her back to the glass.
She was counting the night’s takings and he smiled to himself as he thought how much she looked like Scrooge in his counting house.
It would have been a good night, being Saturday night and Christmas Eve.
On previous visits he had let himself in the staff entrance however since they had a break in at Halloween they had tightened up on security and now employed a biometric system requiring the staff member’s thumbprint so on that occasion as he was expected he just tapped on her barred office window.
Despite the fact that his visit was not a surprise he nonetheless startled her because she almost jumped out of her chair, which she then swung around so she could check out the source of the tapping.
When she saw it was him her stern face relaxed into a smile and she began to fuss with her hair.
Daryl pointed in the direction of the staff entrance and she nodded her understanding.
As he stood outside the door he looked through the small glass panel as Sarah appeared in the corridor and she clearly wasn’t aware he could see her, because she began straightening her clothes and when she was about ten yards from the door she hitched up her skirt and adjusted her stocking tops.
He stepped away from the door as she opened it and once inside he said
“Happy Christmas Miss Hanratty, how are you?”
“All the better now that you’re here” she said and stood on tiptoe to kiss him
“Are you done?” he asked
“I am, I just need to put the cash in the safe” she replied “and then we can go home”
“I like the sound of that” he said and kissed her
Ten minutes later after locking the takings in the safe and setting the alarm they drove to Shallowfield and spent their first Christmas together.
Monday, 12 June 2017
Downshire Diary – (98) Snowstorm in Springwater
(Part 01)
Downshire is a relatively small English county but like a pocket battleship it packs a lot in, a short but beautiful coastline, a channel port, the Ancient forests of Dancingdean and Pepperstock, the craggy ridges and manmade lakes of the Pepperstock Hills National Park, the rolling hills of the Downshire Downs, the beautiful Finchbottom Vale and farm land as far as the eye can see from the Trotwood’s and the Grace’s in the south to the home of the Downshire Light infantry, Nettlefield, and their affluent neighbour’s, Roespring and Tipton in the north but our story begins further south at the most southerly fringe of the Pepperstock Hills National Park.
The Park stretched from the bare, and often barren crags of Oxley Ridge in the North to the dense wooded southern slopes on the fringe of the Finchbottom Vale and from Quarry Hill, and the Pits in the West to Pepperstock Bay in the East.
It is an area of stark contrasts and attracted a variety of visitors.
The quarry hill side of the park to the west, as the name suggests, was heavily Quarried over several hundred years, though more extensively during the industrial revolution, the Quarries had been un-worked for over fifty years and nature had reclaimed them and former pits had become lakes and were very popular with anglers and the sparse shrubbery and woodland made it popular spot with courting couples whereas the northern crags and fells were popular with climbers and more hardy folk.
To the south and east was an extensive tract of magnificent mixed forestry and was rivalled only by the ancient woodland of the Dancingdean Forest.
Cheryl Vermeulen lived in the village of Springwater in the home she had once shared with her ex-husband Bijs and at the age of 29 she was facing her first Christmas on her own for 8 years and she wasn’t looking forward to it.
She wasn’t lonely per se, she had friends aplenty, and she even had a romantic interest or at least she had someone she was interested in romantically she just needed to close the deal, which was proving to be more difficult than she had hoped.
Cheryl woke early in the depths of winters to find it was snowing lightly but it was 4am, so she went to the bathroom and then went back to bed.
She awoke for the second time at six o’clock but after looking at the clock she went back to sleep again.
The next time she woke to the sound of machinery, a repetitive whining sound, and when she realized it was not part of her dream, she jumped from her bed and rushed to the window.
Across the cul-de-sac and through the naked black branches of the trees, she could see one of her neighbour's driveways and his son's car stuck in the snow.
Then she glanced to the bedside table and the clock radio which screamed in her face its “eight o'clock!!!”
“You’re kidding me” she snapped “Where did the time go?”
Well, what happened was she kept going back to sleep and at some point she had even switched the alarm off and then made the fatal error of wanting to stay cosy for a few more minutes, but those few more minutes turned into an hour.
