A large magpie sat atop its branches, half flew to the very peak of the tree, cawing loudly to whoever was listening; but no one was listening, as hardly a mouse twitched or a butterfly descended, it was so early morning.
A soft breeze sprang from nowhere and sighed through what was left of the upper branches. One side of the half dead tree was totally dead, the other half, very much alive. There appeared a curious division from top to bottom, with no evidence as to what had killed off one half of the tree. The shape rounded like a pear as one gazed nonchalantly at its appearance, utterly mystified. The tree was tall, as the live half swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze, that whispered past its troubled boughs in the softness of the summer light.
The magpie gave another warble from on high, flapped its wings which were black as coal, its breast glistening, white areas clean and bright, swooped downward, then flew across towards the park where it soon settled on a tall eucalyptus tree. Being summer, the eucalyptus like many, had shed a large proportion of its bark which lay around its large peeling trunk. Along a path under the trees, was littered many twigs, branches and fallen leaves. But the half dead tree somehow remained half alive that summer, it was not a known fact it would remain so next summer or the one following.
An occasional storm presented itself in the form of darkening skies of deep blue and steel-grey clouds, white tipped, threatening the peace of shimmering heat that settled across the park and beyond, like night encroaching upon day. Native parrots screeched loudly as they passed above the half dead tree, fleeing from an oncoming storm, crossing native vegetation below and then over to the golf course on the other side of the meandering creek. Soon the rain came, sheeting down upon the tree, soaking its half dead branches turning them dark, the leaves on the other side glistening after the rain had passed, droplets of cool water dripping to parched earth below. The dead branches never swayed with the wind, but remained still, lifeless, glinting with raindrops.
When the summer evenings settled on leafy branches, a pale pink hue emanated from the setting sun, casting its magic through the leaves as if the tree was soaking up its warmth and life. It was resplendent in the late afternoon light, almost glowing as a clifftop beacon alerting passing ships, the tree gave off a peacefulness.
As the summer passed into autumn, days shortened, shadows lengthened, close to where the tree stood overlooking the native vegetation, where tall eucalyptus trees, acacias and other species grew larger with each passing year.
Mists formed above the mountain not far away, turning it from blue to mauve in the morning light, then hovered in the valley below, gathering in the park beside the walking path, settling along the surface of the creek where ducks idly paddled over its surface. Sometimes a damp and swirling mist blew mellow through the tree, partially enfolding it in dense moisture descended from the mountain above, where it took on a ghostlike appearance in the autumnal days.
The nights became bleaker as autumn slowly turned to winter, the last golden leaves fluttered to the ground and the tree soaked up any rain that fell upon its roots. The winter months were never cold enough to whiten the half dead tree with snow, neither did it grow when the weather was cold. In fact, after winter had long gone, warmer days arrived, the half dead tree still maintained one half adorned with leaves as it was not deciduous, while the other half still looked dead, forlorn.
As the years passed, seasons came and went, the half dead tree appeared to stay the same. The dead half remained dead, while the other half was healthy, unaffected by any further problems. It didn't resist the wind as the other half did, but eventually it grew further, strong and healthy, birds flitted through the boughs rejoicing upon its presence, they chirped to the moon and stars above during summer nights; blackbirds, doves and many native birds of the area, sang its song of life. its loveliness, beauty - its strength.
Tuesday 31 December 2013
Thursday 26 December 2013
A Christmas Remembered
Morning dawned warm, as a soft summer sun beamed pink above the distant horizon, close to the mauve-tipped hills, a promise of possible heat sent shimmering across native reserves, dewy from night that was quiet and still. The grass remained green until midsummer sun burned it brown, dry, lacking any moisture. Colourful parrots screeched among blue-green leaves of tall eucalypt trees in nearby parks, the creek flowing endlessly toward a lake.
Under the warmth of a blue summer's day in the southern hemisphere, thoughts turned to how green was the valley, my valley in an English spring, when the wildflowers graced the high banks of Dorset lanes and in May, cow parsley grew tall beside narrow winding roads. Owls hooted in the still night air hunting for food, farm animals wandered in the higher lush field above the cottage in lengthening twilight of summer, munching on sweet grass, their udders swinging to and fro through the greenness.
But as the year passed and autumn turned into winter, chestnuts having dropped in the lower woodland, lost amongst fallen leaves, pheasants swooped squawking over the garden and hedges, Christmas was imminent. The garden was going to sleep having been carpeted with the first of winter's snow, buried in frosty nights when the moon cast silvery beams over snowy fields, glistening like diamonds.
Another gentle snowfall came quickly, unexpectedly, clouds scudded across the moon, shedding their whiteness falling softly upon the countryside, large flakes cascaded down from above where a darkened sky emptied itself upon the earth below. The snow-laden clouds spilling white crystals fluttering across small hills in my valley, forming a virginal carpet of winter whiteness, a unique beauty heralding Christmas that year.
Snow sat thickly on tall pine trees and between them, pathways sprinkled with a dusting, looked peaceful, untouched except for small footprints of a passing fox, slinking through the night.
Christmas, cold and frosty, the nights long, days short, with snow forming in the garden quietly, a turkey sizzled softly in the Aga, stuffed with great Granny's stuffing recipe. The pudding just made, awaited custard or cream to be poured over it. Outside, the air was sharp, but inside the cottage was warm, homely, with a crackling fire, carols were heard drifting from the radio. The children laughed and played with newly acquired games close to the Christmas tree, twinkling with small lights. Many greeting cards hung around doorways while holly and ivy adorned the old Welsh dresser and elsewhere. Tinsel and pretty silver baubles were entwined amongst the ivy, while a smell of pine wafted through the air from the tree in the corner of the sitting room. Coloured paper lay around the floor where the children had unwrapped their presents.
That particular Christmas brought memories flooding back, never to be experienced in the southern hemisphere where the warm sunshine never felt like Christmas in England and never would, but a different atmosphere was created, of childhood memories spent at the seaside, where the white sand met a pale green sea, the tide having gone out leaving pools and a sandbank to walk upon. A few shells were left close to the water's edge, bending now and picking one up, Christmas in England was but a distant memory.
Under the warmth of a blue summer's day in the southern hemisphere, thoughts turned to how green was the valley, my valley in an English spring, when the wildflowers graced the high banks of Dorset lanes and in May, cow parsley grew tall beside narrow winding roads. Owls hooted in the still night air hunting for food, farm animals wandered in the higher lush field above the cottage in lengthening twilight of summer, munching on sweet grass, their udders swinging to and fro through the greenness.
But as the year passed and autumn turned into winter, chestnuts having dropped in the lower woodland, lost amongst fallen leaves, pheasants swooped squawking over the garden and hedges, Christmas was imminent. The garden was going to sleep having been carpeted with the first of winter's snow, buried in frosty nights when the moon cast silvery beams over snowy fields, glistening like diamonds.
Another gentle snowfall came quickly, unexpectedly, clouds scudded across the moon, shedding their whiteness falling softly upon the countryside, large flakes cascaded down from above where a darkened sky emptied itself upon the earth below. The snow-laden clouds spilling white crystals fluttering across small hills in my valley, forming a virginal carpet of winter whiteness, a unique beauty heralding Christmas that year.
Snow sat thickly on tall pine trees and between them, pathways sprinkled with a dusting, looked peaceful, untouched except for small footprints of a passing fox, slinking through the night.
Christmas, cold and frosty, the nights long, days short, with snow forming in the garden quietly, a turkey sizzled softly in the Aga, stuffed with great Granny's stuffing recipe. The pudding just made, awaited custard or cream to be poured over it. Outside, the air was sharp, but inside the cottage was warm, homely, with a crackling fire, carols were heard drifting from the radio. The children laughed and played with newly acquired games close to the Christmas tree, twinkling with small lights. Many greeting cards hung around doorways while holly and ivy adorned the old Welsh dresser and elsewhere. Tinsel and pretty silver baubles were entwined amongst the ivy, while a smell of pine wafted through the air from the tree in the corner of the sitting room. Coloured paper lay around the floor where the children had unwrapped their presents.
That particular Christmas brought memories flooding back, never to be experienced in the southern hemisphere where the warm sunshine never felt like Christmas in England and never would, but a different atmosphere was created, of childhood memories spent at the seaside, where the white sand met a pale green sea, the tide having gone out leaving pools and a sandbank to walk upon. A few shells were left close to the water's edge, bending now and picking one up, Christmas in England was but a distant memory.
Wednesday 4 December 2013
A Brief Encounter
Laura gazed toward the window in the early morning, stretched luxuriously, then realized the date. She glanced toward the dawn seeping between the slats in the blinds knowing the sun must be over the horizon by now, judging the time by the amount of sun filtering into her room. She watched the sun's rays as they crept across the end of the bed to where her toes were wriggling under the covers. Only a few more moments, then she must arise out of her bed for the last time, not to return for many weeks. The airport beckoned and being a good hour's journey away, she needed to get her thoughts together before leaving. She sighed gently to herself, padding softly to where her clothes were hanging. Last minute checks were necessary, bills paid, the frig cleared out, taps turned off properly, the kitchen left clean and house locked.
Laura had been through this many times in the past and enjoyed travelling, seeing a little of Europe, visiting her friend in England and arranging all this herself wasn't too difficult. The thought of travelling on her own was never daunting, in fact she relished it as she was able to enjoy most things at will.
Being interested in photography played a large part of her travels as did other things, but she liked to spend as much time where possible, concentrating on this aspect of the adventure and it was an adventure, as she never knew exactly what would happen or whom she would meet along the way.
It was usually necessary to alter the camera settings carefully before taking each photo, but there were times when luck played a part. She would have fun clicking the shutter after guessing the settings, when she saw a good light opportunity or subject not to be missed, taking her chances. This, she found could be rewarding and very creative depending on where she was, the subject matter, the execution thereof. She smiled to herself. Once she found some tall grasses growing alongside a path and slowed the shutter speed down, then jerking the camera to one side at just the right moment. This resulted in unusual shapes and colours. Yes, those shots could turn our very interesting indeed, she thought.
The trip to the airport was uneventful, arriving in plenty of time for her afternoon flight to the other side of the world.
After a long plane journey, Laura was delighted to arrive in London again. A few days to overcome the worst of jetlag, then on to visit her friend in the West Country for a few days. The time spent there was always like returning home, a feeling of belonging, sheer joy of seeing the hilly countryside again, woodlands with air spiced with a rich aromatic smell of earthiness, cows grazing nonchalantly in fields chewing on sweet smelling grass, was exhilarating. She relished it as before when living in the vicinity, breathing in the countryside and all it offered, its peace and tranquility overwhelming the senses. She missed it, the same sense of homeliness always returned when she drove down the narrow country lanes, the familiarity was there to be experienced again, a blissful awakening that this part of England was unchanged, unspoiled. If it was May, the cow parsley would be flowering, almost meeting as it spilled onto the narrow lanes, dropping tiny white spent flowers scattering across the road. If early April, she may hear the first cuckoo deep in the woods at the bottom of a field, a small stream flowing through, gurgling as it passed the spruce trees in rows like marching soldiers. They whispered white in mid winter, quiet as door mice sleeping through cold snowy weather. She remembered the hedgehog that slept peacefully under a pile of leaves in her garden. Her thoughts were indulged with the familiar environment, it never seemed to change, thankfully.
Soon it was time to move on, hire a car, driving wherever the will took her.
Time and chance took her in a vague north easterly direction toward the Cotswolds. Finding herself in the lovely cathedral city of Wells in Somerset, she came across the magnificent cathedral, its pretty setting with swans gliding around the moat near the entrance. The early English Gothic architecture of the cathedral was impressive, the size not as big as perhaps Lincoln or York, nonetheless worth a visit.
Laura decided on a pub lunch first, her time then free to explore the cathedral afterwards. With her last visit being year's ago, this was another opportunity to capture the famous scissor-like structures of the interior; an unorthodox solution of support after the central tower was heightened between 1315 - 22 topped with a spire. This evidently caused the piers to show signs of stress, thereby low arches were inserted, adding inverted arches of similar dimensions, she learned; there being no better time to photograph them than now.
Later, lunch completed, she entered the cathedral, quietly moved around to the Well's astronomical clock, with its surviving mechanism dating back to between 1386 - 1392. Laura paused nearby. She didn't have her heavy tripod with her, so resourceful as she was, took several things from her bag to prop up the long lens of her camera on a low stone bench. Soon, two elderly ladies came into view and stood gazing at the mechanism of the old clock.
Laura enjoyed photographing the cathedral interior, lost in a haze of history.
Some time later, she was searching in her bag for something in a craft shop. With horrified shock, she realized her money purse was missing, the soft leather one she so carefully chose in a tiny shop in Rome, after losing another one she had had for many years.
