"Where do you want me to put this Mr Hughes?"
Albert looked at the tall wiry youth holding a barrow of topsoil.
"Put it over there by that tree, we will need it later when we've finished this end of the pond."
During the past weeks, Albert had renovated the ornamental pond in the Eastbridge public gardens. The heavy rain had weakened the banks of the pond and the bank needed renewing as well as the path of stone slabs that surrounded the pond. The youth with the barrow had recently joined his team. Albert wondered how long he would survive. The work was physically hard and exposed to all the conditions the weather gods cared to throw at you. He had seen many come and go over the years. Would this latest one survive the day? Would this youth be back to help him in the morning?
Although it was heavy work, Albert enjoyed it and found pleasure in the thoughts of the finished project. He would complete something that the visitors to the gardens could appreciate over the coming years. He recalled the initial construction of the pond. It was shortly after he started working for the Eastbridge council and one of his first major projects. They had dug away the earth and finally diverted a natural stream, running through the gardens, to create the pond. He remembered the feeling of pride and excitement when, removing the barrier, the stream of water first flowed into the once empty pond. However, how much of this did he really remember? Did he really feel excited, or is this how he imagined he would feel? Albert was beginning to doubt even the most clear and vivid of memories. He remembered his first day at school. He wore a new pair of grey short trousers that had a sharp crease down the front. Is this only how he imagined he would look? It would be quite natural to visualise a boy starting school with a new pair of trousers, is this what was happening, or just a series of imagined images?
As Albert lifted and repositioned each of the stone slabs surrounding the pond he examined each one, looking for the evidence he needed. At last he found it. On the bottom of one of the slabs was his carved initials; AH. He remembered doing this when originally laying the stones. He had read somewhere that stonemasons would often carve their names on one of the stones of a church or cathedral, to leave some record of who had performed the work and show a sense of pride that their name should be associated with these grand structures. The path around the pond was not on such a grand scale but Albert had also felt that same pride. He now had the proof he was looking for, he had not entirely imagined the part he had played in its construction. What he now needed was some proof of the existence of his brother.
When the renovation of the pond was completed, they would need to reinstall a wooden park bench, normally positioned at the end of the pond. Albert remembered a friend of his that would sit on that bench most afternoons if the weather were kind. His name was Dick Stanley, a chef working lunch times in one of the local hotels. He finished work mid-afternoon, his walk home took him through the gardens and he would sit on the bench to smoke one or two cigarettes. Albert remembered the last time he spoke to him sitting on that bench. He was a man of few words and their conversations consisted of short sentences commenting on the weather or the gardens.
"I saw a dragonfly earlier," Dick blew cigarette smoke and then continued, "It was over there on that water lily petal," pointing his cigarette in the general direction of the pond.
"Oh yes, that must have looked pretty," replied Albert.
"Yes it would have made a good picture, if I had a camera. Lilies are nearly finished."
"They've done well this year."
"Not as much algae."
"There have not been as many warm sunny days."
"Oh is that what causes it."
Albert had not seen him in the gardens for a few weeks after that meeting. He was curious and enquired about him at the hotel where he worked. The hotel staff informed him that Dick had suffered a stroke and, after being in hospital for a while, was now in a nursing home.
Albert had visited him as often as he could. The stroke had left his face paralysed down one side and it was difficult for him to speak and make himself understood. Albert did most of the talking. Six weeks, after being admitted into the nursing home, he suffered another stroke and died.
The funeral was a sad affair, Dick did not have any family and apart from Albert, the others attending the ceremony were a few colleagues from the hotel where he worked. "He was a man of few words and even fewer friends," thought Albert, "Would someone be thinking the same thing at his funeral."
About a month after the funeral, he received a solicitor's letter telling him that Dick Stanley had left him some money in his will. It came as a complete shock particularly as he was under the impression that Dick had little or no money; however, the amount he inherited was sufficient to help buy the house he now owned.
Albert decided to buy a remembrance plaque to fit to the back of the park bench. He would need to think of some suitable words to remember his old friend.