As a result she was in a panic, so she threw on anything that would keep her warm and ran wild-eyed down the stairs.
Her first stop was to the coat cupboard where she searched out her wellington boot's, then she turned them upside down and banged them against each other to wake up any sleeping insects and encourage them to vacate the premises, as their cosy abode was about to be invaded by wool clad size three feet.
Once she had her boots on, her coat was next followed by a hat and scarf and finally she put on her thickest gloves.
It took her several attempts to open the door with her thick gloves on and she had to take one off to open the garage door and it seemed that everything was conspiring to frustrate her just when she was in such a hurry.
She wriggled her way to the back of the garage in search of the snow shovel, she knew they had one, her ex-husband Bijs had bought one when they first moved to the village but they had never used it, he drove a 4x4 and he drove her to work when there was snow on the ground, and it never lay for long anyway so there was never any need for it.
Once she had the shovel she wriggled back to the door again this time with the shovel above her head.
Shovel in hand she stood on the threshold and looked down the drive at the task ahead.
The small granular flakes were falling fast, and the wind was blowing it in drifts across her drive.
After a few moments she looked beyond her drive and wondered why she was the only one outside when the men of the neighbourhood were normally out flexing their muscles but then she remembered, it was still only 8.15 on Sunday morning, and they were not expected at the church by 9:30 for a preservice choir practise ahead of a full program of church events on the third Sunday of advent.
(Part 02)
As she looked from the garage door out to the street, along the 40 foot length drive covered by a foot of virgin snow, Cheryl sighed and asked herself
“Where on earth do I begin?”
In the end she went straight to the middle and began to shovel a narrow path to the street and she initially moved along at a fairly steady pace, but when she had reached the road she stopped and looked at her watch and felt deflated.
She realised she had a choice to make she could either shovel like a mad woman and go to church unkempt and un-showered and dressed like a bag lady or she could make a phone call.
Cheryl went back to the house and picked up her phone and dialled a number
“Hello?” a voice said
“Hello Kay, sorry for calling so early, is Owen there? I can’t get the car out” Cheryl said “I’m never going to make it to church on time”
Owen and Kay were in the choir as well and also lived in Springwater and before she could continue Kay interrupted her and said
“Don't worry Cheryl we’ll pick you up on the way”
“Oh bless you Kay” she said “I’ll be ready”
Owen and Kay came along right on cue and Cheryl made her way through the snow to the car.
It was still snowing as they approached St Bartholomew’s Church when Owen said
“I hope the rest of the choir can make it”
“I just hope there will be someone there to listen” Kay added
“Even if it’s just the three of us and no congregation we can still sing for God” Cheryl said
“Yes we can” they agreed
Only three choir members failed to make the rehearsal but they all arrived in time for the performances and despite the weather there were plenty of congregants there to listen.
Once they finished the rehearsal Cheryl used the time before the first service to enjoy a cup of coffee at the church Café, Bart’s, where she spent 20 minutes laughing and chatting with fellow choristers, and among them was Dave Torrison, who was on her romantic radar.
The church was full by 10.30 and the choir was well warmed up for their rendition of “Carol of the Bells” and Cheryl was in particularly good voice and nailed all of solos.
The second service was equally well received judging by the emotion filled faces of those who had just been blessed by the music.
After the service was complete, they shared the peace and the congregation had dispersed, some of the choristers went for a late lunch.
One of them was Dave Torrison and after Owen and Kay related the tale about her not being able to get her car out of the garage Dave said
“Well I don’t mind coming round to help”
“Really?” she asked
“Absolutely” Dave said
“Well in that case I’ll make us dinner” Cheryl said
“Great” he said “But I’ll need to go home first and change”
Owen and Kay dropped her off in front of her house.
“Have fun” Kay said and winked
As she walked up the little path she’d cleared earlier that morning it already had two inches of fresh snow on it and she looked across at her neighbour’s drives in the failing light and could see that all the men had been out and cleared their driveways and were safely tucked up warm inside.