'Oh damn and blast,' she sighed out loud, experiencing a slight sick feeling inside. I really can't remember exactly where I could have lost it, she muttered under her breath to no-one in particular. She had left a few pounds sterling in a pocket to pay for lunch, but now the seriousness of losing her purse started to dawn on her. Several of her important cards were inside, so she decided to back-track as quickly as possible, trying not to panic in order to think clearly.
Eventually she arrived back at the cathedral.
Being greeted by a tall gentleman wearing some sort of cross sash around his shoulder and over his chest, she tried to appeal to his patience, a little out of breath. The gentleman gave her a slight smile, a brief feeling of hope and told Laura to walk across the nave of the cathedral and knock on the verger's door nearby. She had only half heard where the gentleman directed, as by now she was becoming very anxious indeed. She scurried around a few corners, finding a small door in a very high wall and knocked hopefully. Eventually the door opened slowly, a face appearing above some sort of cassock.
'Yes?' asked the man slowly. 'Can I help you at all?'
Laura explained about the missing purse, finding it necessary to describe it in detail, as the verger wasn't at all impressed with her pleading. As she did so, the man facing her within the small cathedral room, calmly withdrew inside while Laura waited anxiously and a good deal of expectancy. The purse had evidently been found by two elderly ladies and handed in immediately. When the verger returned holding the purse, Laura sighed deeply, clasped it gratefully, with great relief, thanking the gentleman. She returned to the reception area and asked if was possible they knew the names of the ladies. who had found it.
'Well, we DID write down the names, but seem to have mislaid them somewhere,' explained a white haired lady with a sweet smile, sitting behind a desk. She rummaged in a draw of the desk a little longer, then said, 'I'm awfully sorry my dear, I can't find the note at all, but you must be very relieved just the same, to have your purse returned.'
'I am indeed.' Laura smiled back at them, about to depart, when two elderly ladies suddenly appeared around a corner.
'Oh!' cried the lady behind the reception desk. 'These are the very ladies who found your purse and handed it in.' She gestured to the two ladies who had paused by the reception desk.
Laura turned to face them, completely overwhelmed with gratitude and gave them both a hug with tears of joy in her eyes. 'I can't thank you enough for your kindness and honesty,' she said, smiling at each one in turn. 'I never thought I'd see that purse again. It's people like you who are very special indeed and the world needs more like you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much time was spent finding that nice soft leather purse in Rome, after my other one was, er, mislaid. I'd had it for many years and still miss it, never wanted to lose another one. Quite silly I suppose, becoming attached to an old purse, but it's the shape, colour and softness of leather I liked. Very difficult to replace.' She rambled on in a flood of emotion.
The taller one of the two introduced herself as Charlotte, doing the same for her friend, Hetty. She was the first one to speak. 'You are most welcome. It was the obvious thing to do, handing it in immediately. We had done so quite some time ago after finding it on the floor near the old clock,' she added. 'It's a wonder you hadn't missed it sooner.'
Laura was still in tears, but smiling through them. 'I had left the cathedral and wandered through some shops. Then I suddenly missed it, had to back-track. You are both very kind indeed,' she repeated. 'I'd love to take you both for some tea or reward you with a little something for your good deed.'
'It was nothing really, but thank you, no, we must be getting back to our car now. We have a long drive ahead,' Charlotte explained.
'Oh, that's a pity, but I understand,' Laura said, still delighted with meeting the two elderly ladies. They chatted on a little longer and exchanged email addresses as only Charlotte and not Hetty, used a computer from time to time, as did Laura on a regular basis.
After an enjoyable discussion about what they found in common, Charlotte having collected many stamps over the years and Laura remembering she had kept an album since she was eight years old, they parted company after their brief encounter. Charlotte's last words to Laura were - 'send me a Christmas card my dear, I'd love a few stamps from your country,' smiling over her shoulder, waving goodbye.
Laura was determined upon returning home, to be sure and contact Charlotte, retrieve her old stamp album, and send off a few stamps she knew she had saved years ago. She seemed the most interested of the two ladies, in a possible communication at a later time.
Laura walked off in another direction, still emotional about finding her purse, not really believing she would see it again. The feeling of euphoria stayed with her for the rest of the day, the memory of meeting two very charming, interesting and delightful ladies would stay with her forever, their honesty commendable and very much appreciated.
She drove over many roads and lanes of England enjoying beautiful small towns, pretty villages, late wild flowers, cottage gardens, apart from the historic content of many places she found along the way. She often paused to take photos when she sensed an opportunity suddenly presented itself, relishing in the history of ancient castles in parts of Wales where she ventured for about a week.
The mists that hovered over the mountain tops often lingered, enchanting her, sometimes settling into deep valleys or over a river, before once again clearing or swirling rain clouds appeared, washing the countryside clean, leaving it adorned with late afternoon sunshine, air sweet with the remains of summer.
The weeks flew by quickly, the car had to be returned and finding herself in London again, Laura ventured into many places only visited briefly in the past. Wandering at will, taking the last photos before returning home, she often thought of her chance meeting with Charlotte and Hetty, giving her a quiet feeling of euphoria.
Upon arrival back in Australia, Laura dealt with the mundane things for a few days before deciding to send Charlotte the first email. Within no time, she had received a reply, telling her many things of interest after arriving back home where she lived, toward the north of England. She had been staying with her friend Hetty further south and was enjoying 'gallivanting' as she called it. Laura was pleased, delighted in fact, that her pen pal was so active, amusing and very interesting. The contact stimulated her into writing short stories again, as she had fallen into a sort of stagnation with it.
From then on, many emails were exchanged between the two woman, although they were not of similar ages, but both finding the exchanges great fun, indulgent and enjoyable, always learning from each other, with plenty to laugh about.
This lasted for many years, emails were sent back and forth between the two ladies, by now, close friends. Laura always took note of what her pen pal Charlotte told her, about England's history, its architecture. She described the local flora and fauna as the seasons came and went, the world about her, having many times been travelling around many parts of England and beyond, spending time with family. Her life had been a source of inspiration, Laura always absorbing the information and sometimes using it in a short story. Charlotte continued to collect stamps, Laura sending several in a Christmas card each year, delighting her friend.
Then suddenly, without warning, the correspondence from Charlotte ceased. Laura became very concerned, not knowing the reason why her emails were not answered, pondering over this for many weeks wondering what to do.
One day in late winter when the trees were bare, the wind crept around the house, while birds had ceased their morning song long ago, outside the garden silent and foreboding. Rain splashed down the windows falling into tiny pools below, when Laura reluctantly checked her letter box. She gingerly plucked an envelope from inside, noticing it had come from England, immediately puzzled as to who had sent it. These days she rarely received letters, only emails.
Laura made some strong coffee and sat down to read the letter. As she opened it, she glanced at the bottom, realizing it had been written by Charlotte's old friend, Hetty. Somehow Hetty must have been given her address and written a letter, which read as follows -
'My dear Laura, I have been aware for many years that you and Charlotte had become close pen pals and it is with deep regret that I now inform you of her passing some weeks ago. It had been difficult to retrieve your address, but eventually I was able to do so. I have lost a very dear sweet friend. We had been close since our school days and I'm sure you will be affected by her death also. Charlotte passed away peacefully in her sleep, evidently it was her heart that finally gave out. She had had trouble in the past, but didn't want to make much of it.
Like you I'm sure, I feel a gaping hole in my life and hope it will be possible for you to accept her death without too much sadness.
I know Charlotte had always enjoyed your communications and it was with great reluctance that I write to you. Try not to be too sad dear Laura, Charlotte had enjoyed her life to the full. It was as she had wanted and what she made of her life, giving freely of herself with a kind gentleness and thoughtfulness, endeared her to everyone around her.
There are things I must do now and I felt it only right to inform you about Charlotte. Take care my dear.
I remain yours sincerely, Hetty B.'
Laura slowly placed the letter on the table, tears flowing down her cheeks. Life would never be quite the same without Charlotte, who would be greatly missed. It was difficult to think of anything else for a while, as Laura sat pondering on all she had learned of life from her pen pal, living in the north of England.
That brief encounter in Wells cathedral had been one of life's blessings and would remain with her forever.
Laura had been through this many times in the past and enjoyed travelling, seeing a little of Europe, visiting her friend in England and arranging all this herself wasn't too difficult. The thought of travelling on her own was never daunting, in fact she relished it as she was able to enjoy most things at will.
Being interested in photography played a large part of her travels as did other things, but she liked to spend as much time where possible, concentrating on this aspect of the adventure and it was an adventure, as she never knew exactly what would happen or whom she would meet along the way.
It was usually necessary to alter the camera settings carefully before taking each photo, but there were times when luck played a part. She would have fun clicking the shutter after guessing the settings, when she saw a good light opportunity or subject not to be missed, taking her chances. This, she found could be rewarding and very creative depending on where she was, the subject matter, the execution thereof. She smiled to herself. Once she found some tall grasses growing alongside a path and slowed the shutter speed down, then jerking the camera to one side at just the right moment. This resulted in unusual shapes and colours. Yes, those shots could turn our very interesting indeed, she thought.
The trip to the airport was uneventful, arriving in plenty of time for her afternoon flight to the other side of the world.
After a long plane journey, Laura was delighted to arrive in London again. A few days to overcome the worst of jetlag, then on to visit her friend in the West Country for a few days. The time spent there was always like returning home, a feeling of belonging, sheer joy of seeing the hilly countryside again, woodlands with air spiced with a rich aromatic smell of earthiness, cows grazing nonchalantly in fields chewing on sweet smelling grass, was exhilarating. She relished it as before when living in the vicinity, breathing in the countryside and all it offered, its peace and tranquility overwhelming the senses. She missed it, the same sense of homeliness always returned when she drove down the narrow country lanes, the familiarity was there to be experienced again, a blissful awakening that this part of England was unchanged, unspoiled. If it was May, the cow parsley would be flowering, almost meeting as it spilled onto the narrow lanes, dropping tiny white spent flowers scattering across the road. If early April, she may hear the first cuckoo deep in the woods at the bottom of a field, a small stream flowing through, gurgling as it passed the spruce trees in rows like marching soldiers. They whispered white in mid winter, quiet as door mice sleeping through cold snowy weather. She remembered the hedgehog that slept peacefully under a pile of leaves in her garden. Her thoughts were indulged with the familiar environment, it never seemed to change, thankfully.
Soon it was time to move on, hire a car, driving wherever the will took her.
Time and chance took her in a vague north easterly direction toward the Cotswolds. Finding herself in the lovely cathedral city of Wells in Somerset, she came across the magnificent cathedral, its pretty setting with swans gliding around the moat near the entrance. The early English Gothic architecture of the cathedral was impressive, the size not as big as perhaps Lincoln or York, nonetheless worth a visit.
Laura decided on a pub lunch first, her time then free to explore the cathedral afterwards. With her last visit being year's ago, this was another opportunity to capture the famous scissor-like structures of the interior; an unorthodox solution of support after the central tower was heightened between 1315 - 22 topped with a spire. This evidently caused the piers to show signs of stress, thereby low arches were inserted, adding inverted arches of similar dimensions, she learned; there being no better time to photograph them than now.
Later, lunch completed, she entered the cathedral, quietly moved around to the Well's astronomical clock, with its surviving mechanism dating back to between 1386 - 1392. Laura paused nearby. She didn't have her heavy tripod with her, so resourceful as she was, took several things from her bag to prop up the long lens of her camera on a low stone bench. Soon, two elderly ladies came into view and stood gazing at the mechanism of the old clock.
Laura enjoyed photographing the cathedral interior, lost in a haze of history.
Some time later, she was searching in her bag for something in a craft shop. With horrified shock, she realized her money purse was missing, the soft leather one she so carefully chose in a tiny shop in Rome, after losing another one she had had for many years.
'Oh damn and blast,' she sighed out loud, experiencing a slight sick feeling inside. I really can't remember exactly where I could have lost it, she muttered under her breath to no-one in particular. She had left a few pounds sterling in a pocket to pay for lunch, but now the seriousness of losing her purse started to dawn on her. Several of her important cards were inside, so she decided to back-track as quickly as possible, trying not to panic in order to think clearly.
Eventually she arrived back at the cathedral.
Being greeted by a tall gentleman wearing some sort of cross sash around his shoulder and over his chest, she tried to appeal to his patience, a little out of breath. The gentleman gave her a slight smile, a brief feeling of hope and told Laura to walk across the nave of the cathedral and knock on the verger's door nearby. She had only half heard where the gentleman directed, as by now she was becoming very anxious indeed. She scurried around a few corners, finding a small door in a very high wall and knocked hopefully. Eventually the door opened slowly, a face appearing above some sort of cassock.
