By August, Jack had settled into the routine of working at the Club for three days a week and working in the house for four.
But he had also had to have some tasks performed by professionals i.e. a Plumber.
And while he was in the house installing a new boiler Jack decided to escape bedlam and step out in the warm summer sun and clear his head but he hadn’t gone more than two hundred yards when, despite the met office predictions, it started to rain so he was had a choice to make, return to bedlam or go to the pub.
So after at least 30 seconds of deliberation he headed into the village and the Hen and Chickens instead where he chanced upon Reverend Watson on route.
Despite the fact that his willowy ex-girlfriend was nearly forty
Jack thought that Katie was still an attractive woman by any measure, with the same warm open manner she had always possessed, intelligent green laughing eyes, shoulder length brunette hair and a broad toothy smile which gave her an altogether pleasant demeanour.
“Good afternoon Katie” he said
“Hello Jack” she replied “What’s brought you out into the rain”
“I’m avoiding the plumber,” he said and Katie gave an understanding nod
“And you?”
“The Miss Barlow’s” she replied “it’s their day to clean the church”
“They’re so bossy” she added and bowed her head with shame.
“I think we need to be fortified,” Jack said
“Hen and Chicks?” she suggested
“Yes, if you can spare the time” he said “We can do the catch up we talked about”
“I am actually completely up to date, Sundays sermon is written and I only have one meeting before then and that’s with a prospective bride and groom” she explained “so I’m all yours”
When they got into the pub they found it virtually empty, the lunch timers had obviously gone back to work and the unexpected rain had kept the afternooner’s in their homes.
So they got their drinks and sat at the table by the window where they could watch the world go by as they caught up.
The catch up began with him detailing his constant lack of peace and quiet in the house while he was having tradesmen in, while she talked about certain sections of the congregation who had still not really accepted her despite her being the Vicar of St Lucy of Syracuse for almost two years.
They then moved on to the sixteen years that had elapsed since they left University.
People they both knew, holidays and travel, marital status, professional and vocational history.
And the conclusion they reached was that they were both contentedly single and happy in their work.
The fact that Katie struggled to comprehend from their conversation was Jacks depth of faith and his leading a pastorate group at St John’s in Purplemere.
Because despite the fact he was raised as a Christian by practising Christian parents who were and indeed still were active in their church right up until their deaths, he had never been a particularly spiritual person when he first went to University.
He did however believe in a power greater than himself and he was not uncomfortable calling that power God
The church however had always been a different matter and he had always been dismissive about those interfering Christian do-gooders, doing good works and muttering on about their relationship with God.
He had never had a relationship with God other than the fact that he knew God existed and God knew that he existed and he had been content to leave it at that.
Jack had not been a regular visitor to his house since he was sixteen when he was given the option to follow his own path; his parents thought optimistically he would choose to continue on the path they had led him along all his life but they were disappointed.
So his interactions with the church were restricted to hatches matches and dispatches and the odd Christmas carol service, that was of course until he went to University and he met Katie.
It was his love of Katie which prompted him to attend St Hilda’s Church in Abbottsford during his first semester and that first visit reawakened something in him and every Sunday he would find himself standing next to Katie at St Hilda’s yodelling out “how great thou art” and even after they broke up he continued attending.
After the third drink Katie became a little indiscrete and revealed some unsavoury gossip about some of her parishioners and he was able to relate a few choice nuggets that she didn’t know, courtesy of his plumber.
Katie then proceeded to reveal more and more about herself and the community with every drink, but the more she drank the more she tended to ramble, she spoke a lot about time and the sand running through her fingers and choices and not knowing.
Jack couldn’t really follow her train of thought but the drink wasn’t helping either of them and as neither of them had eaten since breakfast the beer took its toll very quickly and after two hours of catching up they were fortified as newts and he had to steer her through the pouring rain to the vicarage, which thankfully was just across the road.
Once they reached her front door he had to wedge her up against the wall while he opened the door, unfortunately as the door swung open she fell through it into the hall.
Jack instinctively reached out and grabbed her in an effort to prevent her from hurting herself.
Unfortunately in trying to avoid grabbing anything intimate he only succeeded in falling to the floor a second before she did, Jack landed on his back and Katie landed on top of him.
