Category Archives: A lover’s plan

Rubbish

Jim was NOT happy. ‘Have you seen that rubbish down the road? It’s disgusting – and what’s the bloody council doing about it? Nothing! Not one bloody thing.’
‘Don’t worry Jim, it’ll be all gone by the time you get back from your golf.’
‘Who’s going to do that then? You I suppose. You’re daft – all of you. Stupid, daft women with nothing better to do than do the council’s dirty work – for nothing.’ With that he picked up his golf bag and left – slamming the door behind him.

‘Men,’ murmured Rosemary to herself as she cleared away the breakfast things. ‘It’s a good job there are women in this world.’

The telephone rang. ‘Mrs Bradshaw?’ a voice asked.     ‘Speaking.’
‘Rosemary?’     ‘Yes Peter.’
‘All ready for today?’     ‘Of course.’
‘One o’clock at the recycling plant then?’     ‘Certainly; I’ll be there.’

The line went dead and she replaced the handset.  ‘Right Rosemary; let’s get this show on the road’ she chuckled.

Half an hour later she and three other ladies were busily picking up the roadside rubbish that so annoyed Jim. The council provided bags were soon filled as the four worked their way along ‘Rosemary’s’ road. That done, they repeated the exercise along four more roads before stopping for a break.

Back in Rosemary’s kitchen the conversation was on just one subject – the rubbish they had just bagged up.  ‘We agreed with the council that we would gather the bags for each road into piles at convenient places for the men to collect them. Are we still happy with this?’  There was total agreement.

‘Right ladies, let’s get it finished and ready for them.’
It didn’t take long, and the four were soon standing admiring their work.  ‘Thank you very much ladies, your help has been great. I’ve got all the paperwork so I’ll take that down to the recycling centre later this morning. Have a nice day.’
Rosemary’s three helpers headed for home but she had one more job to do before setting off to the recycling centre. The job took her a quarter of an hour or so and, with that done, she gathered together various other things she needed; left a brief note for Jim and headed off to the recycling centre.

Peter was at his desk. Rosemary handed over the ‘Ladies Tidy Campaign’ papers.  ‘Looks good,’ he said. ‘The lads have called in and reported that the bags have been picked up as planned, and the whole area looks great. Everyone on those roads will be very pleased with what you have done. May I buy you some lunch? You deserve it.’
‘Well thank you kind sir; I accept your invitation. Shall we go in my car?’
‘Yes please. The council gets annoyed when their cars are used for social purposes. Is there room for my case?’

As they drove out of the council gates Jim was arriving home from his golf.  He was not happy with the pile of full rubbish bags blocking his drive.

He was even less happy with Rosemary’s note saying ‘Goodbye’!

My Friend Jack

When they come for me, tell them that I want to be buried with Jack; right beside him; wrapped around him just as close as I can be.  I will need the comfort that only he could give me.

Jack was always around but I never gave him a second glance. I wasn’t in to that sort of thing. Besides, I had my hands full.

Two teenagers, a dog and a busy husband never really left me with much time of my own.  Before I knew it the kids were gone and I was looking forward to time for myself.  But Life doesn’t always work like that; she had other plans for me.

I was the last to know that Bert, my busy Bert, had been otherwise engaged with Donna, his coach at the tennis club.  He had been busy for the last four years but I had been too busy to see it.

It wasn’t messy; it wasn’t noisy; it wasn’t tear-filled – he just didn’t come home one evening.

Now I had time – and space – and a void.  That’s when I thought of Jack. The first time I sought refuge in Jack was on a dark but cloudless evening.

The moon was my witness.

The fingers of shadows were starting to lengthen and I reached out to Jack. Isn’t it funny how you always remember your first time – even if you don’t want that recollection?

It wasn’t easy at first, getting to know Jack – but the soothing feeling he gave me felt so familiar, like being wrapped in my mother’s arms and rocked to sleep.

So he did – every evening at sunset – just like clockwork.

An hour, sometimes two, of mellowed quiet, cocooned in amber.

Jack didn’t let me think, he didn’t let me feel. There was no pain; no ecstasy; no anguish – just a peace that overtook me; overwhelmed me, as we melted into one.

And slowly I needed Jack more – to begin my day, to rest at noon, to end my day.

To go down the street, there to eat and drink – and to gaze out of the window.

We went far; we stayed near; he never left my side.

Jack gave me so much and asked nought in return.

 

 

Jack Daniels – I love you- xxxxxxx     

A letter from Australia

Hello Mum & Dad
I’ve just had a letter from Janine and Peter.  They asked me to say hello to you.
They took their time heading to Australia.  She said that they stopped in Singapore for two nights on their way down.  That makes me very envious – Singapore is a place I have always wanted to visit.  Perhaps I will get a chance sometime because I am determined to visit Janine and Peter in their new life.
They are now living in Melbourne, Australia and, from what Janine says, they have a very posh house there.  She says that they are just ten minutes from the sea and that it is, of course, much warmer down there than we ever know.
She says that they plan to stay there for a while before setting up a permanent home somewhere.  It seems that Peter has lots and lots of money so they can take their time in deciding that next step.
What Janine doesn’t say, though, is when they are going to get married!
Some people can really hide things from you can’t they?
Lots of love
Albert

Now she’s home she said she’s leaving!