'Yes?' asked the man slowly. 'Can I help you at all?'
Laura explained about the missing purse, finding it necessary to describe it in detail, as the verger wasn't at all impressed with her pleading. As she did so, the man facing her within the small cathedral room, calmly withdrew inside while Laura waited anxiously and a good deal of expectancy. The purse had evidently been found by two elderly ladies and handed in immediately. When the verger returned holding the purse, Laura sighed deeply, clasped it gratefully, with great relief, thanking the gentleman. She returned to the reception area and asked if was possible they knew the names of the ladies. who had found it.
'Well, we DID write down the names, but seem to have mislaid them somewhere,' explained a white haired lady with a sweet smile, sitting behind a desk. She rummaged in a draw of the desk a little longer, then said, 'I'm awfully sorry my dear, I can't find the note at all, but you must be very relieved just the same, to have your purse returned.'
'I am indeed.' Laura smiled back at them, about to depart, when two elderly ladies suddenly appeared around a corner.
'Oh!' cried the lady behind the reception desk. 'These are the very ladies who found your purse and handed it in.' She gestured to the two ladies who had paused by the reception desk.
Laura turned to face them, completely overwhelmed with gratitude and gave them both a hug with tears of joy in her eyes. 'I can't thank you enough for your kindness and honesty,' she said, smiling at each one in turn. 'I never thought I'd see that purse again. It's people like you who are very special indeed and the world needs more like you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much time was spent finding that nice soft leather purse in Rome, after my other one was, er, mislaid. I'd had it for many years and still miss it, never wanted to lose another one. Quite silly I suppose, becoming attached to an old purse, but it's the shape, colour and softness of leather I liked. Very difficult to replace.' She rambled on in a flood of emotion.
The taller one of the two introduced herself as Charlotte, doing the same for her friend, Hetty. She was the first one to speak. 'You are most welcome. It was the obvious thing to do, handing it in immediately. We had done so quite some time ago after finding it on the floor near the old clock,' she added. 'It's a wonder you hadn't missed it sooner.'
Laura was still in tears, but smiling through them. 'I had left the cathedral and wandered through some shops. Then I suddenly missed it, had to back-track. You are both very kind indeed,' she repeated. 'I'd love to take you both for some tea or reward you with a little something for your good deed.'
'It was nothing really, but thank you, no, we must be getting back to our car now. We have a long drive ahead,' Charlotte explained.
'Oh, that's a pity, but I understand,' Laura said, still delighted with meeting the two elderly ladies. They chatted on a little longer and exchanged email addresses as only Charlotte and not Hetty, used a computer from time to time, as did Laura on a regular basis.
After an enjoyable discussion about what they found in common, Charlotte having collected many stamps over the years and Laura remembering she had kept an album since she was eight years old, they parted company after their brief encounter. Charlotte's last words to Laura were - 'send me a Christmas card my dear, I'd love a few stamps from your country,' smiling over her shoulder, waving goodbye.
Laura was determined upon returning home, to be sure and contact Charlotte, retrieve her old stamp album, and send off a few stamps she knew she had saved years ago. She seemed the most interested of the two ladies, in a possible communication at a later time.
Laura walked off in another direction, still emotional about finding her purse, not really believing she would see it again. The feeling of euphoria stayed with her for the rest of the day, the memory of meeting two very charming, interesting and delightful ladies would stay with her forever, their honesty commendable and very much appreciated.
She drove over many roads and lanes of England enjoying beautiful small towns, pretty villages, late wild flowers, cottage gardens, apart from the historic content of many places she found along the way. She often paused to take photos when she sensed an opportunity suddenly presented itself, relishing in the history of ancient castles in parts of Wales where she ventured for about a week.
The mists that hovered over the mountain tops often lingered, enchanting her, sometimes settling into deep valleys or over a river, before once again clearing or swirling rain clouds appeared, washing the countryside clean, leaving it adorned with late afternoon sunshine, air sweet with the remains of summer.
The weeks flew by quickly, the car had to be returned and finding herself in London again, Laura ventured into many places only visited briefly in the past. Wandering at will, taking the last photos before returning home, she often thought of her chance meeting with Charlotte and Hetty, giving her a quiet feeling of euphoria.
Upon arrival back in Australia, Laura dealt with the mundane things for a few days before deciding to send Charlotte the first email. Within no time, she had received a reply, telling her many things of interest after arriving back home where she lived, toward the north of England. She had been staying with her friend Hetty further south and was enjoying 'gallivanting' as she called it. Laura was pleased, delighted in fact, that her pen pal was so active, amusing and very interesting. The contact stimulated her into writing short stories again, as she had fallen into a sort of stagnation with it.
From then on, many emails were exchanged between the two woman, although they were not of similar ages, but both finding the exchanges great fun, indulgent and enjoyable, always learning from each other, with plenty to laugh about.
This lasted for many years, emails were sent back and forth between the two ladies, by now, close friends. Laura always took note of what her pen pal Charlotte told her, about England's history, its architecture. She described the local flora and fauna as the seasons came and went, the world about her, having many times been travelling around many parts of England and beyond, spending time with family. Her life had been a source of inspiration, Laura always absorbing the information and sometimes using it in a short story. Charlotte continued to collect stamps, Laura sending several in a Christmas card each year, delighting her friend.
Then suddenly, without warning, the correspondence from Charlotte ceased. Laura became very concerned, not knowing the reason why her emails were not answered, pondering over this for many weeks wondering what to do.
One day in late winter when the trees were bare, the wind crept around the house, while birds had ceased their morning song long ago, outside the garden silent and foreboding. Rain splashed down the windows falling into tiny pools below, when Laura reluctantly checked her letter box. She gingerly plucked an envelope from inside, noticing it had come from England, immediately puzzled as to who had sent it. These days she rarely received letters, only emails.
Laura made some strong coffee and sat down to read the letter. As she opened it, she glanced at the bottom, realizing it had been written by Charlotte's old friend, Hetty. Somehow Hetty must have been given her address and written a letter, which read as follows -
'My dear Laura, I have been aware for many years that you and Charlotte had become close pen pals and it is with deep regret that I now inform you of her passing some weeks ago. It had been difficult to retrieve your address, but eventually I was able to do so. I have lost a very dear sweet friend. We had been close since our school days and I'm sure you will be affected by her death also. Charlotte passed away peacefully in her sleep, evidently it was her heart that finally gave out. She had had trouble in the past, but didn't want to make much of it.
Like you I'm sure, I feel a gaping hole in my life and hope it will be possible for you to accept her death without too much sadness.
I know Charlotte had always enjoyed your communications and it was with great reluctance that I write to you. Try not to be too sad dear Laura, Charlotte had enjoyed her life to the full. It was as she had wanted and what she made of her life, giving freely of herself with a kind gentleness and thoughtfulness, endeared her to everyone around her.
There are things I must do now and I felt it only right to inform you about Charlotte. Take care my dear.
I remain yours sincerely, Hetty B.'
Laura slowly placed the letter on the table, tears flowing down her cheeks. Life would never be quite the same without Charlotte, who would be greatly missed. It was difficult to think of anything else for a while, as Laura sat pondering on all she had learned of life from her pen pal, living in the north of England.
That brief encounter in Wells cathedral had been one of life's blessings and would remain with her forever.
Friday 8 November 2013
Remembering an Abbey in Anjou
Warm sun beat down upon the Anjou day, the morning still early, the sky a crisp blue while thin white clouds tipped with grey, flitted across like birds soaring endlessly high in the heavens above a quiet scene of peaceful historic contemplation.
The Abbaye de Fontevraud lay gleaming in the sunshine, its roof glinting like dull gold, reflecting the late summer, its quiet beauty of Romanesque architecture resplendent.
Approaching the western façade, the arched doorway through which a faint light appeared and filtered down to the four effigies that lay close together toward the end of the long aisleless nave and transepts with chapels - two kings, a queen and the wife of another king, all from the same Plantagenet family. The whereabouts of their bones still unknown.
Richard I, once King of England, Duke of Normandy, supposedly lay at rest here in Fontevraud Abbey not far from the Loire river in France, who, after twice rebelling against his father, became a king, a crusader of renown and gifted military leader of men, a warrior who had led his army against the Muslim leader Saladin. He had left the ruling of England to others while his younger brother John, schemed in his absence, to claim England's throne for himself, but only achieving that after the death of Richard.
The walls of the abbey soared high above where Richard lay. He had taken an unfortunate arrow in the shoulder that ended with his untimely death. The proud face of his effigy enlightens the onlooker of his past abilities, conquering the Muslim leader, but never Jerusalem, of his travels far and wide beyond the shores of England, where he had not spent the majority of his life, but it had been a life of achievements, adventures, battles and confinement. Upon his return from the third crusade, he was captured and held for many months until his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine paid a vast ransom for his release.
There are other so-called graves in the abbey, all close together, effigies once adorned in colours of red and blue, now worn with age over the centuries. Lives that had been lived in the mists of time, of sadness, splendour, the high walls each side of the nave mainly bare of adornment, encompassing the stillness and stark beauty of the interior. The sun streaming gently through a window above, reflecting down softly upon the faces of a king, his queen, their effigies side by side. Eleanor of Aquitaine, an open book in her hands, is raised a little higher than her lord King, Henry II of England. He died nearby at Chinon, his life having been in turmoil at times, their family spread far and wide.
The walls echoed the silence and peace of the moments spent there and beside Richard was Isabella of Angouleme, wife of Richard's younger brother John, who finally became King of England but losing most of the Angevin empire before he died.
Beyond the vast nave are the cloisters, built around a simple garden where perhaps Eleanor of Aquitaine strolled from time to time, the quietness reflecting her ghost as she swept the length of them, her skirts brushing the simplicity of low plants growing there.
The sun now behind a cloud, the cloisters eerily empty of who went before, where once the nuns and Abbesses living here within the vast walls spread around from the church, were to be seen walking quietly to and from their various duties. Off one of the cloisters, an archway beautifully decorated with intricate carvings, lead to the Chapter House where wall paintings are to be seen.
A garden lay beyond the towering architecture of the kitchens to one side of the Abbey buildings, still growing a few vegetables and flowers, where a brace of workmen tended the end of summer beds. Two butterflies blundered into the garden border, alighting on the remaining lavender, their colours vivid as the sun appeared once again, warming the flight of a bee, swarming around the center of various flowers.
The vast complex of buildings was once a prison. Perhaps the inmates were never free to roam in the garden, never free of their bondage to feel the warmth of the sun on their faces, see the bees and butterflies fly freely in and out of the flowers, unfettered. Their lives had been harsh, cruel, unbearable.
But the Abbey of Fontevraud is tranquil now, where only visitors stroll, its simple beauty encompassing all who enter here, inspiring, captivating the imagination generated from within its walls, hidden in the depths of history for all who seek its origins, remembering its grandeur.
The Abbaye de Fontevraud lay gleaming in the sunshine, its roof glinting like dull gold, reflecting the late summer, its quiet beauty of Romanesque architecture resplendent.
Approaching the western façade, the arched doorway through which a faint light appeared and filtered down to the four effigies that lay close together toward the end of the long aisleless nave and transepts with chapels - two kings, a queen and the wife of another king, all from the same Plantagenet family. The whereabouts of their bones still unknown.
Richard I, once King of England, Duke of Normandy, supposedly lay at rest here in Fontevraud Abbey not far from the Loire river in France, who, after twice rebelling against his father, became a king, a crusader of renown and gifted military leader of men, a warrior who had led his army against the Muslim leader Saladin. He had left the ruling of England to others while his younger brother John, schemed in his absence, to claim England's throne for himself, but only achieving that after the death of Richard.
The walls of the abbey soared high above where Richard lay. He had taken an unfortunate arrow in the shoulder that ended with his untimely death. The proud face of his effigy enlightens the onlooker of his past abilities, conquering the Muslim leader, but never Jerusalem, of his travels far and wide beyond the shores of England, where he had not spent the majority of his life, but it had been a life of achievements, adventures, battles and confinement. Upon his return from the third crusade, he was captured and held for many months until his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine paid a vast ransom for his release.
There are other so-called graves in the abbey, all close together, effigies once adorned in colours of red and blue, now worn with age over the centuries. Lives that had been lived in the mists of time, of sadness, splendour, the high walls each side of the nave mainly bare of adornment, encompassing the stillness and stark beauty of the interior. The sun streaming gently through a window above, reflecting down softly upon the faces of a king, his queen, their effigies side by side. Eleanor of Aquitaine, an open book in her hands, is raised a little higher than her lord King, Henry II of England. He died nearby at Chinon, his life having been in turmoil at times, their family spread far and wide.
