The summer of 1980 came to an end. It had been cool, dull and wet providing little relief for a nation in the grip of high inflation and the worst unemployment since the depression of the 1930’s. Neville and Marie met as often as they could but he had picked the worst time to try to change his job and his uncertain future hung over their relationship as heavy as the rain-laden clouds. It had been several weeks since George’s visit to Northwood Hall and there was no communication from A.J., neither had he received a reply to his letter to Jane Wheatley, which saddened and disappointed him as he felt this was his only way of tracing Sarah the woman he was to have married. He had received an acknowledgement to the letter and watch he sent to Ann Bartlett but only the briefest of notes thanking him for the return of Albert’s watch. The wording and lack of sentiment in the reply suggested her husband wrote it. George was unlikely to be receiving a Christmas card from that quarter.
Autumn was George’s least favourite time of year, the summer blooms were fading fast and although the russet and gold of the remaining foliage provided welcome colour the leaves clung to the twigs and branches by the frailest of connections and a strong breeze or early frost brought this display to an abrupt end. Everywhere he looked nature was saying the winter is near and another year is about to be brought to a close.
He finally received a phone call from A.J., a call one did not want to make and the other did not want to receive. Their mother had died peacefully in her sleep. George had heard this phrase many times before but questioned what it meant. Did it signify she passed away when everyone else was peacefully asleep? Whilst others slept did she, as Dylan Thomas had questioned, “go gentle into that good night,” or, “rage, rage against the dying of the light?”
George’s last image of his mother was her asleep, slumped in a chair, but the memory he preferred to recall was her standing, silhouetted against the sunlit window, wearing her pretty coloured dress and white apron, arranging her flowers. There was serenity in her face that portrayed peace. She had come to understand there was no life no death, no light no dark, no-good no evil. Maybe at the outset her dementia had caused fear, anger, attacks on those nearest to her, but progressively these emotions had been replaced with a resignation and acceptance of the alternative reality now occupied by her mind and a calmness, almost religious in appearance.
A.J. said he would call him again when he had details of the funeral arrangements.
The arrangements included a service at the Barnshead parish church, burial in the church cemetery next to her father’s grave, followed by a gathering of family and friends at the Grenadier Hotel. A.J. suggested that George travel the previous day and stay overnight, but George said he would travel on the morning of the funeral and meet at the church. George had developed an uneasiness about his brother, the mysterious visit to London, and no explanation from A.J., had somehow unnerved him. He hadn’t admitted he knew the meeting had taken place, and that Calder had attended, as this would have put Mrs Stokes in an awkward position as it would appear she had provided George with the details of the London hotel. He hoped A.J. would have explained why he cancelled their planned weekend together but it had not been forthcoming. What did he have to hide?
George was early, as were a number of other people already standing in front of the parish church. Groups had formed and new arrivals either joined a group or stood to one side waiting to be joined by others yet to arrive. George stood on his own sensing some were looking at him wondering if he were family or friend. Both sets of groups assumed he belonged to the other, and to George’s relief, no one approach him and introduced themselves. It was not time yet to announce his true identity and if asked he had decided to use the name Albert Hughes, old friend of the family, as his reply. Most people wore clothes of a sombre colour, the men in dark suits and ties, women with dark skirts or dresses and, as the day was a cold, but thankfully dry, an overcoat of equally sombre colours. Unlike a wedding, where the women in particular might have purchased a special outfit for the day, these clothes were formal everyday clothes picked from their wardrobes based on the suitability of the colour. The one exception was a woman, who appeared to be on her own, wearing an outfit that would have not looked out of place in a museum of Victorian fashion; a design including lace and a depth of black to rival that worn by Queen Victoria herself when in mourning for Albert. Each time he glanced at her, she seemed to be looking at him and somewhat embarrassed he moved to the side of the church out of her view.
The hearse arrived, the coffin removed and carried into the church by four men. The men appeared to have been chosen for their sombre looks, strength and equal height. Behind them was A.J. and Mrs Stokes. The assembled groups entered the church and sat where they felt most appropriate. George and the Victorian lady sat close to the back on opposite sides of the aisle. The service took a familiar pattern with a vicar providing readings, prayers and hymns together with a eulogy, which the vicar delivered with sympathy, but also humour, and obviously by a man that knew Mrs Waterson and the family well. The bearers carried the coffin to a prepared gravesite; the vicar held a bible supported by open palms and spoke some words; the coffin lowered and the ceremony concluded.
“Well that’s that,” George thought to himself, surprised by his own apparent callousness. Some women were crying, comforted by their male partners, as they moved away from the graveside. “Should he be crying, sobbing uncontrollably?” he thought.
“Sorry I’ve not had chance to talk to you.” it was A.J., “Some people have asked who you are and I’ve just said a friend, hope that’s what you wanted?”
“Yes that’s fine,” George replied, “nice service.”
