The Company accountant asked me the other day what I would like as a leaving present. After first saying that I didn’t want a gift, I changed my mind and said,
“Anything except a watch, I’ve already got half a dozen of them, nor a clock for that matter, I have enough clocks to stock a shop.”
He made some comment about my obsession with punctuality, and my uncanny perfection with timing, then, no more was said about it.
On the final day, outside caterers laid on a first class meal for everyone, in the works canteen, then I sat at a side table handing redundancy cheques to all the workers.
After that, Sir Robin called me up to the stage where he made a little speech then presented me with a fifty pence type Mickey Mouse watch with a bright pink strap. He made some slightly sarcastic comments about ‘the time being right’, followed by,
“Now everyone, let’s get to the bar.”
There was to be a free bar all afternoon but I didn’t want any of that.
I knew that it would entail meaningless goodbyes, hugs and kisses, which usually get stronger with inebriation. Not my scene at all. As soon as he had given me the watch and the ceremonial kiss I slipped through the side door where the chauffeur was waiting to take me home.
It would be my last official ride in the company Jaguar.
It wasn’t to be my last ride in that particular car however;
far from it. Sir Robin gave it to me as my leaving present.
After all, we didn’t want anyone else having it because,
Oh, if ever it could talk.
The ups and downs of every day living.
Life was great. Myself and my wife Celia were both well on the success ladder in our respective careers.
The disappointment of not being able to have a family was long behind us and we had come to terms with it.
With the luxury home and two posh cars and still money to spare I couldn’t have asked for much more.
However, Nothing is for ever. All good things come to an end.
My life . . . Shall we say, took a downturn
In less than a month I was at rock bottom Down and out as they used to say, and I never want to go down that road again. Mind you, like they also say, things can only get better.
Maybe, maybe not.
Through no fault of my own, I lost my job. Hundreds of others were in the same situation at the time. All my friends coped,
I didn’t. Within weeks, my wife Celia kicked me out and promised all sorts of difficulties.
I realised that she meant business when my plastic got declined at the petrol station. Her solicitor had frozen the joint account. Fortunately I had a wad of notes in my back pocket, but common sense told me that my tangible assets wouldn’t last very long.
Friday afternoon and I couldn’t even get at my redundancy money till the Tuesday after bank holiday.
My temporary residence at The George Hotel had to end rather abruptly.
I thought I had just about enough money to rent a flat so I paid a visit to our local estate agents. What I hadn’t reckoned on was the fact that they wanted two months rent in advance. Payable on the spot. That scuppered that idea. “What can I do now?”
I asked the lady in the estate agents.
“Find lodgings till you’re sorted out.”
She gave me one or two addresses in . . . shall we say, the industrial area of town.
By tea time I had parted with one hundred and fifty pounds in notes and had a dubious new address, 13 Skyrise apartments.
“Bring your stuff whenever you like” said Wilhelmina Brassington, my new landlady. I soon found out that the other paying guests called her Brassy and it didn’t take long for me to find out why. When she said,
“There’s plenty of fun to be had for a small consideration.”
I realised what brassy meant.
Not for me at that time in my life.
After my first meal in that house, dodgy fish and chips out of the paper, I went back to the old home to pick up the few of my possessions that were in the garage. A sparse change of clothing and my fishing tackle. Fishing was the last thing on my mind.
The evening was cold, dark and it was raining cats and dogs.
. . . No, correction. Dog is a man’s best friend, I had no friends so it must have been raining cats and kittens.
I made my journey across town with a heavy heart. The wipers were struggling to clear the windscreen and I was thoroughly fed up. Besides that, my fish and chip supper disagreed with me and I had terrible stomach pains. Things couldn’t get worse.
They did. My car engine spluttered and ground to a halt right outside the Golden Lion. I freewheeled into the pub car park and yes, I don’t mind admitting, I cried. Then I decided that a double brandy might help my tummy so I went inside.
I had barely started my drink when I tottered, spilling the brandy all down me. Then I was violently sick, on the deep pile carpet.
Two bouncers, thinking the worst, dragged me outside and literally threw me against the wall by the bus shelter.
I suppose it was only seconds but it seemed much longer, when three young ladies approached, obviously waiting for the next bus. One of them gave me
a hefty kick, while the second stood back saying “Leave him, he’s bloody drunk, smell the brandy.
At this time of the night as well.”
Her friend aimed another vicious kick that really hurt, but I didn’t care. I’d had enough, I just wanted to die there and then. On that spot.
The third female who seemed much younger, bent over me, grabbed my wrist and retorted
“I don’t think he’s drunk at all, I think he’s ill, very ill.”