The walls echoed the silence and peace of the moments spent there and beside Richard was Isabella of Angouleme, wife of Richard's younger brother John, who finally became King of England but losing most of the Angevin empire before he died.
Beyond the vast nave are the cloisters, built around a simple garden where perhaps Eleanor of Aquitaine strolled from time to time, the quietness reflecting her ghost as she swept the length of them, her skirts brushing the simplicity of low plants growing there.
The sun now behind a cloud, the cloisters eerily empty of who went before, where once the nuns and Abbesses living here within the vast walls spread around from the church, were to be seen walking quietly to and from their various duties. Off one of the cloisters, an archway beautifully decorated with intricate carvings, lead to the Chapter House where wall paintings are to be seen.
A garden lay beyond the towering architecture of the kitchens to one side of the Abbey buildings, still growing a few vegetables and flowers, where a brace of workmen tended the end of summer beds. Two butterflies blundered into the garden border, alighting on the remaining lavender, their colours vivid as the sun appeared once again, warming the flight of a bee, swarming around the center of various flowers.
The vast complex of buildings was once a prison. Perhaps the inmates were never free to roam in the garden, never free of their bondage to feel the warmth of the sun on their faces, see the bees and butterflies fly freely in and out of the flowers, unfettered. Their lives had been harsh, cruel, unbearable.
But the Abbey of Fontevraud is tranquil now, where only visitors stroll, its simple beauty encompassing all who enter here, inspiring, captivating the imagination generated from within its walls, hidden in the depths of history for all who seek its origins, remembering its grandeur.
Sunday 27 October 2013
On a Stormy Day in London
Rain pelted the ground. Small puddles soon appeared, splashing wet the feet of all who walked the sodden pavements, seemingly drunk on habitual showers, saturated they turned to rivers. Then the torrents began, intermittent with gusts of wind, hailing down upon London's constant traffic, incessant, movement that knew no bounds, no confines. It would travel on throughout the day, over bridges where the river Thames flowed endlessly, on and on into the night and beyond, street lights reflecting on wet roads like the remains of a fairground, as planes flew low overhead at regular intervals, ready to land. The roadways were incandescent after the day's heat. Once the rain came, it washed away summer's end, the shimmer in the parks now golden, bending boughs heavy in leaf, flowers now fallen, washed into autumn's hold.
Emma finished her large cup of coffee, the dregs frothy clinging to the bottom. Looking out from the warmth of a café, she gathered her things, stood up, then proceeded into the onslaught of now storm-like weather. Resigned to it, she headed for the nearest underground station, her feet disturbing the puddles as she hurried, sending the water in all directions.
Emma gritted her teeth as she had left her coat and umbrella at home. Wet strands of jet-black hair clung to her pretty face as she hurried to the entrance of the station. Down the steps to the barriers, she touched her travel card onto the yellow area and gratefully passed through the open gates. Around the corner were the two large lifts that descended to the lower reaches of the underground, taking her to a choice of tunnels before reaching the platform.
But today was different. One of the lifts was out of order. Many people were waiting for the only one in operation, several with suitcases on wheels heading for the airport. Eventually the lift door opened, then many converged into the available space, hot and airless. There were several different nationalities thrown together. Emma lowered her head close to a young man who apologized for treading on her foot.
'That's alright. It's no bother', she muttered, looking up briefly. It's a little crowded today.' She looked down at her shoes grimacing. They were wet and soggy.
'The weather doesn't help', smiled the young man. 'Looks like you got caught in it.'
'I'm afraid so.' Emma looked up, hair still clinging to her face as she tried to brush it back, giving a hint of a smile. The young man hadn't taken his gaze from Emma. Now she was wishing she hadn't got caught in the downpour and started to feel a little self-conscious. She felt his eyes on her. As the lift doors opened on the other side, the young man said hastily, 'apologies again for stepping on your toes.'
The lift was emptying, people were making their way in several directions. Emma started heading for the usual platform, the train hopefully would arrive in a minute or two, taking her home to a cosy house where she could change her clothes, which felt uncomfortable and damp.
She turned, trying to look consoled and smiled charmingly at the young man. 'You're welcome. No harm done' she replied as cheerfully as she could manage under the circumstances.
The platform was crowded, there had obviously been a holdup somewhere. Oh bother, thought Emma. Just when I need to get home quickly & dry off! Her feet were soaked, she had worn some soft leather shoes today and now suffered the eventuality of the British weather turning autumnal. She swore under her breath, trying to advance closer to the edge of the platform. She decided to edge her way to the end of the platform, where she might have a better chance of catching the next train she knew would be crowded to the hilt. As she did so, she ended up standing next to the young man from the lift.
'Hello again' he grinned. 'I promise not to stand on you toes this time.'
'Oh, its you!' Emma was not sure whether to be pleased or not. All she wanted to do was get home.
'Yes, it's me.'
Emma continued, 'I'm a creature of habit but I've never seen you on this platform before, or in the lift either.'
'Just as well perhaps. At least your toes are safer!' The young man looked up and down the platform for the oncoming train, but it was not in sight.
'I wonder what has happened to all the trains,' frowned Emma. 'There is usually one after the other.'
An announcement came from the platform speakers at that moment - all the trains were held up because of an emergency somewhere along the tunnel.
'Damn and blast!' retorted Emma. 'Today of all days.' She mainly said it to no-one in particular, but the young man next to her offered, 'I would be more than happy to try for a cab with you. If we made our way out now, we may be in luck.'
'That's kind of you. I might take you up on that,' replied Emma.
'It's the least I can do for abusing your feet in that way. Shall we make our way out of this crush? I'll try not step on your toes again, promise.'
'Thank you, good idea. I'll follow you up those stairs.' Emma indicated with her head, trying not to smile outwardly as the young man led the way.
They eventually arrived back at the station's entrance. The young man noticed a waiting cab and immediately spoke to the driver.
'Where would you like to go?' he asked Emma 'If you tell the driver your address, I'll use his services afterwards.'
The young man stood back while Emma mentioned her address. She got in, her new acquaintance following. The cab set off from the curb, entering the relentless London traffic.
The rain by now was easing, steam wafting upwards from the wet road, mingling with cars and buses while the late afternoon sun made a brief appearance still feeling warm after the onslaught of the sudden storm.
'But what if you are going entirely in the opposite direction?' Emma quickly arranged herself next to the young man, still feeling self-conscious.
'Well as it happens, I AM going in your direction, vaguely anyway,' smiled the young man. 'I suppose I should know your name, specially as we are travelling companions. Mine is Richard, named after the notorious king Richard I, nicknamed 'Lionheart' I believe. My mother is an avid reader of historic fiction and rather fancies the life Richard led, going on crusade as he did. He was quite a leader of armies it seems. Had a heck of a life, never in this country for long either. Always off fighting, braving the enemy, even got nabbed at one time. Think he was supposed to have rubbed someone up the wrong way, so got 'detained' on return from the crusade. Held for many months too. Then his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine bailed him out. Richard's younger brother John was causing a lot of trouble in England, trying to gain power and the throne in Richard's absence. So she had to get her favourite son Richard back as quickly as possible. Paid a lot of money for him too! Supposed to have been about 150,000 marks of silver to an emperor, for his release in 1194.
'You seem to know a lot about it.' Emma's attention was now fully on Richard sitting beside her, becoming more animated by the minute.
'My mother is dead keen on certain authors. She says there is a lot of historical information to learn if I was to follow suit. She has been reading that stuff for a long time and well, I suppose a lot of it has rubbed off on me,' grinned Richard.
'You must like history to absorb all that!' replied Emma. It all sounds rather interesting. Tell me more - if you like, that is. Historic fiction must be very complicated. And by the way, my name is Emma. Pleased to meet you,' she smiled somewhat hastily.
Richard didn't hesitate to continue. 'Well it's like this...' He glanced over at Emma who indeed looked interested, much to his surprise. Her brown eyes were bright with anticipation, she seemed to him to be glowing. He paused longer, noticing her features. Her long dark hair was now drying, complexion pink as ripe summer peaches. She wasn't tall like him, nor was she very short either, her figure trim & almost sporty, he thought. He brought his mind back to the subject at hand, adding, 'most of the books my mother reads are historic fiction, but actually much of it is based on fact. What made you think it would be historic fiction?'
'Oh, I don't know...' Emma shrugged her shoulders a little. 'It all sounds rather exciting, the sort of thing you might read when very young about knights and kings, castles and the like. Perhaps much of it was based on fact. I'd like to think so. Please, tell me more,' she added smiling at Richard, almost a pleading look on her face.
'I don't know an awful lot myself, but my mother is quite enthusiastic about that period of history and what came afterwards too.'
'What came afterwards?' asked Emma. 'I learned about Richard I in history at school, but have forgotten most of it, the crusades too. Wasn't there more than one?'
'Indeed there was,' replied Richard. 'Involving the Knights Templar too. Their original name was, The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Jerusalem. They played an important role, so-called. They were originally there to protect the pilgrims on crusade, look after them, but eventually things changed and they were finally disbanded or killed after the order had existed for nearly two centuries in the Middle Ages. Evidently they had been a skilled fighting unit and in the beginning a French Knight, Hugues de Payens in 1120 proposed to King Baldwin II of Jerusalem, to create a monastic order to protect the pilgrims. This king granted them headquarters in a wing of the Royal Palace on the Temple Mount. In fact their existence alone is very interesting. But as luck would have it, cutting a long story short, they had started off very poor, gaining in time, more wealth & power, so eventually many were arrested in France, tortured into giving false statements, then burnt at the stake. Not a good ending was it?'
'No, I think not,' said Emma, giving a slight shudder. Perhaps they should have stayed poor and not become wealthy. I must say that their original name goes against how they finally ended up! The order may have lasted a lot longer if they had not become so powerful.
'It's hard to say.' Richard looked over again at Emma, wondering that perhaps they had several things in common. Although his mother was adamant about history, he did enjoy thinking about it, even reading the same books from time to time whenever he got bored with life in the present day.
Richard continued, 'Another of those "what if" scenarios. That could be applied to many facets in history. England might have become French or German, or even Dutch. One never knows. It's how the cookie crumbles. After all, French was spoken for some time after William the Conqueror's time.'
Emma still facing Richard, asked, 'Back to Richard I for a moment. Tell me a bit more about him. I like the sound of this Richard. He seems to have lived an exciting existence.'
She looked out of the window for a moment adding, 'we haven't got long to go before I'll be home, but I hope you'll have time to tell me a bit more of this Lionheart.'
'I don't know an awful lot more, but he also ruled as Duke of Normandy and had several other titles as Count of this and that. He was the third son of Henry II & Eleanor of Aquitaine as you already know, twice rebelling against his father before becoming King of England. He was a gifted military leader and warrior going on the third crusade in 1190, but never reconquering Jerusalem. This must have been a disappointment to him don't you think? But fighting against the Muslims, their leader Saladin, probably had a certain respect for Richard. After he finally returned to England when he had been ransomed, he was re-crowned at Winchester in Hampshire. After all that he had achieved, five years later, Richard was involved in a minor siege against a rebellious baron, whereupon he was shot in the shoulder with an arrow by a relatively unknown young man. His shoulder had become gangrenous and soon killed him. Not a justified end for such a warrior as Richard, was it?'
'I quite agree. It appears he had survived many battles and skirmishes and to have to die like that seems utterly unfair really. I had heard that he may not have spoken much English, if at all.'
'There is every possibility of that.' replied Richard. 'It is not known for sure what language he spoke, but it was a dialect of southern France I think. He was educated when young, in England, but in those days, English wasn't the first language spoken. Not like it is now. It had to evolve. Do you speak any languages Emma?'
'Believe it or not, French,' she smiled nodding gently. 'Spoke it at school as we had a good French teacher. But it's always best to practice it regularly, otherwise you soon forget. I learned for five years and passed the exams too. Amazing, as it wasn't my favourite subject.'
'What was your favourite then?' Richard was becoming more and more enamoured with Emma. When she seemed enthusiastic about anything, her eyes gave off a beautiful sparkle.
Emma turned her head and answered, 'English!' Adding a slight nod at the same time. Richard grinned and then burst out laughing.
'What's so funny?' asked Emma.
'I might have known.' Richard smiled. 'It's a bit like "coals to Newcastle" isn't it? He's me going on and on about all this history and I bet you knew it all anyway. Didn't you?'
'Just a little,' confessed Emma. Guess I'd better apologize. But all that you have told me, I found immensely interesting.'
'I bet you did,' Richard pulled a face, feeling slightly exasperated, but relief that at least Emma had been honest confessing to her knowledge.
Emma suddenly said, 'oh look, this is where I live. Thank goodness - now I can dry off properly. Getting caught in a that rain wasn't much fun. Do you have far to go from here Richard?'