Cheryl’s first act was to rush inside and change into something that would make the best of what she had and then when she was perfumed and made up she put on her snow shovelling gear on top of her outfit and waited for him.
When he arrived, Dave thought she looked rather cute in her wellies, puffer jacket, woolly hat, scarf and gloves, but as the snow shovel stood two foot taller than she did, he suggested she leave the drive to him.
Cheryl didn’t argue because it meant she could make a start on dinner and perfect her appearance.
“I hope this is ok” she said as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She needn’t have worried, after all he thought she was cute in a puffer jacket and wellies he would be putty in her hands when he saw her in a figure hugging wool dress.
Suffice is to say she did make an impression and they both had a great Christmas.
Downshire is a relatively small English county but like a pocket battleship it packs a lot in, a short but beautiful coastline, a channel port, the Ancient forests of Dancingdean and Pepperstock, the craggy ridges and manmade lakes of the Pepperstock Hills National Park, the rolling hills of the Downshire Downs, the beautiful Finchbottom Vale and farm land as far as the eye can see from the Trotwood’s and the Grace’s in the south to the home of the Downshire Light infantry, Nettlefield, and their affluent neighbour’s, Roespring and Tipton in the north but our story begins further south at the most southerly fringe of the Pepperstock Hills National Park.
The Park stretched from the bare, and often barren crags of Oxley Ridge in the North to the dense wooded southern slopes on the fringe of the Finchbottom Vale and from Quarry Hill, and the Pits in the West to Pepperstock Bay in the East.
It is an area of stark contrasts and attracted a variety of visitors.
The quarry hill side of the park to the west, as the name suggests, was heavily Quarried over several hundred years, though more extensively during the industrial revolution, the Quarries had been un-worked for over fifty years and nature had reclaimed them and former pits had become lakes and were very popular with anglers and the sparse shrubbery and woodland made it popular spot with courting couples whereas the northern crags and fells were popular with climbers and more hardy folk.
To the south and east was an extensive tract of magnificent mixed forestry and was rivalled only by the ancient woodland of the Dancingdean Forest.
Cheryl Vermeulen lived in the village of Springwater in the home she had once shared with her ex-husband Bijs and at the age of 29 she was facing her first Christmas on her own for 8 years and she wasn’t looking forward to it.
She wasn’t lonely per se, she had friends aplenty, and she even had a romantic interest or at least she had someone she was interested in romantically she just needed to close the deal, which was proving to be more difficult than she had hoped.
Cheryl woke early in the depths of winters to find it was snowing lightly but it was 4am, so she went to the bathroom and then went back to bed.
She awoke for the second time at six o’clock but after looking at the clock she went back to sleep again.
The next time she woke to the sound of machinery, a repetitive whining sound, and when she realized it was not part of her dream, she jumped from her bed and rushed to the window.
Across the cul-de-sac and through the naked black branches of the trees, she could see one of her neighbour's driveways and his son's car stuck in the snow.
Then she glanced to the bedside table and the clock radio which screamed in her face its “eight o'clock!!!”
“You’re kidding me” she snapped “Where did the time go?”
Well, what happened was she kept going back to sleep and at some point she had even switched the alarm off and then made the fatal error of wanting to stay cosy for a few more minutes, but those few more minutes turned into an hour.
As a result she was in a panic, so she threw on anything that would keep her warm and ran wild-eyed down the stairs.
Her first stop was to the coat cupboard where she searched out her wellington boot's, then she turned them upside down and banged them against each other to wake up any sleeping insects and encourage them to vacate the premises, as their cosy abode was about to be invaded by wool clad size three feet.
Once she had her boots on, her coat was next followed by a hat and scarf and finally she put on her thickest gloves.
It took her several attempts to open the door with her thick gloves on and she had to take one off to open the garage door and it seemed that everything was conspiring to frustrate her just when she was in such a hurry.