She was quite right. I didn’t know it at that time but she was a student nurse. She certainly was an angel.
In a short space of time I was in hospital diagnosed with possible food poisoning. Further inquiries later proved that Brassy’s fish and chips were old, and had been warmed up on more than one occasion
I said earlier on that all good things come to an end.
One of my first visitors at hospital was Celia, full of remorse and desperately wishing to put the last few days behind us.
Not only that, I became very friendly with Alison, the student nurse who had been so kind to me. Likewise Celia took to her and despite the fact that she was seventeen years old she soon became the daughter that we never had.
It seemed as though for the first time, our life was complete.
I hate using any more clichés but all’s well that ends well.
Windows 2010
“Morning Mary, you missed a really good night last Friday.”
Though they were very good friends, Alice always spoke in the same condescending manner. Either it sounded like
‘I’ve been somewhere that you haven’t’ or ‘I’ve got something that you can’t have’.
“Sorry I couldn’t make it,” Mary replied. “The grandchildren stayed over. I was a cheap babysitter.”
“Your mother was on top form as usual,” Alice continued.
“What did she sing about?” Mary wanted to know.
“Something about double glazing I think. To be honest, we were all to busy laughing.
I remember, she started her first song:-
T’was underneath the spreading chestnut tree,
The salesman tried it on with me.
All the little windows worked out free
‘Neath the spreading chestnut tree.
Like I said, we were all laughing so I didn’t understand what she was on about.”
Mary did. She said,
“Oh I do,~~~ only too well, It’s a long tale that one.”
Mary’s mother, Iris Ikin is what is commonly known these days as a real live wire.
Despite being eighty two years young, she still enjoys doing her singing spot down at the Miner’s Welfare every Friday night. She is very popular too, even though her singing voice is terrible.
One old codger o
nce remarked,
“She must gargle with tin tacks to get a voice as bad as that.”
They all loved her, because she always sang the old time songs.
The same ones over and over again, week by week, and she always dressed for the part.
Sometimes as a scullery maid in a white starched apron, sometimes as ‘Mi’lady’ in a crinoline, or maybe as a nurse, or a nun. But, she always had a habit of putting her own words to each tune. Different every time. For example she’d start the first verse or even the first line, then nobody could guess what was coming next.
A few weeks ago, dressed as a nun she started her final song:-
“Underneath the spreading chestnut tree
That’s where the Mayor made love to me.”
She was a bit miffed that as she was singing, there were some girls going round handing out leaflets to the audience. As she walked off the stage she snatched a leaflet out of one girl’s hand.
“What the hell is this?” she said, “Invitation to a housewarming party.”
“Exactly what it says” the girl replied. Just fill in your name and address on the back and leave the rest to us.
Iris did just as requested then forgot about it.
A few days later a smartly dressed young man knocked at the door.
“Mrs. Ikin?”
“Yes, but who are you?” Iris was wary of strangers.
“Oh I’m Charles Brown, agent for Maxwell’s Maxheat Double Glazing.”
“So you like wasting time as well do you”? I don’t need any double glazing, I’ve already got bi-focals.”
She breathed on her glasses and polished them to emphasise the point.
“No my dear” Charles laughed with her.
“Do you remember filling in a form to attend a ‘Housewarming party?”
“Well yes, but what is the connection with double glazing?”
“It’s a sad story” he told her.
“My firm are trying to con people into paying a lot of money for new windows. The party is a sham. A modern idea to get people to have a lot of free drinks, then sign an expensive contract.”
“But that’s not fair at all,” Iris was getting concerned.
“I agree,” said Charles. “That’s why I’m here. You see, I don’t like to think about elderly people being cheated.
I’d rather you look upon me as your friend, here to help.
Mind you, I’d be out of a job if anyone found out that I’d been here.”
“Nobody has got the better of me in eighty two years, and I don’t think that they ever will.” Iris regained her confidence.
“Good for you Mrs. Ikin, I can see that you know your own mind.”
After talking for a few minutes Charles asked,
“Excuse me a moment, would it be ok if I use your toilet?”
“Sure,” Iris told him.
“Through that door, pull the cord for the light-switch.”
Two minutes later he was back, saying.
“You’ve got some very interesting plants on the window sill in there, Mrs. Ikin.”
“Yes, they’re tropical; my daughter brought me the cuttings back from her holiday. brought them through the customs in a thermos flask.
They really thrive on the air conditioning. The trouble is, they need to be kept in a darkened room till they’re established.”
Ah, that’s why you keep that blind down is it?”
A bit startled Iris stammered “y-yes”
The thing is” he continued, “I’m here to help you. Instead of going to a phoney party, I can give you a much better offer than Maxwells will.