Yesterday, after Janine and Peter had told us about their past, we were all very very happy.  We were still all for telling the police but it was decided that no-one would believe us anyway.

Now – today – Peter and Janine told us that they have decided to go to Australia so that Janine’s step-mother will never be able to find her.  Not only that – they are going to get married! 

She has given us a letter for us to deliver to her father but we are not to do that until one month after they have left here – and that is this coming Wednesday!  In other words – by the time anyone knows anything about all of this they will be married and living somewhere in that faraway country.

We shall miss her, and hate to see her go, but it’s her life.  We shall just have to knuckle down and keep the flat up to the standard she would expect.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs – 2016 style

In the year 1812 the Brothers Grimm published the first edition of their collection ‘Grimms’ Fairy Tales’ .  In it, among others, was the story of Snow White.

This story is based on that classic of times gone by.

At the beginning of that story, a humble queen sits sewing at an open window during a winter snowfall when she pricks her finger with her needle, causing three drops of red blood to drip onto the freshly fallen white snow on the black windowsill.

Then, she says to herself: “How I wish that I had a daughter that had skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.” Sometime later, the Good Queen gives birth to a baby daughter whom she names Snow White.  Unfortunately the Queen dies shortly after.

A year later, Snow White’s father, the King, takes a second wife, who is very beautiful, but a wicked and vain woman. The new queen, Snow White’s evil stepmother, possesses a Magic Mirror, which she asks every morning:

“mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”

The mirror always answers: “My Queen, you are the fairest one of all.”

The Queen is always pleased with that, because the magic mirror never lies. But as Snow White grows up, she becomes more beautiful each day and even more beautiful than the Queen, and when the Queen asks her mirror, it says;

“My Queen, you are the fairest here so true. But Snow White is a thousand times more beautiful than you.”

As if by magic, there have been some changes over the years: this one is mine.

World War 2 and my Aunt Stella

Aunt Stella had always been quiet about what she had done during the 1939/45 war. Born in 1922 she was just 17 when the war started. I was born in 1941 and, in 1946 when the war was over, I fell in love with her – and I told her so when she gave me my birthday present that year.

I often asked her to tell me about what she did in the war – but she always found an excuse not to. There had never been an ‘Uncle Stella’ either as far as I could recall. That was a shame because she was beautiful.

But now she had passed on and had left me a beautiful box – a wooden walnut box with golden coloured handles and its own lock. It was one she had always kept in a cupboard. I had asked her what was in it many times when I was younger but she always gave me the same answer: ‘Never you mind young lad. When I’ve gone to my maker that box will be yours.’

I had frequently tried to open it, but I could never find the key. Whenever I asked her for the key she would say: ‘No, you don’t need that lad’ or ‘I don’t know where it is. I suppose I’ve lost it. But – there’s nothing in it anyway.’

Those little question and answer session had long since ended and now she had gone – but there was still no key! The box didn’t feel too heavy so I assumed there was little or nothing inside; and it would be a shame to break it open so I put it on the shelf in my study and got on with living.

It was some three weeks later when I received a letter from Aunt Stella’s solicitor asking me to visit him to close off some details of her will. I thought that it had all been completed but solicitors are the boss at times like these, so did as was asked. What did puzzle me, though, was the request that I bring the box with me. What was that all about? Whatever it was, I would soon find out.

When I had first visited the solicitors I had seen Mr Kent, a junior member of the practice. This time I was seeing Mr Bainbridge, the practice owner.

‘Ah, you’ve brought the box I see,’ he said. ‘Good. In closing off Ms Baxter’s papers I found this in an envelope’. He held up a small golden coloured key tied to a scruffy looking piece of card. ‘I think, I hope, this will fit your box.’

He handed it to me; I tried it in the lock; it worked! I carefully lifted the lid and looked inside. There was not much to see – just three envelopes. One was brown and of indeterminate age. It was sealed with red wax and stamped across the front were the words: ‘British Resistance Organisation – open only in emergency’.

Another was much newer and was marked ‘To be opened after my death in the presence of my solicitor by my nephew Alan Williamson.’

Ignoring a third, small, white envelope, I handed the box and contents back to Mr Bainbridge. He placed it on his desk and passed the newest of the envelopes back to me. It was in Aunty Stella’s writing. I carefully opened it.