She wriggled her way to the back of the garage in search of the snow shovel, she knew they had one, her ex-husband Bijs had bought one when they first moved to the village but they had never used it, he drove a 4x4 and he drove her to work when there was snow on the ground, and it never lay for long anyway so there was never any need for it.
Once she had the shovel she wriggled back to the door again this time with the shovel above her head.
Shovel in hand she stood on the threshold and looked down the drive at the task ahead.
The small granular flakes were falling fast, and the wind was blowing it in drifts across her drive.
After a few moments she looked beyond her drive and wondered why she was the only one outside when the men of the neighbourhood were normally out flexing their muscles but then she remembered, it was still only 8.15 on Sunday morning, and they were not expected at the church by 9:30 for a preservice choir practise ahead of a full program of church events on the third Sunday of advent.
(Part 02)
As she looked from the garage door out to the street, along the 40 foot length drive covered by a foot of virgin snow, Cheryl sighed and asked herself
“Where on earth do I begin?”
In the end she went straight to the middle and began to shovel a narrow path to the street and she initially moved along at a fairly steady pace, but when she had reached the road she stopped and looked at her watch and felt deflated.
She realised she had a choice to make she could either shovel like a mad woman and go to church unkempt and un-showered and dressed like a bag lady or she could make a phone call.
Cheryl went back to the house and picked up her phone and dialled a number
“Hello?” a voice said
“Hello Kay, sorry for calling so early, is Owen there? I can’t get the car out” Cheryl said “I’m never going to make it to church on time”
Owen and Kay were in the choir as well and also lived in Springwater and before she could continue Kay interrupted her and said
“Don't worry Cheryl we’ll pick you up on the way”
“Oh bless you Kay” she said “I’ll be ready”
Owen and Kay came along right on cue and Cheryl made her way through the snow to the car.
It was still snowing as they approached St Bartholomew’s Church when Owen said
“I hope the rest of the choir can make it”
“I just hope there will be someone there to listen” Kay added
“Even if it’s just the three of us and no congregation we can still sing for God” Cheryl said
“Yes we can” they agreed
Only three choir members failed to make the rehearsal but they all arrived in time for the performances and despite the weather there were plenty of congregants there to listen.
Once they finished the rehearsal Cheryl used the time before the first service to enjoy a cup of coffee at the church Café, Bart’s, where she spent 20 minutes laughing and chatting with fellow choristers, and among them was Dave Torrison, who was on her romantic radar.
The church was full by 10.30 and the choir was well warmed up for their rendition of “Carol of the Bells” and Cheryl was in particularly good voice and nailed all of solos.
The second service was equally well received judging by the emotion filled faces of those who had just been blessed by the music.
After the service was complete, they shared the peace and the congregation had dispersed, some of the choristers went for a late lunch.
One of them was Dave Torrison and after Owen and Kay related the tale about her not being able to get her car out of the garage Dave said
“Well I don’t mind coming round to help”
“Really?” she asked
“Absolutely” Dave said
“Well in that case I’ll make us dinner” Cheryl said
“Great” he said “But I’ll need to go home first and change”
Owen and Kay dropped her off in front of her house.
“Have fun” Kay said and winked
As she walked up the little path she’d cleared earlier that morning it already had two inches of fresh snow on it and she looked across at her neighbour’s drives in the failing light and could see that all the men had been out and cleared their driveways and were safely tucked up warm inside.
Cheryl’s first act was to rush inside and change into something that would make the best of what she had and then when she was perfumed and made up she put on her snow shovelling gear on top of her outfit and waited for him.
When he arrived, Dave thought she looked rather cute in her wellies, puffer jacket, woolly hat, scarf and gloves, but as the snow shovel stood two foot taller than she did, he suggested she leave the drive to him.
Cheryl didn’t argue because it meant she could make a start on dinner and perfect her appearance.
“I hope this is ok” she said as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.
She needn’t have worried, after all he thought she was cute in a puffer jacket and wellies he would be putty in her hands when he saw her in a figure hugging wool dress.
Suffice is to say she did make an impression and they both had a great Christmas.