“You know it’s been great seeing my old boyfriend again” she slurred before planting an almost Labrador like kiss on his mouth.
“But let’s remember something” he said after extricating himself from her embrace “You’re the Vicar, and you’re not my girlfriend anymore”
Then he struggled to his feet and helped Katie to do the same before steering her through the hall and into her sitting room.
“You always were a gentleman” she said as he plopped her into an armchair “That was when you loved me of course”
Then she grabbed him by the lapels and planted another kiss on his mouth, much more controlled and unhurried this time and when he began to reciprocate he broke away from her embrace again.
“I still love you” he admitted “but like a sister”
“Oh God I just snogged my brother” she said and put her head in her hands
“I love you Vicar” he said and kissed her on the forehead and left.
It wasn’t easy for him to walk away, the Reverend ticked a lot of boxes for him it had to be said, she always had done, but he knew that romantic love between them was never going to transpire, they knew that when they were still students, but he was very pleased to have found her again.
The next day when he was pottering about the house the phone rang so he stopped what he was doing and answered it
“Jack?” asked a woman’s voice
“Yes that’s me” he replied
“It’s Katie” she said “Katie Watson”
“Hello Vicar” he said, preferring to think of her as the Vicar rather than as a woman with whom he had a drunken snog
“I’m sorry” she said
“What for?”
“Me” she replied “getting drunk and kissing you”
“There’s nothing to forgive you for” he said
“Good, in that case I don’t feel guilty for asking a favour” she said with a chuckle
“What can I do for you?” he asked suspiciously
“I know that you’re still involved with St Johns, but you live here now, in my parish and so you’re one of ours so I know its short notice but...” she hesitated
“I can’t answer if you don’t ask”
“Would you mind taking your Uncle Daniels place on the church committee,” She asked, “we are fast approaching the harvest festival and well…”
“Of course, when do you need me?”
“Ten minutes” she said hopefully
“Oh ok” he said, “I’ll leave now”
So he grabbed his keys and headed out the door.
Friday 21 July 2017
Thursday 20 July 2017
Angels, Lovers and Songbirds Chapter 01 – Reacquainting of an Angel
In the small but thriving English county of Downshire people go about the tasks of their everyday existence in ways that range from the mundane to the extraordinary as their forebears had done for centuries before, in the varied and diverse landscape, from 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, to the beautiful Finchbottom Vale and the short but beautiful coastline to the east.
But our story is set in and around Turnoak-Under-Hawthorne, a large rambling village, originally settled in the 12th century on the sparsely wooded slopes on the Northern fringe of the Finchbottom Vale about 5 miles from Purplemere, and it was everything you would expect from a Downshire Village.
Jack Morehouse moved to the village in the January of 2012 although in truth at that point he really only moved some of his stuff in, he didn’t start living there until much later.
Jack was 39 years old, pleasant looking, unmarried and was in reasonable physical shape and considered himself to be quite happy with his life, until that is, he moved to Turnoak.
After he graduated from Abbottsford University he started working for his Uncle Daniel who owned the Waterside Country Club on the banks of Purple Mere.
In fact the club was the brainchild of Daniel Morehouse and Jack’s father John.
But Jack’s father died while his son was at University so it was perfectly natural for him to take his father’s place in the business after graduation as he had been left his half.
The Waterside had become a popular entertainment venue and was one of the few remaining clubs where you could see top variety acts performing as well as offering dinner, cabaret and dinner dances.
For 18 years Jack worked under Daniels tutelage and then out of the blue Daniel had a massive heart attack and died, leaving Jack his half of the Club and his cottage in Turnoak along with the remainder of his estate after all the bequests, which was still quite substantial, although he didn’t know the half of it.
Uncle Daniel always referred to his Turnoak home as his cottage but in reality it was a row of 3 Victorian Cottages which had been converted into a 5 bedroom house.
He thought the house was too large for him really but he decided to defer any decision on what to do with it until the dust had settled.
His first priority was the club and to ensure that Uncle Daniels death didn’t impact on the smooth running of the business.
So that is why he didn’t take up residence in the village until much later.
