Peter Andrew was a big barrel-chested man with a bushy
beard and a happy jovial face and along with his wife Helen he ran the Old Mill
Inn In the idyllic village of Mornington-By-Mere in the Finchbottom Vale
nestled between the Ancient Dancingdean Forest and the rolling Pepperstock
Hills.
They had been there for 20 years and had raised two
children, Polly and John, and it was the perfect occupation for him but he
hadn’t always been in hospitality.
He left
school when he was fifteen, which was in the late seventies and he was living
in Finchbottom with his parents.
The family
home was in Shaftsbury Court, a warden run block of sheltered accommodation for
the elderly and his mother was the warden.
Peter
attended the School nearby which he left at the end of May and he started his
first job three days later.
However in
the November of that same year his mum changed jobs and the family moved from one
side of town to the other, the significance of which would have a life changing
effect on him within a matter of weeks.
The house
move didn’t affect him getting to and from work as the town had a particularly good
bus service, operating a flat fare service on circular routes.
Which meant
he could still get the same bus as he did from the old address but from a
different bus stop and the price was the same a fact which would have some
significance at a later date.
His job was
as a trainee groundsman with the Finchbottom District Council Grounds
Maintenance team it wasn’t by any means his dream job but then he didn’t have a
dream job, he left school at 15 because he wasn’t a scholar and he just needed
to get a job so he took the first one that came along.
He enjoyed
it well enough, though it wasn’t very fulfilling but then he didn’t think his
job needed to be.
He was just
happy to be earning after all, but as it was his first year at work he also had
his first works Christmas party to look forward to.
It was on
the last day before they broke for the Christmas holiday when they had a little
works party in the yard where a little Christmas cheer was imbibed and a drink
or two were consumed.
Peter was
only sixteen at the time and he had only had very limited experience of alcohol
and as a result he got well and truly bladdered on whisky Mac, cider and
something unpronounceable from Yugoslavia.
So at the
end of the afternoon one of his workmates gave him a lift into the town centre and
from there he caught his usual bus.
But despite his
drunken state he managed to climb the stairs to the top deck and the bus set
off filled with Christmas shoppers and a drunken trainee grounds man.
He drifted
off on the journey and he suddenly came to and looking out the window he recognized
a familiar sight and so he promptly disembarked from the bus.
Peter headed
off up the road in the direction of home wishing all and sundry a merry
Christmas as he went.
He entered
through the main doors to the flats and passed the Christmas tree in the foyer
and headed straight for flat number one.
At the door he
fumbled for his key and presented it to the lock and it wouldn’t fit.
He peered
closely at it and he was satisfied that it was definitely his door key so he
tried to put it in the lock again, but still it wouldn’t fit and suddenly the
door opened and a stranger looked out at him.
“Can I
help?” she asked.
“Ah” he
exclaimed “my name is Peter and I don’t live here anymore do I?”
The lady,
who was the new warden, laughed and agreed with him that he definitely no
longer lived there.
Peter
apologized profusely and wished her a Happy Christmas and then made his way
back to the foyer were there was a public telephone with one of those large
Perspex domes over it.
His
intention was to phone for a taxi to take him to where he actually lived but
after rummaging in his pockets he discovered he had no money for the taxi or
indeed a coin to make a phone call to order a taxi that he couldn’t afford.
However as he
tried to duck under the Perspex hood he tripped over his own feet and fell into
the Christmas tree which ended up on top of him.
The lady who
now lived in flat no 1, heard the commotion and came to investigate and to his great
surprise she thought it was very amusing to find a drunken teenager wearing the
Christmas tree.
“Oh dear”
she said laughing.
Deeply
apologetic he explained the circumstances of his predicament and the new warden
phoned a taxi for him and even gave him the money for the fare.
He thought that
was real Christmas spirit and he never forgot her kindness and tolerance and from
that time on he tried to keep that same spirit in his own heart at Christmas.
On New Year’s
Eve Peter returned again to Shaftsbury Court but unlike his previous visit he
was stone cold sober and there by intention.
He was
carrying a large bouquet of flowers and a thank you card, he wasn’t going to
knock on the door, he would have been too embarrassed to see her face to face,
so he leant the bouquet against the door frame and turned to walk away.
He had only
taken two steps when he heard the door open behind him and he went rigid.
Peter took a
breath and slowly turned around expecting to see Mrs Copeland but instead he
was face to face with a pretty 15 year old girl.
“Oh you must
be Peter” she said looking at the card on the flowers
“Yes, yes I
am” he said falteringly
“I’m Helen”
she said “Mum’s inside, I think you should give her these yourself”
“Could you
give them to her for me” he said
“No I can’t”
Helen said “Come on in she won’t bite”
So with
Helen holding his hand he went into the flat that used to be his home to
apologize to her mum and ended up staying until the following year by which
time he had a girlfriend.
By the next
Christmas he had secretly proposed to Helen and five years down the line he had
given up his groundsman’s job and the kind hearted Mrs Copeland was his mother
in law.