Albert looked at the tall wiry youth holding a barrow of topsoil.
"Put it over there by that tree, we will need it later when we've finished this end of the pond."
During the past weeks, Albert had renovated the ornamental pond in the Eastbridge public gardens. The heavy rain had weakened the banks of the pond and the bank needed renewing as well as the path of stone slabs that surrounded the pond. The youth with the barrow had recently joined his team. Albert wondered how long he would survive. The work was physically hard and exposed to all the conditions the weather gods cared to throw at you. He had seen many come and go over the years. Would this latest one survive the day? Would this youth be back to help him in the morning?
Although it was heavy work, Albert enjoyed it and found pleasure in the thoughts of the finished project. He would complete something that the visitors to the gardens could appreciate over the coming years. He recalled the initial construction of the pond. It was shortly after he started working for the Eastbridge council and one of his first major projects. They had dug away the earth and finally diverted a natural stream, running through the gardens, to create the pond. He remembered the feeling of pride and excitement when, removing the barrier, the stream of water first flowed into the once empty pond. However, how much of this did he really remember? Did he really feel excited, or is this how he imagined he would feel? Albert was beginning to doubt even the most clear and vivid of memories. He remembered his first day at school. He wore a new pair of grey short trousers that had a sharp crease down the front. Is this only how he imagined he would look? It would be quite natural to visualise a boy starting school with a new pair of trousers, is this what was happening, or just a series of imagined images?
As Albert lifted and repositioned each of the stone slabs surrounding the pond he examined each one, looking for the evidence he needed. At last he found it. On the bottom of one of the slabs was his carved initials; AH. He remembered doing this when originally laying the stones. He had read somewhere that stonemasons would often carve their names on one of the stones of a church or cathedral, to leave some record of who had performed the work and show a sense of pride that their name should be associated with these grand structures. The path around the pond was not on such a grand scale but Albert had also felt that same pride. He now had the proof he was looking for, he had not entirely imagined the part he had played in its construction. What he now needed was some proof of the existence of his brother.
When the renovation of the pond was completed, they would need to reinstall a wooden park bench, normally positioned at the end of the pond. Albert remembered a friend of his that would sit on that bench most afternoons if the weather were kind. His name was Dick Stanley, a chef working lunch times in one of the local hotels. He finished work mid-afternoon, his walk home took him through the gardens and he would sit on the bench to smoke one or two cigarettes. Albert remembered the last time he spoke to him sitting on that bench. He was a man of few words and their conversations consisted of short sentences commenting on the weather or the gardens.
"I saw a dragonfly earlier," Dick blew cigarette smoke and then continued, "It was over there on that water lily petal," pointing his cigarette in the general direction of the pond.
"Oh yes, that must have looked pretty," replied Albert.
"Yes it would have made a good picture, if I had a camera. Lilies are nearly finished."
"They've done well this year."
"Not as much algae."
"There have not been as many warm sunny days."
"Oh is that what causes it."
Albert had not seen him in the gardens for a few weeks after that meeting. He was curious and enquired about him at the hotel where he worked. The hotel staff informed him that Dick had suffered a stroke and, after being in hospital for a while, was now in a nursing home.
Albert had visited him as often as he could. The stroke had left his face paralysed down one side and it was difficult for him to speak and make himself understood. Albert did most of the talking. Six weeks, after being admitted into the nursing home, he suffered another stroke and died.
The funeral was a sad affair, Dick did not have any family and apart from Albert, the others attending the ceremony were a few colleagues from the hotel where he worked. "He was a man of few words and even fewer friends," thought Albert, "Would someone be thinking the same thing at his funeral."
About a month after the funeral, he received a solicitor's letter telling him that Dick Stanley had left him some money in his will. It came as a complete shock particularly as he was under the impression that Dick had little or no money; however, the amount he inherited was sufficient to help buy the house he now owned.
Albert decided to buy a remembrance plaque to fit to the back of the park bench. He would need to think of some suitable words to remember his old friend.