'Only about two miles.' Now it was his turn to smile.
'But you never said,' remarked Emma.
'You never asked,' laughed Richard, then added, do you suppose it would be possible to actually go out on a date with you one night soon? That is, unless you are married or in a relationship.'
'Nothing like that,' said Emma. I suppose you had better have my phone number or email address in that case. If you care to contact me soon, I'm sure I could find a free night.' She rummaged in her bag finding a small pad with pen attached, then scribbled her details. 'Hope you can read that alright.' She handed the paper to Richard who was standing by the passenger seat door of the taxi. 'Please, let me pay for the cab.'
Richard was quick to reply. 'Thanks, but no thanks,' he smiled. I was going in this direction anyway. Besides, I enjoyed our chat. Sorry I did most of it.' He looked down at his shoes for a moment, colour rising to his cheeks.
He was tall with dark blonde hair, a muscular but well formed body & limbs. Emma suddenly taking in all that was standing before her, liked what she saw, smiled to herself. She too, felt her cheeks becoming a lot pinker.
'Nice to have met you Richard. Most unexpected. It wasn't so bad you standing on my toes. Really it wasn't,' she laughed.
'The pleasure has been mine,' replied Richard, suddenly realizing what he had said. 'I'll contact you very soon. See you Emma. He sat beside the taxi driver for the rest of the way, the car setting off quickly from the curb.
Emma walked the short distance to her door, turned one last time smiling inwardly, remembering the unexpected journey home after leaving the coffee shop, getting caught in the onslaught, then meeting Richard.
The small park opposite was turning golden in the evening light, shadows lengthening, the tall trees moving in the peace of the afternoon's storm, now departed. Birds were still flitting amidst the branches as a few leaves floated quietly down, settling on the grass under the trees, sprinkling it with colour like an autumn patchwork, the shades of the changing seasons.
Emma was rather was looking forward to their date.
Emma finished her large cup of coffee, the dregs frothy clinging to the bottom. Looking out from the warmth of a café, she gathered her things, stood up, then proceeded into the onslaught of now storm-like weather. Resigned to it, she headed for the nearest underground station, her feet disturbing the puddles as she hurried, sending the water in all directions.
Emma gritted her teeth as she had left her coat and umbrella at home. Wet strands of jet-black hair clung to her pretty face as she hurried to the entrance of the station. Down the steps to the barriers, she touched her travel card onto the yellow area and gratefully passed through the open gates. Around the corner were the two large lifts that descended to the lower reaches of the underground, taking her to a choice of tunnels before reaching the platform.
But today was different. One of the lifts was out of order. Many people were waiting for the only one in operation, several with suitcases on wheels heading for the airport. Eventually the lift door opened, then many converged into the available space, hot and airless. There were several different nationalities thrown together. Emma lowered her head close to a young man who apologized for treading on her foot.
'That's alright. It's no bother', she muttered, looking up briefly. It's a little crowded today.' She looked down at her shoes grimacing. They were wet and soggy.
'The weather doesn't help', smiled the young man. 'Looks like you got caught in it.'
'I'm afraid so.' Emma looked up, hair still clinging to her face as she tried to brush it back, giving a hint of a smile. The young man hadn't taken his gaze from Emma. Now she was wishing she hadn't got caught in the downpour and started to feel a little self-conscious. She felt his eyes on her. As the lift doors opened on the other side, the young man said hastily, 'apologies again for stepping on your toes.'
The lift was emptying, people were making their way in several directions. Emma started heading for the usual platform, the train hopefully would arrive in a minute or two, taking her home to a cosy house where she could change her clothes, which felt uncomfortable and damp.
She turned, trying to look consoled and smiled charmingly at the young man. 'You're welcome. No harm done' she replied as cheerfully as she could manage under the circumstances.
The platform was crowded, there had obviously been a holdup somewhere. Oh bother, thought Emma. Just when I need to get home quickly & dry off! Her feet were soaked, she had worn some soft leather shoes today and now suffered the eventuality of the British weather turning autumnal. She swore under her breath, trying to advance closer to the edge of the platform. She decided to edge her way to the end of the platform, where she might have a better chance of catching the next train she knew would be crowded to the hilt. As she did so, she ended up standing next to the young man from the lift.
'Hello again' he grinned. 'I promise not to stand on you toes this time.'
'Oh, its you!' Emma was not sure whether to be pleased or not. All she wanted to do was get home.
'Yes, it's me.'
Emma continued, 'I'm a creature of habit but I've never seen you on this platform before, or in the lift either.'
'Just as well perhaps. At least your toes are safer!' The young man looked up and down the platform for the oncoming train, but it was not in sight.
'I wonder what has happened to all the trains,' frowned Emma. 'There is usually one after the other.'
An announcement came from the platform speakers at that moment - all the trains were held up because of an emergency somewhere along the tunnel.
'Damn and blast!' retorted Emma. 'Today of all days.' She mainly said it to no-one in particular, but the young man next to her offered, 'I would be more than happy to try for a cab with you. If we made our way out now, we may be in luck.'
'That's kind of you. I might take you up on that,' replied Emma.
'It's the least I can do for abusing your feet in that way. Shall we make our way out of this crush? I'll try not step on your toes again, promise.'
'Thank you, good idea. I'll follow you up those stairs.' Emma indicated with her head, trying not to smile outwardly as the young man led the way.
They eventually arrived back at the station's entrance. The young man noticed a waiting cab and immediately spoke to the driver.
'Where would you like to go?' he asked Emma 'If you tell the driver your address, I'll use his services afterwards.'
The young man stood back while Emma mentioned her address. She got in, her new acquaintance following. The cab set off from the curb, entering the relentless London traffic.
The rain by now was easing, steam wafting upwards from the wet road, mingling with cars and buses while the late afternoon sun made a brief appearance still feeling warm after the onslaught of the sudden storm.
'But what if you are going entirely in the opposite direction?' Emma quickly arranged herself next to the young man, still feeling self-conscious.
'Well as it happens, I AM going in your direction, vaguely anyway,' smiled the young man. 'I suppose I should know your name, specially as we are travelling companions. Mine is Richard, named after the notorious king Richard I, nicknamed 'Lionheart' I believe. My mother is an avid reader of historic fiction and rather fancies the life Richard led, going on crusade as he did. He was quite a leader of armies it seems. Had a heck of a life, never in this country for long either. Always off fighting, braving the enemy, even got nabbed at one time. Think he was supposed to have rubbed someone up the wrong way, so got 'detained' on return from the crusade. Held for many months too. Then his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine bailed him out. Richard's younger brother John was causing a lot of trouble in England, trying to gain power and the throne in Richard's absence. So she had to get her favourite son Richard back as quickly as possible. Paid a lot of money for him too! Supposed to have been about 150,000 marks of silver to an emperor, for his release in 1194.
'You seem to know a lot about it.' Emma's attention was now fully on Richard sitting beside her, becoming more animated by the minute.
'My mother is dead keen on certain authors. She says there is a lot of historical information to learn if I was to follow suit. She has been reading that stuff for a long time and well, I suppose a lot of it has rubbed off on me,' grinned Richard.
'You must like history to absorb all that!' replied Emma. It all sounds rather interesting. Tell me more - if you like, that is. Historic fiction must be very complicated. And by the way, my name is Emma. Pleased to meet you,' she smiled somewhat hastily.
Richard didn't hesitate to continue. 'Well it's like this...' He glanced over at Emma who indeed looked interested, much to his surprise. Her brown eyes were bright with anticipation, she seemed to him to be glowing. He paused longer, noticing her features. Her long dark hair was now drying, complexion pink as ripe summer peaches. She wasn't tall like him, nor was she very short either, her figure trim & almost sporty, he thought. He brought his mind back to the subject at hand, adding, 'most of the books my mother reads are historic fiction, but actually much of it is based on fact. What made you think it would be historic fiction?'
'Oh, I don't know...' Emma shrugged her shoulders a little. 'It all sounds rather exciting, the sort of thing you might read when very young about knights and kings, castles and the like. Perhaps much of it was based on fact. I'd like to think so. Please, tell me more,' she added smiling at Richard, almost a pleading look on her face.
'I don't know an awful lot myself, but my mother is quite enthusiastic about that period of history and what came afterwards too.'
'What came afterwards?' asked Emma. 'I learned about Richard I in history at school, but have forgotten most of it, the crusades too. Wasn't there more than one?'
'Indeed there was,' replied Richard. 'Involving the Knights Templar too. Their original name was, The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Jerusalem. They played an important role, so-called. They were originally there to protect the pilgrims on crusade, look after them, but eventually things changed and they were finally disbanded or killed after the order had existed for nearly two centuries in the Middle Ages. Evidently they had been a skilled fighting unit and in the beginning a French Knight, Hugues de Payens in 1120 proposed to King Baldwin II of Jerusalem, to create a monastic order to protect the pilgrims. This king granted them headquarters in a wing of the Royal Palace on the Temple Mount. In fact their existence alone is very interesting. But as luck would have it, cutting a long story short, they had started off very poor, gaining in time, more wealth & power, so eventually many were arrested in France, tortured into giving false statements, then burnt at the stake. Not a good ending was it?'
'No, I think not,' said Emma, giving a slight shudder. Perhaps they should have stayed poor and not become wealthy. I must say that their original name goes against how they finally ended up! The order may have lasted a lot longer if they had not become so powerful.
'It's hard to say.' Richard looked over again at Emma, wondering that perhaps they had several things in common. Although his mother was adamant about history, he did enjoy thinking about it, even reading the same books from time to time whenever he got bored with life in the present day.
Richard continued, 'Another of those "what if" scenarios. That could be applied to many facets in history. England might have become French or German, or even Dutch. One never knows. It's how the cookie crumbles. After all, French was spoken for some time after William the Conqueror's time.'
Emma still facing Richard, asked, 'Back to Richard I for a moment. Tell me a bit more about him. I like the sound of this Richard. He seems to have lived an exciting existence.'
She looked out of the window for a moment adding, 'we haven't got long to go before I'll be home, but I hope you'll have time to tell me a bit more of this Lionheart.'
'I don't know an awful lot more, but he also ruled as Duke of Normandy and had several other titles as Count of this and that. He was the third son of Henry II & Eleanor of Aquitaine as you already know, twice rebelling against his father before becoming King of England. He was a gifted military leader and warrior going on the third crusade in 1190, but never reconquering Jerusalem. This must have been a disappointment to him don't you think? But fighting against the Muslims, their leader Saladin, probably had a certain respect for Richard. After he finally returned to England when he had been ransomed, he was re-crowned at Winchester in Hampshire. After all that he had achieved, five years later, Richard was involved in a minor siege against a rebellious baron, whereupon he was shot in the shoulder with an arrow by a relatively unknown young man. His shoulder had become gangrenous and soon killed him. Not a justified end for such a warrior as Richard, was it?'
'I quite agree. It appears he had survived many battles and skirmishes and to have to die like that seems utterly unfair really. I had heard that he may not have spoken much English, if at all.'
'There is every possibility of that.' replied Richard. 'It is not known for sure what language he spoke, but it was a dialect of southern France I think. He was educated when young, in England, but in those days, English wasn't the first language spoken. Not like it is now. It had to evolve. Do you speak any languages Emma?'
'Believe it or not, French,' she smiled nodding gently. 'Spoke it at school as we had a good French teacher. But it's always best to practice it regularly, otherwise you soon forget. I learned for five years and passed the exams too. Amazing, as it wasn't my favourite subject.'
'What was your favourite then?' Richard was becoming more and more enamoured with Emma. When she seemed enthusiastic about anything, her eyes gave off a beautiful sparkle.
Emma turned her head and answered, 'English!' Adding a slight nod at the same time. Richard grinned and then burst out laughing.
'What's so funny?' asked Emma.
'I might have known.' Richard smiled. 'It's a bit like "coals to Newcastle" isn't it? He's me going on and on about all this history and I bet you knew it all anyway. Didn't you?'
'Just a little,' confessed Emma. Guess I'd better apologize. But all that you have told me, I found immensely interesting.'
'I bet you did,' Richard pulled a face, feeling slightly exasperated, but relief that at least Emma had been honest confessing to her knowledge.
Emma suddenly said, 'oh look, this is where I live. Thank goodness - now I can dry off properly. Getting caught in a that rain wasn't much fun. Do you have far to go from here Richard?'
'Only about two miles.' Now it was his turn to smile.
'But you never said,' remarked Emma.
'You never asked,' laughed Richard, then added, do you suppose it would be possible to actually go out on a date with you one night soon? That is, unless you are married or in a relationship.'
