A New love, young love,
Fresh
and in bud,
Exciting,
Heart racingly so,
Though
uncertain, exciting still
A
Breathless love Full of longing
Eagerness
to be together
Reluctance
to part
Hand
touching hand, Pulse raising
Heart
full of love, Head full of doubt
“Do
they feel as I?” “Am I just a fool?”
Will
our love last?
Will
it blossom and grow
Will
it bear fruit?
Or wither on the vine
When did the love die?
At what moment did it turn
It was that, once too often,
Hint of ardours odour upon her
The smell of another man
On her clothes, her skin, her hair,
That made him snap
Making him lose control
And strike her down
Snuffing out the life
Of his unfaithful wife
The beautiful Downshire
village of Clerembeax St Giles was situated to the west of Abbeyvale located
between Grace Hill and Bushy Down and on the outskirts was the Clerembeax Palace Hotel and Spa which was a
popular venue for wedding receptions and the grounds made a great backdrop for
the wedding photos, and it was for their expertise on the well-manicured lawns and
borders where Grandparents Bob and Carrie Stephens were employed as part of a large
team of gardeners.
They were lifelong residents of Clerembeax and before the Spa opened
they had to travel fifteen miles each way to work every day but now they had a ten-minute
walk to do the work they loved so much, but that was because horticulture was
also their hobby.
So, on their days off they were often to be found in their secluded
garden enjoying their favourite pastime, but on May 5th they were
gardening with a difference because they were both naked, although they were
both wearing wellington boots and hats, while Bob also wore a tool belt, and
the reason for their unorthodox attire was that it was World Naked Gardening Day.
They had pottered around
their garden for most of the day, and as they often did when they were enjoying
themselves, they lost track of time.
So, it took them by surprise
when they heard their grandchildren arrive, which meant that they had seriously
miscalculated the time.
Fortunately, they were at
the end of the garden beyond the rose trellis, which afforded them some
protection, but the thing that saved their blushes were the tell-tale chimes of
the ice cream van in the street outside the cottage, and that stopped the
grandchildren in their tracks, but they were soon running up the garden again
and calling
"Ice cream. Ice cream"
"Just a minute
kids" Bob shouted to them and Carrie ducked down low as he dug around in
his tool belt, mindful to keep everything from the waist down below the height
of the trellis rail.
He brought out three, two pound coins which he tossed over the herbaceous
border and landed them expertly on the lawn a few feet from the children.
However as he extended his arm to perform the delivery he almost delivered his
manhood over the rail as well but Carrie grabbed it with her gloved hand just
in time
"Oh no you don’t" she said
“Thanks
Grandpa” the kids chimed in unison "do you want one?"
"No
thanks" he shouted back
“What about Grandma?”
“No,
I’m fine” she replied and giggled as the grandchildren ran back the way they
came.
“That
was close” Carrie said still holding onto him
“I’ll
say” he agreed “So I suggest you let go of my spuds and we go and get some
clothes on”
“Oh
yes” she said and giggled again
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 and William Hunter had
lived there all his life.
He had spent a week confined to the house as his accountant had been
pressurizing him to provide him with all his bills and receipts, so he could
submit William’s annual accounts at the end of the tax year.
His business was very successful, and he worked hard, but he was a bit
of a scatterbrain and he wasn’t brilliant with the paperwork, and he
subsequently always left it to the last minute, so when he got the call from
the accountant, it always led to a long drawn out and onerous chore.
When he had finally finished, four days later, and sent everything to his
accountant he thought it was time to end his self-imposed exile, and when he
opened his back door he discovered he had timed it to perfection, because when he
stepped out into the sunlight he found his gardener, Vikki Hynds, working up a
sweat cutting the grass, and she always got his pulse racing, even before she
stopped to empty the grass box and bent over in front of him.
But it wasn’t just a physical attraction, he really liked her, but he
never did anything about it because he thought she was way out of his league,
in every conceivable way.
She stood up from her task and turned towards him and smiled.
“So, you’re not dead then” she said
“No rumors’ of my demise have been greatly exaggerated” he paraphrased.
“So, what have you been up to?” she asked
“End of year accounts” he replied, and at that moment her new apprentice,
Daisy, appeared wearing similar work boots and dungarees to Vikki, and was carrying
some empty heavy-duty sacks.