“He’s the local vicar, known him since we were at school together.” he was about to add, “You probably don’t remember him,” when he just stopped himself in time. “We’re going on to the Grenadier, Calder will give you a lift, he’s parked at the side of the church somewhere, I’ve told him to wait for you.”
“So Calder has been TOLD to wait for me,” George thought to himself rather cynically, “perhaps Calder would have liked to have been asked, or doesn’t he have a choice?”
George had not noticed Calder amongst the groups, “not surprising considering his lack of height,” he chuckled to himself and chuckled again when he found Calder standing next to his car with a woman, George assumed to be his wife, twice his height. Calder waved him over.
“Hi George,” Calder called as George approached, meet Lizzy my other half.
“Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing to say?” Lizzy said as she held out her hand to shake George’s, “I’m twice his height and he calls me the other half.”
“I only say it to annoy her,” Calder chortled, “jump in let’s get going, I need a drink and we’ll miss all the best sandwiches.”
True to his word, Calder made straight for the buffet on entering the function room in the Grenadier and returned with a plate full of sandwiches of unknown fillings. He held the plate to eye level to view the sides of the sandwiches to confirm the fillings he had selected and pleased with his choice began to devour them like a starving man. His mastication paused for a moment, whilst he ordered two large whiskeys and tonic water from a passing waiter, before resuming consuming the remaining sandwiches.
“Isn’t he the end?” Lizzy said rather embarrassed, “just because they’re free, he wouldn’t eat them at home. I assume the tonic is for me and I’m driving you home,” Lizzy concluded with a sense of annoyance creeping into her voice.
“Not only are they free,” Calder said between sips of his whiskey, A.J. paid for them, not often you get anything for free out of him.”
The other large whiskey was for George and although he enjoyed it, he reminded himself it was rather early in the day for large ones and declined the offer of a second as Calder drained his glass.
“Understand you have decided to use your real name, George,” Calder said as he pulled at the belt of his trousers which were in danger of falling to his knees, “you’ll need a bit of help to sort all that out, but don’t worry that’s what I’m here for. Just give me a call sometime and we can discuss. I’ll start the ball rolling if you like; need to contact a couple of government departments about stuff like pension and national insurance. If it was just the change of a name it would be a straightforward deed poll, but you have effectively been living under a false name, the name of someone who actually existed, but don't worry it’s just paperwork, I’ll get it sorted.”
George was not worried until told not to worry!
“Timothy tells me you’re a landscape gardener, that sounds interesting,” it was Lizzy sounding not at all interested in landscape gardeners.
George tried to explain his interesting gardening job for the Eastbridge council and was relieved when Lizzy excused herself as there was someone she simply must speak to. Calder had also disappeared, presumably to freshen up his drink as he called it. George was on his own, but not for long, as the Victorian woman approached him with outstretched arms.
“George dear, I would have recognised you anywhere, it’s been so long.” and she kissed him on the cheek.
Autumn was George’s least favourite time of year, the summer blooms were fading fast and although the russet and gold of the remaining foliage provided welcome colour the leaves clung to the twigs and branches by the frailest of connections and a strong breeze or early frost brought this display to an abrupt end. Everywhere he looked nature was saying the winter is near and another year is about to be brought to a close.
He finally received a phone call from A.J., a call one did not want to make and the other did not want to receive. Their mother had died peacefully in her sleep. George had heard this phrase many times before but questioned what it meant. Did it signify she passed away when everyone else was peacefully asleep? Whilst others slept did she, as Dylan Thomas had questioned, “go gentle into that good night,” or, “rage, rage against the dying of the light?”
George’s last image of his mother was her asleep, slumped in a chair, but the memory he preferred to recall was her standing, silhouetted against the sunlit window, wearing her pretty coloured dress and white apron, arranging her flowers. There was serenity in her face that portrayed peace. She had come to understand there was no life no death, no light no dark, no-good no evil. Maybe at the outset her dementia had caused fear, anger, attacks on those nearest to her, but progressively these emotions had been replaced with a resignation and acceptance of the alternative reality now occupied by her mind and a calmness, almost religious in appearance.
A.J. said he would call him again when he had details of the funeral arrangements.
The arrangements included a service at the Barnshead parish church, burial in the church cemetery next to her father’s grave, followed by a gathering of family and friends at the Grenadier Hotel. A.J. suggested that George travel the previous day and stay overnight, but George said he would travel on the morning of the funeral and meet at the church. George had developed an uneasiness about his brother, the mysterious visit to London, and no explanation from A.J., had somehow unnerved him. He hadn’t admitted he knew the meeting had taken place, and that Calder had attended, as this would have put Mrs Stokes in an awkward position as it would appear she had provided George with the details of the London hotel. He hoped A.J. would have explained why he cancelled their planned weekend together but it had not been forthcoming. What did he have to hide?