It said, simply:
You often asked what I did in the war. Open the other envelope and it will give you some idea. You often asked me why I never married. Now I will tell you that – my man’s name was Christopher. He was also a member of the BRO. One day he came back – dead. After the war you were the man for me. You always made me cheerful when I was sad. You were my light – then and in my later years as well. I remember after the war you telling me that you were in love with me. I am sure that you know how much I loved you Alan Williamson.’

 There was nothing I could say. I felt tears in my eyes as I handed the note over to Mr Bainbridge.

He read it then looked up at me ‘I think we could do with some coffee?’

I nodded as he pressed a button on his desk. We sat there deep in thought until a lady brought in the coffee. She placed the tray on the side table, looked at us and left quietly.

‘How do you like your coffee?’ Mr Bainbridge asked. ‘Black please’ I managed in reply.

It seemed to be quite some time that we sat there with our coffee. No doubt it was not too rare for Mr Bainbridge to experience the situation. He looked at me. ‘Would you like to open the British Resistance Organisation envelope here or would you rather wait until you are at home?’

I looked at him. His face was patient. ‘I think I would like to open it here, now, if I may; if you have the time’.

He nodded. ‘Please take all the time you need Mr Williamson. I was very fond of your aunt and she was very fond of you.’

I was not sure what I expected to discover in the brown envelope with the red wax seal. Since Aunt Stella’s death I had been trying to piece together what it would have been like for her.

In this second envelope there were various pieces of newspapers. A scrap told of the Nazi taking of the Channel Islands. There were also a couple of newspaper pieces on the risk of the German’s landing on the mainland but little else. Anything else would be secret anyway and Aunt Stella would not have had access to major risky situations like that anyway.

I was about to put everything back in the box and let Mr Bainbridge get on with his work when I noticed the other envelope. It was quite small with no writing on it. No wonder I had missed it. I picked it up and carefully opened it. Inside was a photograph – the only thing in the envelope. A young, male face looked out at me.

I turned the photograph over and, just visible, were the words: ‘Love you. See you soon. Chris xxx’.

 

NOTES

The ‘BRO’ Aunty Stella mentions was the ‘British Resistance Organisation’.

The above is a complete fictional story based on a factual situation. You will find the factual element of the story on my other blog: ‘talkinghistory2013’

My proofreading wife has told me that a similar story of a box has been running in one of the ‘soaps’ that she watches! I plead complete ignorance on this.

Rubbish

He was NOT happy. ‘Have you seen that rubbish down the road? It’s disgusting – and what’s the bloody council doing about it? Nothing! Not one bloody thing.’

‘Don’t worry Jim, it’ll be all gone by the time you get back from your golf.’

‘Who’s going to do that then? You I suppose. You’re daft – all of you. Stupid, daft women with nothing better to do than do the council’s dirty work – for nothing.’ With that he picked up his golf bag and left – slamming the door behind him.

‘Men,’ murmured Rosemary to herself as she cleared away the breakfast things. ‘It’s a good job there are women in this world.’

The telephone rang. ‘Mrs Bradshaw?’ a voice asked.     ‘Speaking.’

‘Rosemary?’     ‘Yes Peter.’

‘All ready for today?’     ‘Of course.’

‘One o’clock at the recycling plant then?’     ‘Certainly; I’ll be there.’

The line went dead and she replaced the handset.  ‘Right Rosemary; let’s get this show on the road’ she chuckled.

Half an hour later she and three other ladies were busily picking up the roadside rubbish that so annoyed Jim. The council provided bags were soon filled as the four worked their way along ‘Rosemary’s’ road. That done, they repeated the exercise along four more roads before stopping for a break.

Back in Rosemary’s kitchen the conversation was on just one subject – the rubbish they had just bagged up.  ‘We agreed with the council that we would gather the bags for each road into piles at convenient places for the men to collect them. Are we still happy with this?’  There was total agreement.

‘Right ladies, let’s get it finished and ready for them.’
It didn’t take long, and the four were soon standing admiring their work.  ‘Thank you very much ladies, your help has been great. I’ve got all the paperwork so I’ll take that down to the recycling centre later this morning. Have a nice day.’
Rosemary’s three helpers headed for home but she had one more job to do before setting off to the recycling centre. The job took her a quarter of an hour or so and, with that done, she gathered together various other things she needed; left a brief note for Jim and headed off to the recycling centre.

Peter was at his desk. Rosemary handed over the ‘Ladies Tidy Campaign’ papers.  ‘Looks good,’ he said. ‘The lads have called in and reported that the bags have been picked up as planned, and the whole area looks great. Everyone on those roads will be very pleased with what you have done. May I buy you some lunch? You deserve it.’
‘Well thank you kind sir; I accept your invitation. Shall we go in my car?’
‘Yes please. The council gets annoyed when their cars are used for social purposes. Is there room for my case?’

As they drove out of the council gates Jim was arriving home from his golf.  He was not happy with the pile of full rubbish bags blocking his drive.

He was even less happy with Rosemary’s note saying ‘Goodbye’!