Mornington-By-Mere – (98) Christmas Cards
Mornington-By-Mere is a small country village lying in the Finchbottom Vale nestled between the Ancient Dancingdean Forest and the rolling Pepperstock Hills.
It is a quaint picturesque village, a proper chocolate box picturesque idyll, with a Manor House, 12th Century Church, a Coaching Inn, Windmills, an Old Forge, a Schoolhouse, a River and a Mere.
But Mornington-By-Mere is not just a quaint chocolate box English Village it is the beating heart of the Finchbottom Vale and there were a number of cottages and small houses on the Purplemere road and Dulcets Lane which formed the part of Mornington Village known as Manorside and Mariana Harding was staying at number 1 Dulcet Mill Lane in the house she was raised in, along with her brother George, by their Aunt Julia.
She was a well-travelled woman in her mid-thirties who hadn’t put down roots anywhere but she had made lots of friends which became problematic at Christmas time when it came to sending Christmas cards because a considerable amount of strategic planning was required to ensure that maximum effect was gained from sending Christmas cards, because, design, timing, size and quality are of paramount importance.
There are all kinds of do’s and don’ts, one of them is sending Christmas cards too early, which is not only ineffective but can be humiliating for the sender because it is very revealing, by disclosing the size and quality of card, it exposes the sender to the possibility of a devastating counter-attack.
On the other hand, a very late Christmas card runs the risk of negating the recipient's ability to respond, and reduces one's total card count, and it can look like an afterthought.
Mariana thought it was better to be on the early, rather than late side, because the pre-emptive Christmas card sets the pace and compels the opposition to reply.
And it is a brave opponent who will respond with either a lesser card or better than card.
The second thing she considered was the value and size of cards. Important people, certainly people who think they are important, send big and important looking Christmas cards which was designed to make the recipient feel small.
It was a costly option but she thought it was worth it.
She didn’t consider herself a snob though and she thought there was definitely a place for cheap and nasty Christmas cards.
They could be used for a variety of reasons they didn’t just imply bad taste or poverty, they could be used to disrespect the recipient, and possibly lead to deletion from their Christmas card list.
She found cheap cards were particularly useful for terminating pointless Christmas card exchanges with people she met on holiday or business trips when she foolishly exchanged addresses on drunken night’s outs.
She tried to avoid First-time Christmas cards sent on impulse to recent acquaintances because they can have devastating consequences or disappointments.
But she didn’t follow her own protocols so when she was in Denver for a conference at the end of November and she met a man called Seelie Dawson, with whom she let her guard down, and one night after dinner, when alcohol had been taken, she gave him her address and phone number.
Following that breach she was overcome with regrets, firstly for the breach, second for not getting his details, thirdly for not giving him her email and finally for losing her phone on the journey home.
And ever since she got back to Mornington she had thought of nothing else but him and had abandoned her long standing and well-honed system and sent no cards at all and occupied her time examining the abundance of cards that arrived through her door every day hoping there would be one from him and each day she was disappointed.
But she never gave up hope and then on Christmas Eve she perused the pile of mail on the door mat once again and on that day with wonder in her eyes she received a Christmas card and the postmark was from Colorado, and she only knew one person there.
Her hand was shaking while she opened the envelope and withdrew the card, but before reading it she looked inside the envelope and saw a photo and it was a picture of her and Seelie, together and smiling, which recalled the evening to her mind with perfect clarity.
She turned her attention to the card, but she closed her eyes and took a breath before opening it, but when she did she read.
Mariana
I hope you liked the photo, it was a very memorable evening.
I have tried several times to phone you on the mobile number you gave me.
I am going to be in England for the New Year, I would very much like to see you while I’m there, perhaps we could have dinner.
I’ve written my contact details on the back of the photo.
I look forward to hearing from you, and I hope very much that we can get together in the New Year.
Have a Happy Christmas
Seelie x
She flipped the photo over and saw the full gamut of details and her joy could not be contained so it was twenty minutes before she had calmed down enough for her start using them.