George was early, as were a number of other people already standing in front of the parish church. Groups had formed and new arrivals either joined a group or stood to one side waiting to be joined by others yet to arrive. George stood on his own sensing some were looking at him wondering if he were family or friend. Both sets of groups assumed he belonged to the other, and to George’s relief, no one approach him and introduced themselves. It was not time yet to announce his true identity and if asked he had decided to use the name Albert Hughes, old friend of the family, as his reply. Most people wore clothes of a sombre colour, the men in dark suits and ties, women with dark skirts or dresses and, as the day was a cold, but thankfully dry, an overcoat of equally sombre colours. Unlike a wedding, where the women in particular might have purchased a special outfit for the day, these clothes were formal everyday clothes picked from their wardrobes based on the suitability of the colour. The one exception was a woman, who appeared to be on her own, wearing an outfit that would have not looked out of place in a museum of Victorian fashion; a design including lace and a depth of black to rival that worn by Queen Victoria herself when in mourning for Albert. Each time he glanced at her, she seemed to be looking at him and somewhat embarrassed he moved to the side of the church out of her view.
The hearse arrived, the coffin removed and carried into the church by four men. The men appeared to have been chosen for their sombre looks, strength and equal height. Behind them was A.J. and Mrs Stokes. The assembled groups entered the church and sat where they felt most appropriate. George and the Victorian lady sat close to the back on opposite sides of the aisle. The service took a familiar pattern with a vicar providing readings, prayers and hymns together with a eulogy, which the vicar delivered with sympathy, but also humour, and obviously by a man that knew Mrs Waterson and the family well. The bearers carried the coffin to a prepared gravesite; the vicar held a bible supported by open palms and spoke some words; the coffin lowered and the ceremony concluded.
“Well that’s that,” George thought to himself, surprised by his own apparent callousness. Some women were crying, comforted by their male partners, as they moved away from the graveside. “Should he be crying, sobbing uncontrollably?” he thought.
“Sorry I’ve not had chance to talk to you.” it was A.J., “Some people have asked who you are and I’ve just said a friend, hope that’s what you wanted?”
“Yes that’s fine,” George replied, “nice service.”
“He’s the local vicar, known him since we were at school together.” he was about to add, “You probably don’t remember him,” when he just stopped himself in time. “We’re going on to the Grenadier, Calder will give you a lift, he’s parked at the side of the church somewhere, I’ve told him to wait for you.”
“So Calder has been TOLD to wait for me,” George thought to himself rather cynically, “perhaps Calder would have liked to have been asked, or doesn’t he have a choice?”
George had not noticed Calder amongst the groups, “not surprising considering his lack of height,” he chuckled to himself and chuckled again when he found Calder standing next to his car with a woman, George assumed to be his wife, twice his height. Calder waved him over.
“Hi George,” Calder called as George approached, meet Lizzy my other half.
“Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing to say?” Lizzy said as she held out her hand to shake George’s, “I’m twice his height and he calls me the other half.”
“I only say it to annoy her,” Calder chortled, “jump in let’s get going, I need a drink and we’ll miss all the best sandwiches.”
True to his word, Calder made straight for the buffet on entering the function room in the Grenadier and returned with a plate full of sandwiches of unknown fillings. He held the plate to eye level to view the sides of the sandwiches to confirm the fillings he had selected and pleased with his choice began to devour them like a starving man. His mastication paused for a moment, whilst he ordered two large whiskeys and tonic water from a passing waiter, before resuming consuming the remaining sandwiches.
“Isn’t he the end?” Lizzy said rather embarrassed, “just because they’re free, he wouldn’t eat them at home. I assume the tonic is for me and I’m driving you home,” Lizzy concluded with a sense of annoyance creeping into her voice.
“Not only are they free,” Calder said between sips of his whiskey, A.J. paid for them, not often you get anything for free out of him.”
The other large whiskey was for George and although he enjoyed it, he reminded himself it was rather early in the day for large ones and declined the offer of a second as Calder drained his glass.
“Understand you have decided to use your real name, George,” Calder said as he pulled at the belt of his trousers which were in danger of falling to his knees, “you’ll need a bit of help to sort all that out, but don’t worry that’s what I’m here for. Just give me a call sometime and we can discuss. I’ll start the ball rolling if you like; need to contact a couple of government departments about stuff like pension and national insurance. If it was just the change of a name it would be a straightforward deed poll, but you have effectively been living under a false name, the name of someone who actually existed, but don't worry it’s just paperwork, I’ll get it sorted.”
George was not worried until told not to worry!
“Timothy tells me you’re a landscape gardener, that sounds interesting,” it was Lizzy sounding not at all interested in landscape gardeners.
George tried to explain his interesting gardening job for the Eastbridge council and was relieved when Lizzy excused herself as there was someone she simply must speak to. Calder had also disappeared, presumably to freshen up his drink as he called it. George was on his own, but not for long, as the Victorian woman approached him with outstretched arms.
“George dear, I would have recognised you anywhere, it’s been so long.” and she kissed him on the cheek.