But after the funeral he made an important decision, because his father and his Uncle had both died “in harness” so to speak, he resolved that he wasn’t going to go the same way.
Although he was only 39 he thought it best if he adopted an overseeing role.
So to that end he brought in two new people to fill his shoes, James Lynch and Jacey Linton.
They were both of a similar age to Jack and he had known them both from his University days when they all worked together putting on shows at the Students Union.
James had worked at Maplin’s Holiday Resort in Sharpinghead since he graduated and had been the Entertainments Director for ten years and Jack thought he was going to have a real battle on his hands to lure him away.
After all he had security with Maplin’s, and a bigger salary than he could offer, but James almost snatched his hand off.
“Not that I’m not pleased” He said “But that was very easy”
“I was bored” James replied
Jacey on the other hand he thought would jump at the offer because he was working for a man who treated him like dirt, but over an eight year period he had eroded all of his self-confidence, belittled him at every turn and wiped away every ounce of his self-worth, so when Jack offered him a job he turned it down immediately stating it was beyond his capabilities.
It took him and James a month to finally convince him that he was capable enough for the job and wholly suitable to be manager of his Club.
So eventually he got his team, James was manager of all things entertainment and Jacey was responsible for the rest, staff, facilities, stock and over the two of them was Jack, who as he saw the other two take everything in hand, reduced his time at the club exponentially.
Which then allowed him to think about the house in Turnoak,
But having inherited the house in January it was July before he moved in and began sorting it out and it needed a lot of sorting.
So for the first three weeks he never stopped, however by the afternoon of his third Sunday he was getting a bit stir crazy so despite some inclement weather he set off for a walk around the village and after about twenty minutes there was a break in the weather and the sun actually put in an appearance so he decided to take a longer stroll around the village.
He felt the sun on his face for the first time in days and he thought it would be nice to see another human being as he walked briskly down the path before turning left and as he carried on down the road he met the odd fellow traveller and exchanged good afternoons or nods.
Around the next corner he passed the corner shop where a young woman was serving a customer with fruit and veg, she smiled and he smiled back and he pressed on past the shop and picked up the walking pace as the skies darkened, so he rushed homeward walking headlong round a corner and met someone else coming the other way and they both ended up on their backsides.
“I’m so sorry” he said getting quickly to his feet and proffering a hand to the prostrate figure of a woman, which she took.
“Nonsense” she replied, “I wasn’t looking where I was going my mind was elsewhere”.
“Mine too” he said “are you ok? Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride” she replied as they dusted themselves off and then they looked at each other for the first time and he realized he had poleaxed a vicar and then he studied the face.
“Katie?” he said “Katie Watson?”
And there was a brief moment of puzzlement on the Vicars face and then recognition spread across her face.
“Jack Morehouse” Katie exclaimed “As I live and breathe”
And they hugged for the first time in 16 years.
They had dated briefly during their first year at University but they soon knew in their heart of heart that they were not destined to be a couple, their destiny was as very good friends and no more.
And they remained friends right up until graduation when she went to theological college and then they lost touch.
“What are you doing here?” she asked
“I’ve just moved here” he replied
“Where?”
“White Rose Cottage” Jack said
“Daniels House?” she asked
“Yes he was my Uncle” he replied
“I knew he was a Morehouse but the thought never occurred to me that he was related to you” Katie said “There’s no resemblance”
“No there isn’t” he agreed “We were very close though, and he left me the house”
“That’s brilliant” Katie said “We’ll have to catch up soon, but I have to get going, duties to perform”
“Are you the Vicar in Turnoak?”
“Yes” she replied “and I need to get ready for evensong”
“Well pop round anytime” he said “I’m only working in the house”
“Ok” she said and they parted company with a kiss and a hug.
Before he got home the rain came again and he was relieved to reach his front door and after a change of clothes and a hot drink he returned to his chores.
The unseasonal weather continued over the following few days but by Friday it had finally cleared up and according to the met office and their Super Computer the Vale were in for a prolonged spell of warm, dry days right through to September, a proper Indian summer.
Not that Jack was holding his breath, he had little faith that they could manage to predict the weather for 6 weeks hence when they struggle to forecast with any certainty what will happen that afternoon.