'Nothing like that,' said Emma. I suppose you had better have my phone number or email address in that case. If you care to contact me soon, I'm sure I could find a free night.' She rummaged in her bag finding a small pad with pen attached, then scribbled her details. 'Hope you can read that alright.' She handed the paper to Richard who was standing by the passenger seat door of the taxi. 'Please, let me pay for the cab.'
Richard was quick to reply. 'Thanks, but no thanks,' he smiled. I was going in this direction anyway. Besides, I enjoyed our chat. Sorry I did most of it.' He looked down at his shoes for a moment, colour rising to his cheeks.
He was tall with dark blonde hair, a muscular but well formed body & limbs. Emma suddenly taking in all that was standing before her, liked what she saw, smiled to herself. She too, felt her cheeks becoming a lot pinker.
'Nice to have met you Richard. Most unexpected. It wasn't so bad you standing on my toes. Really it wasn't,' she laughed.
'The pleasure has been mine,' replied Richard, suddenly realizing what he had said. 'I'll contact you very soon. See you Emma. He sat beside the taxi driver for the rest of the way, the car setting off quickly from the curb.
Emma walked the short distance to her door, turned one last time smiling inwardly, remembering the unexpected journey home after leaving the coffee shop, getting caught in the onslaught, then meeting Richard.
The small park opposite was turning golden in the evening light, shadows lengthening, the tall trees moving in the peace of the afternoon's storm, now departed. Birds were still flitting amidst the branches as a few leaves floated quietly down, settling on the grass under the trees, sprinkling it with colour like an autumn patchwork, the shades of the changing seasons.
Emma was rather was looking forward to their date.
Monday 14 October 2013
The Amethyst Ring
Suspended precariously over the gently flowing river, the old bridge supported by a vague idea of age-old timbers, creaked & groaned as Katherine walked slowly across. She paused at it's center which rose slightly arched, pondering on her past life. She felt for the ring on the third finger of her left hand holding it out in front, smiling as she studied it, remembering the moment it had been placed there. Katherine had been so very happy, the memories flooding back into her mind. Tears welled up within her & trickled gently down her ageing cheeks. The years of happiness spent with William now overcame her, their enriched lives together in married bliss would always be cherished. She walked on a few steps then paused again fingering the amethyst ring, admiring it, her thoughts flowing like the endless river beneath her.
Many years ago Katherine had met William on the same bridge, but the weather had been in the bleak mid winter, ice had formed, encrusting the river banks either side beneath the small arched bridge. The iciness slowing the flow of water for a time during the cold winter. The air had been sharp & frosty that day, her cheeks rosy, cold to the touch, later her heart had been filled with the love she felt for William, they were both still young. She remembered how the wintry blast had gripped her. She had shivered, pulling her scarf closer to her neck to keep out the cold. As she had leant over the wooden railing of the old bridge, she had slipped on an icy patch & an arm had reached out holding her steady, preventing her falling.
'Are you alright lady?' came a softly spoken man's voice.
'Oh, I think so - thank you,' replied Katherine a little bemused.
'You almost fell on that slippery ice there. I'm glad I caught you in time. Please excuse me for grabbing your arm like that,' the man's voice continued.
'You mustn't apologize. I'm most grateful,' said Katherine. 'You probably saved me from receiving a few bruises, or worse still, broken bones,' she continued. 'Thank you again.'
'You're welcome. By the way, my name is William.'
'Mine is Katherine. I'm pleased to meet you.'
'The pleasure's mine,' grinned William. He paused for a moment, breathing in the cold morning. 'It's very cold today, isn't it?' He shifted from one foot to the other.
'Indeed it is, but I enjoy walking in the cold air. I find it invigorating.'
'I do too.' William turned his head slightly, taking in Katherine's features, liking what he saw. 'But I've never seen you before.' He hesitated again, frowning a little as he thought.
'I don't usually come this way,' said Katherine. 'In fact it's quite a way from home, but the air felt good today after lingering indoors for so long.' She thought how nice William was. He had a gentle manner about him, appeared a little shy too. William looked out across the river, the cold bleakness of the day turning his breath into brief clouds that floated quickly away. He tried not to glance too much in Katherine's direction, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
They chatted on for a while enjoying the morning stroll, sharing a love of books, discussing many aspects of reading. As time went by they realized they had much in common.
'May I see you home safely?' William looked over at Katherine, thinking how sweet her face was. He noticed her smile in particular, her pretty mouth & white teeth. She possessed clear blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed, making him feel warm inside, even though the weather was far from warm.
'Well I live a distance away. It may be completely out of your way.'
'I don't mind in the least,' said William. 'Can't have you falling on the ice, can I?' He frowned at that moment but hoped her answer would be positive, then a persuasive look in his eyes.
'That's most kind of you. It's not so far really.' Katherine managed to glance over at William when she thought he wasn't looking in her direction. It was admirable of him to offer. She was compelled to agree.
They were both in their late 20's, neither having married or become attached as yet. Katherine lived on her own in an end of terrace house on the edge of a village. William at the other end, a bachelor of independent means, shy where women were concerned. He had only lived there a short time after changing jobs. He now worked for himself as an architect, setting himself up in business after gaining much experience working for a large London company. They had decided to relocate elsewhere, but William had made the decision not to stay with them, preferring the quieter country life where he had been brought up. So far his business had been successful, gaining many new clients in a relatively short time. It was easy to adjust to country life & the local pub, The George, seemed to produce several idiosyncratic village folk he found interesting when he visited the pub for a drink & meal sometimes.
Katherine was a primary school teacher & loved her job in the village. They had many children attending the local school as lots of young couples had moved into the village & surrounding areas. She & William were beginning to see rather a lot of each other, mainly in the weekends, but occasionally on week nights when Katherine was not marking the children's work. She had plucked up courage to invite William to supper one night in early March if he wasn't too busy. It didn't take him long to agree to her invitation, turning up on time at 7pm as suggested, grasping a decent bottle of red wine & some flowers - white roses he had managed to find still available. He thought she would like white roses.
'Come in William,' she said. 'I hope you are hungry. I've prepared a French dish. Hope you like coq au vin & there's a chocolate mousse with cream to follow. No strawberries at this time of year I'm afraid.
'Thank you. I'm sure I'll love that. Sounds wonderful. You must be a good cook.'
'Oh, I get by,' blushed Katherine, feeling William's gaze on her, becoming a little self-conscious. Handing her the bottle of red wine he said, 'I hope this goes with the chicken dish you have prepared. Thought you'd like white roses too. Bit hard to find them, but find them I did.'
'Your choice of wine is perfect,' smiled Katherine. 'Thank you William. The roses are beautiful. I'll find a vase for them. I love white roses.' It was William's turn to feel self-conscious. 'You are most welcome. It's good of you to have cooked something that sounds special. I will enjoy a home-cooked meal. I'm not the best of cooks.'
Together as the evening progressed, whatever shyness they might have felt, vanished & a feeling of warmth grew between them. They enjoyed their time together laughing & joking, spending the evening in deep discussion about the books they were reading, listening to music sharing a bottle of wine.
After several such suppers, they fell deeply in love. The winter had turned into spring with the bluebells carpeting the nearby woods. Daffodils spilling in clumps onto the lanes, golden they nodded, dancing brightly in the spring sunshine. The snowdrops having first appeared, their white flower heads delicately edged with green tips as though painted on with an artist's brush. They often poked through the cold ground flowering when snow had fallen, their cheery heads thrusting above the whiteness delighting the onlooker, reminding that the winter was nearing its end. The beginning of spring was apparent. In the lanes many wild flowers flourished. Then came the dog roses sprinkled throughout hedgerows, accompanied by tall stems of pink foxglove. The headiness of honeysuckle wafted through the air, when on a warm night in summer when it was Katherine's birthday, they had walked as far as the old bridge, William had produced a small box. Katherine opened it carefully. Nestled in black velvet was a beautiful silver ring with an amethyst embedded in the center. The band of silver was wider where the stone was set, slightly raised so as to be prominent, but perfectly designed.
'Oh, how beautiful,' gasped Katherine. 'Thank you so much Wills.' She often called him by his nickname. 'It's lovely & simple, but very beautiful.' William took it out of the small box & placed it on the third finger of her left hand. It fitted perfectly. It had been passed down the generations in William's family & all who had worn it had been very happy. It was an old heirloom given to him by his mother who had died suddenly two years ago. She meant him to have the ring as she believed it brought happiness in a marriage. It had been carefully crafted a long time ago & now Katherine would wear it experiencing what he hoped was a family tradition.
'Katherine, will you marry me?' William now looked very serious. 'You must know I love you very much. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please, say you will. I'd be lost without you now. I want you to be my wife.'
'How romantic! I'd love to marry you Wills. When did you have in mind?' Katherine smiled sweetly up at him feeling rather excited deep down.
'Tomorrow!' laughed William.
'That's a little soon don't you think? There may be a few arrangements to make.' Katherine gave a little laugh, then kissed him gently on his mouth.
'Do we have to make arrangements? Can't we just get married?' retorted William.
'It's not quite that simple, but yes, as soon as we can, we will.' William made a face at her which made Katherine laugh again. She loved his manner, his complete dedication to the matter in hand, his apparent seriousness. It was all she could do not t0 appear too impetuous herself. But deep down she felt this moment would always be important to her, to them. It would be remembered, cherished.
Not too long after, they were married in the village church. It had been a lovely warm day in early October, both had looked forward to the day, Katherine wearing a long gown of off-white silk, white roses in her hair with tiny pearls dotted about her veil. She held a bouquet of white roses & looked beautiful, her blue eyes sparkling like the sea, dark hair curling softly flowing down her back & tied up at the sides making her look elegant. William was handsome in a dark suit, a white rosebud in his lapel. They had decided to live in William's house & rent the other one. It had given them another helpful income. Katherine had continued teaching, William becoming rather successful as an architect. Their life together had been happy, they had travelled, sharing many of life's experiences. Their love of books, music & other things had continued over the years.
Katherine stood on the bridge gazing wistfully at the ring she had worn since William first placed it on her finger all those years ago. She sighed remembering the happy times they had spent together before & after their marriage, her mind reminiscing over the years. The fun, laughter & all they had shared, flooded back into Katherine's mind now, her heart sad after losing dear William recently after a sudden heart attack at the young age of seventy two. Tears flooded down her cheeks. Her life seemed empty now, their marriage had been fulfilled, happy, contented, although they had had no children. The amethyst ring had certainly brought happiness into their lives, or so it seemed. The loss of William was devastating, unexpected. Katherine gazed at the ring again, stroking it, memories vivid in her mind of how they had lived & loved. William had been right, the ring had brought happiness, a blissful contentment she would never forget. He will be with her forever. She knew that.
Katherine looked up from admiring the amethyst ring she had always loved, the center stone sitting proud in the silver, the sun still warm on her face, a light breeze had sprung up catching the sides of her hair that was slowly turning white. Her face was still beautiful, eyes blue as the sea, but had somehow lost their sparkle. The bridge was even older now, like her she thought, it spanned over the river that had turned icy when she first met William. Over time it had remained intact, its timbers ageing but holding firm. It still creaked & groaned when anyone walked over it. The center of the arch where they had sometimes stood peering into the flowing water, was the most worn. Perhaps other people had paused there, leaning on the rail. The water was not icy today, in fact being October the weather was still unusually warm. Ah, thought Katherine, suddenly remembering , the sunshine spilling across the old timbers of the bridge, today was their wedding anniversary. She gazed nonchalently one last time over the arched rail of the bridge, turned & walked slowly toward home as she wiped away the shed tears . The water continued flowing under the bridge as her love for William would continue until the day she too, would die. But it wasn't going to be today. Katherine smiled gently to herself & walked home.
Many years ago Katherine had met William on the same bridge, but the weather had been in the bleak mid winter, ice had formed, encrusting the river banks either side beneath the small arched bridge. The iciness slowing the flow of water for a time during the cold winter. The air had been sharp & frosty that day, her cheeks rosy, cold to the touch, later her heart had been filled with the love she felt for William, they were both still young. She remembered how the wintry blast had gripped her. She had shivered, pulling her scarf closer to her neck to keep out the cold. As she had leant over the wooden railing of the old bridge, she had slipped on an icy patch & an arm had reached out holding her steady, preventing her falling.
'Are you alright lady?' came a softly spoken man's voice.
'Oh, I think so - thank you,' replied Katherine a little bemused.
'You almost fell on that slippery ice there. I'm glad I caught you in time. Please excuse me for grabbing your arm like that,' the man's voice continued.
'You mustn't apologize. I'm most grateful,' said Katherine. 'You probably saved me from receiving a few bruises, or worse still, broken bones,' she continued. 'Thank you again.'