“Hello Mr. Hunter” she shouted
“Hi Daisy” William shouted back, then in a lower voice he said to Vikki
“How’s she doing?” and nodding in Daisy’s direction
“Excellently” Vikki replied beaming
“She’s a quick learner, hardworking, eager and reliable”
“Really?”
“I couldn’t ask for better, and she’s a real sweetie” she said “She’s
the best one I’ve ever had”
He left them to their toil in the soil and made his way into the village
to replenish all the essentials he had run out of, and after stocking up at
Stephenson’s Supermarket he returned home with his bags of shopping and was
looking forward to feasting his eyes on his lovely gardener again, but as he
reached the corner his heart sank as he saw Vikki’s van driving away up the
road.
When William got home and let himself in he went straight to the kitchen,
unpacked the bags and started to put everything away, but then he became aware
of noises in the house, and he feared that he had an intruder, so he picked up a
rolling pin and went to investigate, cautiously.
As he left the kitchen and the sounds became louder he realized they
were coming from the conservatory, but when he got there he found that he
didn’t need the weapon because he discovered that the intruder was actually
Vikki Hynds, and his discovery caused him to stop in his tracks and made his
chin hit the floor.
Because she was attending to the many and varied pot plants in the
conservatory, but it wasn’t that alone that left him gob smacked, it was the
fact that Vikki was going about her task wearing only her work boots, gardening
gloves and a smile, while hiding her assets behind a watering can and a potted
geranium.
“So, I see I finally have your full and undivided attention” she said
“But you’re not going to need a rolling pin for what I have in mind”
A first kiss,
Nervous, anxious,
When tentative
And hesitant lips
Lacking confidence
Needing conviction
Miss their mark
And teeth collide
She sat on an eternal shore, silent
Calm
unexpressive face, still like granite
Contemplating
her destiny, knowing
The
path she chooses she must take alone
Upon
the expected crossroads she came
It
arrived suddenly, but then not so
The
long awaited, long dreamed of moment
Choices
when made can extend far beyond
Like
ripples in the water from a stone
Inside
herself she must look for the answer
A
deep breath, a sigh and she plant’s her foot
Upon
the chosen trail to who knows where
With
confidence she sets off on her way
Has
she made the right choice who can say?
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 takes place in the southern town off
Abbottsford which was the biggest in Downshire, its administrative capital and
the seat of the Downshire government.
It was also a place of learning thanks to the Downshire University and
was a Cathedral
City and was also home to Abbottsford
Town football club.
Charlotte and Philip
McDowell were on their way to the Cathedral for a memorial service and as was
the norm they walked through Cathedral Park to get there.
It was a busy in the Park
because it was a glorious day, as it always was when the sun was shining, and
there was always a greater concentration around the boating lake.
They were often in the park,
so it was nothing out of the ordinary for but on that particular occasion it
was not only a lovely bright afternoon, very sunny and very warm, but as it was
a Bank Holiday, so it attracted even more visitors scurrying about.
Even so the McDowell’s expected
nothing untoward until Charlotte said
“What’s going on?”
“What?” he asked and tried
to follow her gaze, and when he had established he was looking in the same
place as she was he saw that there was a girl in a skimpy dress walking towards
them who appeared to be causing something of a stir.
“Isn’t that Claire
Hammond?” he asked
“Yes, I think so” she
replied
Claire was someone they
had known for a few years, and they had a mutual dislike for each other, and she
was a rather innocuous looking girl certainly more than mildly attractive but
not a stunner or of movie star calibre.
She definitely suffered
from pretty girl syndrome, and though she was attractive she thought she
was far more beautiful than all
other women around her, and yet she was causing every head to turn, male and
female, young and old.
Men’s jaws dropped to the
floor and their eyes stood out on stalks and women looked sternly and shook
their collective heads.
But this behaviour was not
restricted to pedestrians, cyclist’s, drivers, rowers and Pedalo passengers
joined in the ogling.
“What are they all gawping
at?” Philip asked
“No idea” She replied also
questioning if this unremarkable girl was worthy of all the attention.
But as she passed them,
without them acknowledging each other, they continued to follow her with their
gaze and the reason for the head turning soon became apparent.
The hem of her skirt had
snagged on the bottom of her shoulder bag rendering her rear aspect exposed from
the waist downward.
Though it wasn’t that in
itself which had elicited the response she had received, that was due solely to
the fact she had neglected to wear any pants.
As she continued on and
turned more heads Philip asked his wife
“Do you think we should tell
her?”
“No way” she replied “Serves
her right for being so vane”