But our story is set in and around Turnoak-Under-Hawthorne, a large rambling village, originally settled in the 12th century on the sparsely wooded slopes on the Northern fringe of the Finchbottom Vale about 5 miles from Purplemere, and it was everything you would expect from a Downshire Village.
Jack Morehouse moved to the village in the January of 2012 although in truth at that point he really only moved some of his stuff in, he didn’t start living there until much later.
Jack was 39 years old, pleasant looking, unmarried and was in reasonable physical shape and considered himself to be quite happy with his life, until that is, he moved to Turnoak.
After he graduated from Abbottsford University he started working for his Uncle Daniel who owned the Waterside Country Club on the banks of Purple Mere.
In fact the club was the brainchild of Daniel Morehouse and Jack’s father John.
But Jack’s father died while his son was at University so it was perfectly natural for him to take his father’s place in the business after graduation as he had been left his half.
The Waterside had become a popular entertainment venue and was one of the few remaining clubs where you could see top variety acts performing as well as offering dinner, cabaret and dinner dances.
For 18 years Jack worked under Daniels tutelage and then out of the blue Daniel had a massive heart attack and died, leaving Jack his half of the Club and his cottage in Turnoak along with the remainder of his estate after all the bequests, which was still quite substantial, although he didn’t know the half of it.
Uncle Daniel always referred to his Turnoak home as his cottage but in reality it was a row of 3 Victorian Cottages which had been converted into a 5 bedroom house.
He thought the house was too large for him really but he decided to defer any decision on what to do with it until the dust had settled.
His first priority was the club and to ensure that Uncle Daniels death didn’t impact on the smooth running of the business.
So that is why he didn’t take up residence in the village until much later.
But after the funeral he made an important decision, because his father and his Uncle had both died “in harness” so to speak, he resolved that he wasn’t going to go the same way.
Although he was only 39 he thought it best if he adopted an overseeing role.
So to that end he brought in two new people to fill his shoes, James Lynch and Jacey Linton.
They were both of a similar age to Jack and he had known them both from his University days when they all worked together putting on shows at the Students Union.
James had worked at Maplin’s Holiday Resort in Sharpinghead since he graduated and had been the Entertainments Director for ten years and Jack thought he was going to have a real battle on his hands to lure him away.
After all he had security with Maplin’s, and a bigger salary than he could offer, but James almost snatched his hand off.
“Not that I’m not pleased” He said “But that was very easy”
“I was bored” James replied
Jacey on the other hand he thought would jump at the offer because he was working for a man who treated him like dirt, but over an eight year period he had eroded all of his self-confidence, belittled him at every turn and wiped away every ounce of his self-worth, so when Jack offered him a job he turned it down immediately stating it was beyond his capabilities.
It took him and James a month to finally convince him that he was capable enough for the job and wholly suitable to be manager of his Club.
So eventually he got his team, James was manager of all things entertainment and Jacey was responsible for the rest, staff, facilities, stock and over the two of them was Jack, who as he saw the other two take everything in hand, reduced his time at the club exponentially.
Which then allowed him to think about the house in Turnoak,
But having inherited the house in January it was July before he moved in and began sorting it out and it needed a lot of sorting.
So for the first three weeks he never stopped, however by the afternoon of his third Sunday he was getting a bit stir crazy so despite some inclement weather he set off for a walk around the village and after about twenty minutes there was a break in the weather and the sun actually put in an appearance so he decided to take a longer stroll around the village.
He felt the sun on his face for the first time in days and he thought it would be nice to see another human being as he walked briskly down the path before turning left and as he carried on down the road he met the odd fellow traveller and exchanged good afternoons or nods.
Around the next corner he passed the corner shop where a young woman was serving a customer with fruit and veg, she smiled and he smiled back and he pressed on past the shop and picked up the walking pace as the skies darkened, so he rushed homeward walking headlong round a corner and met someone else coming the other way and they both ended up on their backsides.
“I’m so sorry” he said getting quickly to his feet and proffering a hand to the prostrate figure of a woman, which she took.
“Nonsense” she replied, “I wasn’t looking where I was going my mind was elsewhere”.