'You're welcome. By the way, my name is William.'
'Mine is Katherine. I'm pleased to meet you.'
'The pleasure's mine,' grinned William. He paused for a moment, breathing in the cold morning. 'It's very cold today, isn't it?' He shifted from one foot to the other.
'Indeed it is, but I enjoy walking in the cold air. I find it invigorating.'
'I do too.' William turned his head slightly, taking in Katherine's features, liking what he saw. 'But I've never seen you before.' He hesitated again, frowning a little as he thought.
'I don't usually come this way,' said Katherine. 'In fact it's quite a way from home, but the air felt good today after lingering indoors for so long.' She thought how nice William was. He had a gentle manner about him, appeared a little shy too. William looked out across the river, the cold bleakness of the day turning his breath into brief clouds that floated quickly away. He tried not to glance too much in Katherine's direction, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
They chatted on for a while enjoying the morning stroll, sharing a love of books, discussing many aspects of reading. As time went by they realized they had much in common.
'May I see you home safely?' William looked over at Katherine, thinking how sweet her face was. He noticed her smile in particular, her pretty mouth & white teeth. She possessed clear blue eyes that sparkled when she laughed, making him feel warm inside, even though the weather was far from warm.
'Well I live a distance away. It may be completely out of your way.'
'I don't mind in the least,' said William. 'Can't have you falling on the ice, can I?' He frowned at that moment but hoped her answer would be positive, then a persuasive look in his eyes.
'That's most kind of you. It's not so far really.' Katherine managed to glance over at William when she thought he wasn't looking in her direction. It was admirable of him to offer. She was compelled to agree.
They were both in their late 20's, neither having married or become attached as yet. Katherine lived on her own in an end of terrace house on the edge of a village. William at the other end, a bachelor of independent means, shy where women were concerned. He had only lived there a short time after changing jobs. He now worked for himself as an architect, setting himself up in business after gaining much experience working for a large London company. They had decided to relocate elsewhere, but William had made the decision not to stay with them, preferring the quieter country life where he had been brought up. So far his business had been successful, gaining many new clients in a relatively short time. It was easy to adjust to country life & the local pub, The George, seemed to produce several idiosyncratic village folk he found interesting when he visited the pub for a drink & meal sometimes.
Katherine was a primary school teacher & loved her job in the village. They had many children attending the local school as lots of young couples had moved into the village & surrounding areas. She & William were beginning to see rather a lot of each other, mainly in the weekends, but occasionally on week nights when Katherine was not marking the children's work. She had plucked up courage to invite William to supper one night in early March if he wasn't too busy. It didn't take him long to agree to her invitation, turning up on time at 7pm as suggested, grasping a decent bottle of red wine & some flowers - white roses he had managed to find still available. He thought she would like white roses.
'Come in William,' she said. 'I hope you are hungry. I've prepared a French dish. Hope you like coq au vin & there's a chocolate mousse with cream to follow. No strawberries at this time of year I'm afraid.
'Thank you. I'm sure I'll love that. Sounds wonderful. You must be a good cook.'
'Oh, I get by,' blushed Katherine, feeling William's gaze on her, becoming a little self-conscious. Handing her the bottle of red wine he said, 'I hope this goes with the chicken dish you have prepared. Thought you'd like white roses too. Bit hard to find them, but find them I did.'
'Your choice of wine is perfect,' smiled Katherine. 'Thank you William. The roses are beautiful. I'll find a vase for them. I love white roses.' It was William's turn to feel self-conscious. 'You are most welcome. It's good of you to have cooked something that sounds special. I will enjoy a home-cooked meal. I'm not the best of cooks.'
Together as the evening progressed, whatever shyness they might have felt, vanished & a feeling of warmth grew between them. They enjoyed their time together laughing & joking, spending the evening in deep discussion about the books they were reading, listening to music sharing a bottle of wine.
After several such suppers, they fell deeply in love. The winter had turned into spring with the bluebells carpeting the nearby woods. Daffodils spilling in clumps onto the lanes, golden they nodded, dancing brightly in the spring sunshine. The snowdrops having first appeared, their white flower heads delicately edged with green tips as though painted on with an artist's brush. They often poked through the cold ground flowering when snow had fallen, their cheery heads thrusting above the whiteness delighting the onlooker, reminding that the winter was nearing its end. The beginning of spring was apparent. In the lanes many wild flowers flourished. Then came the dog roses sprinkled throughout hedgerows, accompanied by tall stems of pink foxglove. The headiness of honeysuckle wafted through the air, when on a warm night in summer when it was Katherine's birthday, they had walked as far as the old bridge, William had produced a small box. Katherine opened it carefully. Nestled in black velvet was a beautiful silver ring with an amethyst embedded in the center. The band of silver was wider where the stone was set, slightly raised so as to be prominent, but perfectly designed.
'Oh, how beautiful,' gasped Katherine. 'Thank you so much Wills.' She often called him by his nickname. 'It's lovely & simple, but very beautiful.' William took it out of the small box & placed it on the third finger of her left hand. It fitted perfectly. It had been passed down the generations in William's family & all who had worn it had been very happy. It was an old heirloom given to him by his mother who had died suddenly two years ago. She meant him to have the ring as she believed it brought happiness in a marriage. It had been carefully crafted a long time ago & now Katherine would wear it experiencing what he hoped was a family tradition.
'Katherine, will you marry me?' William now looked very serious. 'You must know I love you very much. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please, say you will. I'd be lost without you now. I want you to be my wife.'
'How romantic! I'd love to marry you Wills. When did you have in mind?' Katherine smiled sweetly up at him feeling rather excited deep down.
'Tomorrow!' laughed William.
'That's a little soon don't you think? There may be a few arrangements to make.' Katherine gave a little laugh, then kissed him gently on his mouth.
'Do we have to make arrangements? Can't we just get married?' retorted William.
'It's not quite that simple, but yes, as soon as we can, we will.' William made a face at her which made Katherine laugh again. She loved his manner, his complete dedication to the matter in hand, his apparent seriousness. It was all she could do not t0 appear too impetuous herself. But deep down she felt this moment would always be important to her, to them. It would be remembered, cherished.
Not too long after, they were married in the village church. It had been a lovely warm day in early October, both had looked forward to the day, Katherine wearing a long gown of off-white silk, white roses in her hair with tiny pearls dotted about her veil. She held a bouquet of white roses & looked beautiful, her blue eyes sparkling like the sea, dark hair curling softly flowing down her back & tied up at the sides making her look elegant. William was handsome in a dark suit, a white rosebud in his lapel. They had decided to live in William's house & rent the other one. It had given them another helpful income. Katherine had continued teaching, William becoming rather successful as an architect. Their life together had been happy, they had travelled, sharing many of life's experiences. Their love of books, music & other things had continued over the years.
Katherine stood on the bridge gazing wistfully at the ring she had worn since William first placed it on her finger all those years ago. She sighed remembering the happy times they had spent together before & after their marriage, her mind reminiscing over the years. The fun, laughter & all they had shared, flooded back into Katherine's mind now, her heart sad after losing dear William recently after a sudden heart attack at the young age of seventy two. Tears flooded down her cheeks. Her life seemed empty now, their marriage had been fulfilled, happy, contented, although they had had no children. The amethyst ring had certainly brought happiness into their lives, or so it seemed. The loss of William was devastating, unexpected. Katherine gazed at the ring again, stroking it, memories vivid in her mind of how they had lived & loved. William had been right, the ring had brought happiness, a blissful contentment she would never forget. He will be with her forever. She knew that.
Katherine looked up from admiring the amethyst ring she had always loved, the center stone sitting proud in the silver, the sun still warm on her face, a light breeze had sprung up catching the sides of her hair that was slowly turning white. Her face was still beautiful, eyes blue as the sea, but had somehow lost their sparkle. The bridge was even older now, like her she thought, it spanned over the river that had turned icy when she first met William. Over time it had remained intact, its timbers ageing but holding firm. It still creaked & groaned when anyone walked over it. The center of the arch where they had sometimes stood peering into the flowing water, was the most worn. Perhaps other people had paused there, leaning on the rail. The water was not icy today, in fact being October the weather was still unusually warm. Ah, thought Katherine, suddenly remembering , the sunshine spilling across the old timbers of the bridge, today was their wedding anniversary. She gazed nonchalently one last time over the arched rail of the bridge, turned & walked slowly toward home as she wiped away the shed tears . The water continued flowing under the bridge as her love for William would continue until the day she too, would die. But it wasn't going to be today. Katherine smiled gently to herself & walked home.
Saturday 31 August 2013
New beginnings... Chapter 4
As daylight replaced the darkness, Matilda realized the life changing revelations made the day before, caused her to feel pensive in the early morning, bewildering her emotions. Pierre's admission that he was her father, had caused turmoil in her young mind. Thoughts about her earlier life and the future, left her yearning to know more. Her life had been turned around, she knew not what the future held. She sighed to herself wondering what the new day would bring.
Catherine, who had been her friend since childhood, was also her older sister. Matilda was aware that there had been two sisters, Catherine being one of them not only looked like Matilda, but had sometimes shown similar tendencies. Pierre had revealed his identity at a very poignant moment when Catherine had been hurt by a stray sword tip and as things turned out, she was able to continue for the remainder of the day's riding. Her wound had been superficial, causing no further discomfit, much to everyone's relief.
Soon after dawn, the party of men accompanying Pierre and the two girls, gathered by the stables. They had almost finished mounting, ready to continue in the early morning, when Pierre appeared with his daughters, helping them onto their horses. A young groom held the horses still, then handed the reins to the two girls. Catherine's leg seemed to be healing. She eased herself into the saddle with no apparent problems. So too, was Henry's gash to the shoulder.
Pierre looked up, addressing Catherine in particular. 'Now lass, will you be able to ride this morning?' He was frowning slightly, still worried about her as she settled herself.
'Yes...yes, I think so my lor....' Catherine hesitated for a moment, then nodded to Pierre, smiling briefly.
'Good, as we have a long ride today. If you need to stop and rest, then you must let me know immediately. Do you understand?'
'Thank you. Yes, I will.' Catherine nodded, holding the reins, sitting upright in the saddle, the cantle visible from under her clothing.
Pierre was still gazing up at her and asked, 'Do you suppose you could call me 'papa' from now on?'
'I'll try..., papa.'
'I'd like that. I know it won't be easy for a while until you and Matilda get used to it, but if you can but try, I'd be very pleased. Now, it's time we got started.' He smiled at both girls, briefly checking their bridles, expecting the groom to have done his job correctly.
Pierre was aware that all the men were now mounted. He wanted to get underway as soon as possible. Fixing his gaze on Matilda, asked her, 'will you be happy riding a long distance today, Matilda my dear?'
She looked down from her horse, then nodded. 'Yes, I'll be fine, really I will.'
'Good, then let's be on our way, shall we?'
Pierre sprang into his saddle, gathered the reins indicating to his men it was time to leave. The party were on the move once more, heading toward the coast. It was still early, the morning feeling fresh as they got started.
Pierre knew it was necessary to keep a closer eye on the road ahead in future days. He would see to it that a scout was sent up ahead to check there was no apparent trouble.
They set off at a slow pace at first. Pierre concerned that Catherine would not be capable of riding for a good part of the day without further pain or bleeding from her leg. He stayed close to her, ready to help should the need arise, not wishing to quicken the pace until he was satisfied his daughter was coping adequately. Thankfully the weather was fair, warm even, as they made their way over undulating countryside, constantly heading in the direction of the sea where, once crossed they would continue on to their destination. They were making good time. It had previously been arranged they would meet up with a boat that would take them across the sea to England.
They were riding at a good pace now, Matilda was beside Catherine, Pierre on the other side. William followed behind Catherine, making sure surreptitiously, she was not in any way feeling discomfit. Often throughout the long journey both girls would chat if the going was easy. Matilda looked over, asked how Catherine's leg was.
'Oh, I'm sure I will live a few more years,' she laughed, taking the matter lightly.
'Well it was thought the sword tip catching your leg like that would be a lot worse. I'm pleased you are able to ride.' Matilda frowned, her expression was one of concern for her sister.
Catherine gave another short laugh. 'It was nothing really, just a nick and some blood, that's all,' she answered, brushing it off lightly.
At this moment she noticed the young man named William, just behind her. He smiled at her causing Catherine to blush. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks, looked straight ahead, hoping he had not noticed the change in her appearance. A slight smile was upon her lips, feeling a lightness in her heart.
There were still several day's riding before they reached the coast. Safety played a large part in the mind of Pierre. He was not prepared to risk any further incidents, specially involving his daughters. It was essential they arrived in England without experiencing further trouble.