Despite the fact she didn’t send a single Christmas card that year she had her best Christmas in a decade and a very Happy New Year.
It is a quaint picturesque village, a proper chocolate box picturesque idyll, with a Manor House, 12th Century Church, a Coaching Inn, Windmills, an Old Forge, a Schoolhouse, a River and a Mere.
But Mornington-By-Mere is not just a quaint chocolate box English Village it is the beating heart of the Finchbottom Vale and there were a number of cottages and small houses on the Purplemere road and Dulcets Lane which formed the part of Mornington Village known as Manorside and Mariana Harding was staying at number 1 Dulcet Mill Lane in the house she was raised in, along with her brother George, by their Aunt Julia.
She was a well-travelled woman in her mid-thirties who hadn’t put down roots anywhere but she had made lots of friends which became problematic at Christmas time when it came to sending Christmas cards because a considerable amount of strategic planning was required to ensure that maximum effect was gained from sending Christmas cards, because, design, timing, size and quality are of paramount importance.
There are all kinds of do’s and don’ts, one of them is sending Christmas cards too early, which is not only ineffective but can be humiliating for the sender because it is very revealing, by disclosing the size and quality of card, it exposes the sender to the possibility of a devastating counter-attack.
On the other hand, a very late Christmas card runs the risk of negating the recipient's ability to respond, and reduces one's total card count, and it can look like an afterthought.
Mariana thought it was better to be on the early, rather than late side, because the pre-emptive Christmas card sets the pace and compels the opposition to reply.
And it is a brave opponent who will respond with either a lesser card or better than card.
The second thing she considered was the value and size of cards. Important people, certainly people who think they are important, send big and important looking Christmas cards which was designed to make the recipient feel small.
It was a costly option but she thought it was worth it.
She didn’t consider herself a snob though and she thought there was definitely a place for cheap and nasty Christmas cards.
They could be used for a variety of reasons they didn’t just imply bad taste or poverty, they could be used to disrespect the recipient, and possibly lead to deletion from their Christmas card list.
She found cheap cards were particularly useful for terminating pointless Christmas card exchanges with people she met on holiday or business trips when she foolishly exchanged addresses on drunken night’s outs.
She tried to avoid First-time Christmas cards sent on impulse to recent acquaintances because they can have devastating consequences or disappointments.
But she didn’t follow her own protocols so when she was in Denver for a conference at the end of November and she met a man called Seelie Dawson, with whom she let her guard down, and one night after dinner, when alcohol had been taken, she gave him her address and phone number.
Following that breach she was overcome with regrets, firstly for the breach, second for not getting his details, thirdly for not giving him her email and finally for losing her phone on the journey home.
And ever since she got back to Mornington she had thought of nothing else but him and had abandoned her long standing and well-honed system and sent no cards at all and occupied her time examining the abundance of cards that arrived through her door every day hoping there would be one from him and each day she was disappointed.
But she never gave up hope and then on Christmas Eve she perused the pile of mail on the door mat once again and on that day with wonder in her eyes she received a Christmas card and the postmark was from Colorado, and she only knew one person there.
Her hand was shaking while she opened the envelope and withdrew the card, but before reading it she looked inside the envelope and saw a photo and it was a picture of her and Seelie, together and smiling, which recalled the evening to her mind with perfect clarity.
She turned her attention to the card, but she closed her eyes and took a breath before opening it, but when she did she read.
Mariana
I hope you liked the photo, it was a very memorable evening.
I have tried several times to phone you on the mobile number you gave me.
I am going to be in England for the New Year, I would very much like to see you while I’m there, perhaps we could have dinner.
I’ve written my contact details on the back of the photo.
I look forward to hearing from you, and I hope very much that we can get together in the New Year.
Have a Happy Christmas
Seelie x
She flipped the photo over and saw the full gamut of details and her joy could not be contained so it was twenty minutes before she had calmed down enough for her start using them.
Despite the fact she didn’t send a single Christmas card that year she had her best Christmas in a decade and a very Happy New Year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)