“Mine too” he said “are you ok? Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride” she replied as they dusted themselves off and then they looked at each other for the first time and he realized he had poleaxed a vicar and then he studied the face.
“Katie?” he said “Katie Watson?”
And there was a brief moment of puzzlement on the Vicars face and then recognition spread across her face.
“Jack Morehouse” Katie exclaimed “As I live and breathe”
And they hugged for the first time in 16 years.
They had dated briefly during their first year at University but they soon knew in their heart of heart that they were not destined to be a couple, their destiny was as very good friends and no more.
And they remained friends right up until graduation when she went to theological college and then they lost touch.
“What are you doing here?” she asked
“I’ve just moved here” he replied
“Where?”
“White Rose Cottage” Jack said
“Daniels House?” she asked
“Yes he was my Uncle” he replied
“I knew he was a Morehouse but the thought never occurred to me that he was related to you” Katie said “There’s no resemblance”
“No there isn’t” he agreed “We were very close though, and he left me the house”
“That’s brilliant” Katie said “We’ll have to catch up soon, but I have to get going, duties to perform”
“Are you the Vicar in Turnoak?”
“Yes” she replied “and I need to get ready for evensong”
“Well pop round anytime” he said “I’m only working in the house”
“Ok” she said and they parted company with a kiss and a hug.
Before he got home the rain came again and he was relieved to reach his front door and after a change of clothes and a hot drink he returned to his chores.
The unseasonal weather continued over the following few days but by Friday it had finally cleared up and according to the met office and their Super Computer the Vale were in for a prolonged spell of warm, dry days right through to September, a proper Indian summer.
Not that Jack was holding his breath, he had little faith that they could manage to predict the weather for 6 weeks hence when they struggle to forecast with any certainty what will happen that afternoon.
Monday 3 July 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.
Heather was two years younger than him and was new to the choir and he was besotted with her, and had been from the first moment he saw her.
She was a bit of a tomboy but he quite liked that she wasn’t a girlie girl and didn’t present with all the girly paraphernalia.
Such as the fact that she never carried a hand bag, instead she had a back pack with her at all times, she also wasn’t fashion conscious, which was another plus for him, she always wore a loose fitting black dress, black tights and coloured baseball shoes and wore her long Brunette hair in plaits.
He really liked everything about Heather, her prominent chin which she thrust out proudly, her green thoughtful eyes behind thick framed specs and her broad smile that made her nose wrinkle.
In short he thought she was perfect, he just needed to work up the courage to ask her out, which is where he hoped the mistletoe would come to his aid.
So after the service the clergy, verger, altar boys and choir members all made their way at some point to the vestry to change into their street clothes, he made sure he stayed close to Heather as he still held out a hope that he might suddenly grow a back bone and ask her out.
He kept her in view at all times while he spoke with various members of his family, who were congratulating him on his solo performance, until most of the people who had gone in the vestry had come out when Heather looked over to where he was standing and went into the vestry herself, so he followed and as he went inside, the Verger went out leaving just him and Heather who was just hanging her surplice in the cupboard.
“Hello” he said nervously
“Hi Danny” she retorted as she slipped off her shoes and replaced them with her baseball shoes “great solo”
“Thanks” he said and started to panic as he couldn’t think of anything else to say, because as he watched her change her footwear his mind went blank, until he caught sight of the Christmas lights through the vestry window and he asked.
“Are you looking forward to the party?”
“I was” she replied
“Why aren’t you now?”
“Because I’m not going” Heather replied and he sat down heavily on a chair as his heart sank and she smiled when she saw his reaction then she said
“My mums ill”
“Oh I’m sorry” he said sympathetically and bent down to tie his shoe lace and when he sat up again Heather was holding a sprig of mistletoe above his head.
“I was going to use this at the party” she said and leant forward and kissed him, but not just a peck, it was a proper kiss, his first proper kiss, and it was everything he’d hoped it would be and more.
“Wow that’s good mistletoe” she said
“Definitely” he agreed and then added
“I’ve got some mistletoe for the party as well”
“That’s good to know” Heather said as she slipped her coat on
“So I think we should check if it’s as good as yours” he asked
“Fab idea” she grinned and they kissed again.