After the first hour or so, the pace quickened, several small villages were passed, a river crossed, countryside traversed as the riders continued without further delays. Matilda and Catherine had become accustomed to the daily routine spent in the saddle, their bodies quite conditioned with the grueling miles undertaken, but they were looking forward to arriving at their destination. Pierre had been pleased, keeping a close eye on them both, when soon it would be time to board the vessel for the sea journey to England.
The night before they were due to sail, they were bedded down at an inn, where Pierre was in constant touch with the ship's captain. It was expected they would catch the early morning tide and sail for England on the morrow.
As dawn broke, plans were afoot to load everything onto the ship without further delay, the tide waits for no man.
Matilda and Catherine felt a little uneasy about boarding the large vessel, as it was their first experience. They were unsure what to expect. The weather was looking hopeful, apart from a possible storm in due course, but thought to pass further north, certainly not severe.
The two girls were very apprehensive as they were shown to a small area where they could settle, not feeling at all confident. Pierre assured them all would be well as they sat cl0se together for comfort and support.
The boat left the port of Calais as the tide was favourable. They breezed out of the harbour in the early hours, the sun still low on the horizon. The air was fresh, brisk, as it took the boat in a vague westerly direction at this stage. Matilda and Catherine were a little more at ease with their surroundings, watching the last of Calais disappear into a slight sea mist forming. The boat slid carefree across the waves, the captain keeping a watchful eye on all around him, giving orders to his crew as the small ship eased it's way toward open water.
Not too long after the boat was clear of land, it began to pitch and toss slightly, its bow dipping low into large waves. The party of men took it in their stride as they played several games on deck to wile away the time. The captain kept a close eye on the weather for the intended storm, thinking they would be safe as they made their way further west, causing the boat to dip into oncoming waves that appeared to be getting larger. He wouldn't want to sail directly into it. On the other hand, it was possible it would miss them completely, they would be spared the inconvenience and disruption of a possible soaking.
The wind increased, moaned as the sea hissed around them. Spray was finding its way on deck, the larger waves spilling over the sides. The ship tossed on the brow of the white foaming sea, the stern shuddering as it came right out of the water before diving into the next oncoming swell. By now the two girls were becoming increasingly anxious as Pierre tried to reassure them. He too, was becoming more than a little alarmed, anxious as he looked at the oncoming swell, grimacing when it soaked the deck time after time. The crew were busy as the captain gave orders, keeping them busy. The party of men accompanying the two girls gave up their games as the weather became rougher, the decks wetter. It had started to rain, the wind by now increasing to gale force, the vessel tossed about like a cork on the hissing, spewing sea. The noise of the wind was deafening as the sea rose even higher, braking and crashing across the bow of the vessel, thundering back over the sides.
Catherine clung to Matilda who appeared the braver of the two. 'I'm frightened Matilda. Do you think the ship will sink?'
'I hope not!' Matilda's expression was grim, not at all reassuring, Catherine became even more frightened. 'There wasn't supposed to be a storm. Specially one as bad as this.'
William, the young man with whom Catherine had exchanged glances several days earlier, approached them to make sure they were safely taken care of. Pierre by now, was not only anxious, but hoping the storm would soon blow itself out. Its force was taking the ship off-course and he wondered if indeed, they would ever reach England. The storm was far worse than even the captain had expected, but being conditioned to it, remained steadfast in his quest to reach England safely. He glanced up at the mast which was tossing to and fro in the strong wind, the rain intensifying.
The storm didn't get any worse as the day wore on, but the wind never relented either, as it tore at the ship for many hours.
It took two days to finally reach English shores, the wind having finally blown itself out. The vessel, although taking a pounding, had survived the storm, carried them into Dover as the morning light dawned watery in the east. A sunrise of immense beauty greeted them as the boat slipped quietly into the harbour. The ship's crew prepared to dock, the passengers relieved, exhausted, looked forward to stretching their legs. The feeling of solid earth under their feet and eventually completing their ongoing journey, was what occupied everyone's mind. The captain had held his crew together well, no one had fallen overboard, they had all survived and so had the vessel that had brought them to England, the storm finally relenting. But soon news reached them that two smaller ships had been lost, the captain and crew taking the news with deep regret and sadness.
Catherine and Matilda, together with Pierre and his men, finally stepped ashore upon English soil, the two girls smiling at one another as they did so. There was huge relief expressed, they had survived the savage sea, the terrifying storm will become but a memory. A mutual sense of achievement was acknowledged by all at the long distance travelled earlier on land and the time it took to reach safety by sea.
The next stage of their journey was about to begin.
Catherine, who had been her friend since childhood, was also her older sister. Matilda was aware that there had been two sisters, Catherine being one of them not only looked like Matilda, but had sometimes shown similar tendencies. Pierre had revealed his identity at a very poignant moment when Catherine had been hurt by a stray sword tip and as things turned out, she was able to continue for the remainder of the day's riding. Her wound had been superficial, causing no further discomfit, much to everyone's relief.
Soon after dawn, the party of men accompanying Pierre and the two girls, gathered by the stables. They had almost finished mounting, ready to continue in the early morning, when Pierre appeared with his daughters, helping them onto their horses. A young groom held the horses still, then handed the reins to the two girls. Catherine's leg seemed to be healing. She eased herself into the saddle with no apparent problems. So too, was Henry's gash to the shoulder.
Pierre looked up, addressing Catherine in particular. 'Now lass, will you be able to ride this morning?' He was frowning slightly, still worried about her as she settled herself.
'Yes...yes, I think so my lor....' Catherine hesitated for a moment, then nodded to Pierre, smiling briefly.
'Good, as we have a long ride today. If you need to stop and rest, then you must let me know immediately. Do you understand?'
'Thank you. Yes, I will.' Catherine nodded, holding the reins, sitting upright in the saddle, the cantle visible from under her clothing.
Pierre was still gazing up at her and asked, 'Do you suppose you could call me 'papa' from now on?'
'I'll try..., papa.'
'I'd like that. I know it won't be easy for a while until you and Matilda get used to it, but if you can but try, I'd be very pleased. Now, it's time we got started.' He smiled at both girls, briefly checking their bridles, expecting the groom to have done his job correctly.
Pierre was aware that all the men were now mounted. He wanted to get underway as soon as possible. Fixing his gaze on Matilda, asked her, 'will you be happy riding a long distance today, Matilda my dear?'
She looked down from her horse, then nodded. 'Yes, I'll be fine, really I will.'
'Good, then let's be on our way, shall we?'
Pierre sprang into his saddle, gathered the reins indicating to his men it was time to leave. The party were on the move once more, heading toward the coast. It was still early, the morning feeling fresh as they got started.
Pierre knew it was necessary to keep a closer eye on the road ahead in future days. He would see to it that a scout was sent up ahead to check there was no apparent trouble.
They set off at a slow pace at first. Pierre concerned that Catherine would not be capable of riding for a good part of the day without further pain or bleeding from her leg. He stayed close to her, ready to help should the need arise, not wishing to quicken the pace until he was satisfied his daughter was coping adequately. Thankfully the weather was fair, warm even, as they made their way over undulating countryside, constantly heading in the direction of the sea where, once crossed they would continue on to their destination. They were making good time. It had previously been arranged they would meet up with a boat that would take them across the sea to England.
They were riding at a good pace now, Matilda was beside Catherine, Pierre on the other side. William followed behind Catherine, making sure surreptitiously, she was not in any way feeling discomfit. Often throughout the long journey both girls would chat if the going was easy. Matilda looked over, asked how Catherine's leg was.
'Oh, I'm sure I will live a few more years,' she laughed, taking the matter lightly.
'Well it was thought the sword tip catching your leg like that would be a lot worse. I'm pleased you are able to ride.' Matilda frowned, her expression was one of concern for her sister.
Catherine gave another short laugh. 'It was nothing really, just a nick and some blood, that's all,' she answered, brushing it off lightly.
At this moment she noticed the young man named William, just behind her. He smiled at her causing Catherine to blush. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks, looked straight ahead, hoping he had not noticed the change in her appearance. A slight smile was upon her lips, feeling a lightness in her heart.
There were still several day's riding before they reached the coast. Safety played a large part in the mind of Pierre. He was not prepared to risk any further incidents, specially involving his daughters. It was essential they arrived in England without experiencing further trouble.
After the first hour or so, the pace quickened, several small villages were passed, a river crossed, countryside traversed as the riders continued without further delays. Matilda and Catherine had become accustomed to the daily routine spent in the saddle, their bodies quite conditioned with the grueling miles undertaken, but they were looking forward to arriving at their destination. Pierre had been pleased, keeping a close eye on them both, when soon it would be time to board the vessel for the sea journey to England.
The night before they were due to sail, they were bedded down at an inn, where Pierre was in constant touch with the ship's captain. It was expected they would catch the early morning tide and sail for England on the morrow.
As dawn broke, plans were afoot to load everything onto the ship without further delay, the tide waits for no man.
Matilda and Catherine felt a little uneasy about boarding the large vessel, as it was their first experience. They were unsure what to expect. The weather was looking hopeful, apart from a possible storm in due course, but thought to pass further north, certainly not severe.
The two girls were very apprehensive as they were shown to a small area where they could settle, not feeling at all confident. Pierre assured them all would be well as they sat cl0se together for comfort and support.
The boat left the port of Calais as the tide was favourable. They breezed out of the harbour in the early hours, the sun still low on the horizon. The air was fresh, brisk, as it took the boat in a vague westerly direction at this stage. Matilda and Catherine were a little more at ease with their surroundings, watching the last of Calais disappear into a slight sea mist forming. The boat slid carefree across the waves, the captain keeping a watchful eye on all around him, giving orders to his crew as the small ship eased it's way toward open water.
Not too long after the boat was clear of land, it began to pitch and toss slightly, its bow dipping low into large waves. The party of men took it in their stride as they played several games on deck to wile away the time. The captain kept a close eye on the weather for the intended storm, thinking they would be safe as they made their way further west, causing the boat to dip into oncoming waves that appeared to be getting larger. He wouldn't want to sail directly into it. On the other hand, it was possible it would miss them completely, they would be spared the inconvenience and disruption of a possible soaking.
The wind increased, moaned as the sea hissed around them. Spray was finding its way on deck, the larger waves spilling over the sides. The ship tossed on the brow of the white foaming sea, the stern shuddering as it came right out of the water before diving into the next oncoming swell. By now the two girls were becoming increasingly anxious as Pierre tried to reassure them. He too, was becoming more than a little alarmed, anxious as he looked at the oncoming swell, grimacing when it soaked the deck time after time. The crew were busy as the captain gave orders, keeping them busy. The party of men accompanying the two girls gave up their games as the weather became rougher, the decks wetter. It had started to rain, the wind by now increasing to gale force, the vessel tossed about like a cork on the hissing, spewing sea. The noise of the wind was deafening as the sea rose even higher, braking and crashing across the bow of the vessel, thundering back over the sides.
Catherine clung to Matilda who appeared the braver of the two. 'I'm frightened Matilda. Do you think the ship will sink?'
'I hope not!' Matilda's expression was grim, not at all reassuring, Catherine became even more frightened. 'There wasn't supposed to be a storm. Specially one as bad as this.'
William, the young man with whom Catherine had exchanged glances several days earlier, approached them to make sure they were safely taken care of. Pierre by now, was not only anxious, but hoping the storm would soon blow itself out. Its force was taking the ship off-course and he wondered if indeed, they would ever reach England. The storm was far worse than even the captain had expected, but being conditioned to it, remained steadfast in his quest to reach England safely. He glanced up at the mast which was tossing to and fro in the strong wind, the rain intensifying.
The storm didn't get any worse as the day wore on, but the wind never relented either, as it tore at the ship for many hours.
It took two days to finally reach English shores, the wind having finally blown itself out. The vessel, although taking a pounding, had survived the storm, carried them into Dover as the morning light dawned watery in the east. A sunrise of immense beauty greeted them as the boat slipped quietly into the harbour. The ship's crew prepared to dock, the passengers relieved, exhausted, looked forward to stretching their legs. The feeling of solid earth under their feet and eventually completing their ongoing journey, was what occupied everyone's mind. The captain had held his crew together well, no one had fallen overboard, they had all survived and so had the vessel that had brought them to England, the storm finally relenting. But soon news reached them that two smaller ships had been lost, the captain and crew taking the news with deep regret and sadness.
Catherine and Matilda, together with Pierre and his men, finally stepped ashore upon English soil, the two girls smiling at one another as they did so. There was huge relief expressed, they had survived the savage sea, the terrifying storm will become but a memory. A mutual sense of achievement was acknowledged by all at the long distance travelled earlier on land and the time it took to reach safety by sea.
The next stage of their journey was about to begin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)