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.
Heather was two years younger than him and was new to the choir and he was besotted with her, and had been from the first moment he saw her.
She was a bit of a tomboy but he quite liked that she wasn’t a girlie girl and didn’t present with all the girly paraphernalia.
Such as the fact that she never carried a hand bag, instead she had a back pack with her at all times, she also wasn’t fashion conscious, which was another plus for him, she always wore a loose fitting black dress, black tights and coloured baseball shoes and wore her long Brunette hair in plaits.
He really liked everything about Heather, her prominent chin which she thrust out proudly, her green thoughtful eyes behind thick framed specs and her broad smile that made her nose wrinkle.
In short he thought she was perfect, he just needed to work up the courage to ask her out, which is where he hoped the mistletoe would come to his aid.
So after the service the clergy, verger, altar boys and choir members all made their way at some point to the vestry to change into their street clothes, he made sure he stayed close to Heather as he still held out a hope that he might suddenly grow a back bone and ask her out.
He kept her in view at all times while he spoke with various members of his family, who were congratulating him on his solo performance, until most of the people who had gone in the vestry had come out when Heather looked over to where he was standing and went into the vestry herself, so he followed and as he went inside, the Verger went out leaving just him and Heather who was just hanging her surplice in the cupboard.
“Hello” he said nervously
“Hi Danny” she retorted as she slipped off her shoes and replaced them with her baseball shoes “great solo”
“Thanks” he said and started to panic as he couldn’t think of anything else to say, because as he watched her change her footwear his mind went blank, until he caught sight of the Christmas lights through the vestry window and he asked.
“Are you looking forward to the party?”
“I was” she replied
“Why aren’t you now?”
“Because I’m not going” Heather replied and he sat down heavily on a chair as his heart sank and she smiled when she saw his reaction then she said
“My mums ill”
“Oh I’m sorry” he said sympathetically and bent down to tie his shoe lace and when he sat up again Heather was holding a sprig of mistletoe above his head.
“I was going to use this at the party” she said and leant forward and kissed him, but not just a peck, it was a proper kiss, his first proper kiss, and it was everything he’d hoped it would be and more.
“Wow that’s good mistletoe” she said
“Definitely” he agreed and then added
“I’ve got some mistletoe for the party as well”
“That’s good to know” Heather said as she slipped her coat on
“So I think we should check if it’s as good as yours” he asked
“Fab idea” she grinned and they kissed again.
Mornington-By-Mere – (99) the Cello Recital
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 was not just a quaint chocolate box English Village it was 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 among them were Brooke Side Cottages where the Incles and the Kundu families lived.
Annemarie Incles loved music, it was her life, she played the Cello and she was a student at the Purplemere Park Music Academy, and she had aspirations to play for the Downshire Symphony Orchestra, but although music was her first love, it wasn’t her only love.
Second place in her heart went to Michael Kundu, the boy next door, the only problem was getting him to make a move.
She knew that his reluctance wasn’t because he didn’t feel the same way as her it was just that he was desperately shy.
But Annemarie had lost her heart to Paul and her failure to win his was not an option so she put her plan into operation.
The Purplemere Park Music Academy was funded by the Downshire Symphony Orchestra and they used the well-appointed facilities several times a year, especially the large rehearsal space as well as smaller soundproof rooms which were used for individual practice.
Michael also loved music and was also a student at the PPMA, his instrument however was the Clarinet, and although he was competent he wasn’t in Annemarie’s league, so he needed to take every chance he could to practise and was always the first one there and was the last one to leave and before he turned in he always did a walk around before he turned the lights off and locked up.
Michelle knew that and so it would be late at night and in one of the soundproof rooms where she would set her trap.
So it was late on Friday evening when he had finished practising and was doing his walk round that he heard the strains of Bach’s Cello Suite No.1 emanating from one of the small rooms through a partially open door.
It was Michael’s favourite piece so Annemarie knew it would get his attention.
He peered in through the half open door and his heart skipped a beat as he saw Erika sitting in the middle of the room facing him with the great polished instrument between her long black stocking clad legs, her wavy red hair dancing across her naked shoulders and brushing her alabaster skin and along with her stockings, and an emerald green dress she was wearing a smile.
His heart was pounding in his chest as she was playing his favourite piece, and looking stunning.
He had always loved her but she was out of his league in every sense so for years he had consoled himself by being her friend so he could stay close and as a friend he could admire her in secret, at least he thought it was a secret.
Without speaking he walked into the room and closed the door behind him and his eyes never left her while she played and he circled the beautiful pale skinned cellist perched on a stool and he drank in the beautiful smiling girl along with the Bach.
“Do you like the Bach?” she asked
“I love the Bach” he replied
“I know” she said “Do you like anything else?”
“Oh yes”
“Do you like what I’m wearing?” she asked seductively
“Oh yes, very much, I think you look lovely” he replied “Are you going somewhere?”
“Maybe” she replied enigmatically
“But you got dressed up just in case” he asked
“I got dressed up for you” she said and stopped playing
“For me?” he asked with surprise “Why?”
“To get your attention” she said and put her cello on its stand and stood up “I do have your attention don’t I?”
“Oh yes” he replied “but I don’t understand”
“Maybe this will help” she said and leant forward and kissed him and then added
“Did that help?”
“I’m still a little confused” he replied and then he kissed her
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 was not just a quaint chocolate box English Village it was 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 among them were Brooke Side Cottages where the Incles and the Kundu families lived.
Annemarie Incles loved music, it was her life, she played the Cello and she was a student at the Purplemere Park Music Academy, and she had aspirations to play for the Downshire Symphony Orchestra, but although music was her first love, it wasn’t her only love.
Second place in her heart went to Michael Kundu, the boy next door, the only problem was getting him to make a move.
She knew that his reluctance wasn’t because he didn’t feel the same way as her it was just that he was desperately shy.
But Annemarie had lost her heart to Paul and her failure to win his was not an option so she put her plan into operation.
The Purplemere Park Music Academy was funded by the Downshire Symphony Orchestra and they used the well-appointed facilities several times a year, especially the large rehearsal space as well as smaller soundproof rooms which were used for individual practice.
Michael also loved music and was also a student at the PPMA, his instrument however was the Clarinet, and although he was competent he wasn’t in Annemarie’s league, so he needed to take every chance he could to practise and was always the first one there and was the last one to leave and before he turned in he always did a walk around before he turned the lights off and locked up.
Michelle knew that and so it would be late at night and in one of the soundproof rooms where she would set her trap.
So it was late on Friday evening when he had finished practising and was doing his walk round that he heard the strains of Bach’s Cello Suite No.1 emanating from one of the small rooms through a partially open door.
It was Michael’s favourite piece so Annemarie knew it would get his attention.
He peered in through the half open door and his heart skipped a beat as he saw Erika sitting in the middle of the room facing him with the great polished instrument between her long black stocking clad legs, her wavy red hair dancing across her naked shoulders and brushing her alabaster skin and along with her stockings, and an emerald green dress she was wearing a smile.
His heart was pounding in his chest as she was playing his favourite piece, and looking stunning.
He had always loved her but she was out of his league in every sense so for years he had consoled himself by being her friend so he could stay close and as a friend he could admire her in secret, at least he thought it was a secret.
Without speaking he walked into the room and closed the door behind him and his eyes never left her while she played and he circled the beautiful pale skinned cellist perched on a stool and he drank in the beautiful smiling girl along with the Bach.
“Do you like the Bach?” she asked
“I love the Bach” he replied
“I know” she said “Do you like anything else?”
“Oh yes”
“Do you like what I’m wearing?” she asked seductively
“Oh yes, very much, I think you look lovely” he replied “Are you going somewhere?”
“Maybe” she replied enigmatically
“But you got dressed up just in case” he asked
“I got dressed up for you” she said and stopped playing
“For me?” he asked with surprise “Why?”
“To get your attention” she said and put her cello on its stand and stood up “I do have your attention don’t I?”
“Oh yes” he replied “but I don’t understand”
“Maybe this will help” she said and leant forward and kissed him and then added
“Did that help?”
“I’m still a little confused” he replied and then he kissed her
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.
Sunday 2 July 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.
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