That is of course, if you want some nice new warm windows.
I’m not pushing you at all.”
“Actually, ~~~~ I had been thinking that this big window in here needs replacing. It’s quite rotten you know.” Iris sighed.
“Charles sidled across to the window and muttered “quite rotten.”
Then he added, “It is a big window, and what a lovely panoramic view you have. I can give you a perfect never to be beaten offer.
Order new windows all round today and I’ll give you the smallest window absolutely free.”
“That sounds excellent to me” Iris told him.
“Well, I like to be fair, it’s my nature. I must point out though, our contract, once signed is fully binding on both parties.
You’re sure that you understand that?”
“Certainly. I’d still like to sign your contract. Now if you like.”
“You’re quite sure,” he asked again.
“Yep. Give me that pen.” Iris signed the contract and sniggered.
Charles then asked “Have you a cheque book Mrs. Ikin?”
“Why”.
“Because I need a ten per-cent deposit” he explained.
“Ten per-cent of what?” Iris tried not to laugh.
“Ten per-cent of the cost of the entire job” answered Charles
“But it’s free. The smallest window is free you said.
I’ve signed for it now.”
“No love, you misunderstand me, only the smallest window is free.”
“Fair enough” Iris laughed again “This is a one room apartment, that
That big window is the only one”.
“No, No, No, No, the smallest one will be the one in the toilet surely?”
“Not at all. That is only imitation, There is a solid wall behind that blind.”
Iris got her smallest window free!
The contract was fully binding on both parties
And Charles couldn’t do a damned thing about it.
Way Back in Grandma’s Time.
Well, . . that’s the long holidays over for another year.
It makes me think back to my own school days.
Of course in those days the routine was the same every year.
On the first day back at school after the summer holidays the teacher would say,
“Now write a composition called ‘What I did during the holidays’.
There is one year that I shall never forget. It was very much different for me than all the others.
I was eight, very nearly nine at the time and I was in Miss Smith’s class. It was the last lesson in the afternoon when we were given the usual task. I was enthusiastic enough and was still writing furiously when the bell went for home-time.
Next morning, Miss Smith was in a bad mood. She told us how bored she had been the previous evening, reading our compositions.
“Fifteen of you lot wrote about watching a confounded football match on television. Another fifteen all went to Blackpool, I was fed up with reading about donkeys, slot machines and hurdy gurdys.
That left two others. David Humphries offered a disgraceful effort.
He simply wrote,
’We never went nowhere ‘cos me dad was bad’.
Lastly, but worth the wait was Mary’s contribution.
I enjoyed that so much that I will read it out to you all.”
This is what she wrote.
When I asked my mother where we would be going for our summer holidays she said,
“It’s going to be a different holiday for all of us this year.”
Mum told me that she would be going into hospital to have her baby and I would be able to spend a whole month in the country with my gran. She lived a long way off and I hadn’t seen her for nearly three years. Her home was a quaint thatched cottage at the end of a long leafy lane.
But Gran herself was just so different to anyone else that I ever knew. One day I heard Auntie Winnie say,
“I don’t think your Gran was ever young.”
Daddy took me on the train because it was so much quicker than going in the car.
It took time but I was just getting used to my new surroundings when out of the blue one morning I asked,
“Were you alive in the olden days Grandma?”
I’d heard people talk about ‘The olden days’ many a time.
“What an unusual question” she replied..
“I can’t really answer it but I can tell you what it was like when I was young. That was certainly a long time ago.”
She then added,
“No I won’t tell you, I’ll show you. We’ll start in the morning and
do one full day. Of course in those days things were so very different”
I wondered what had hit me next morning when Grandma got me out of bed just after seven-o-clock.
“Come on young lady, time to get up, here’s a jug of water to wash your face with.”
She was carrying a paraffin lamp so naturally I asked
“Is the electricity off then?”
“No, . . . not at all, we didn’t have electric when I was a little girl.”
I had forgotten about my little adventure into the past.
Then,
“Hey up Gran, this water is cold” I wailed
“That’s right. We always had cold water first thing in a morning, it wakes you up properly.”
Once I was downstairs she said,
“Stand back and watch me, I’m going to black-lead the grate. You can perhaps do it yourself next week.”
I watched and tried to take it in. Then she threw a rag to me and gave me a tin of brasso saying,
“Right, now polish that oven knob and boiler tap till they shine like the sun. Then I’ll light the fire and boil the kettle for a cup of tea before breakfast”
Gran didn’t have a dishwasher so after breakfast she washed and dried the dishes, letting me help a bit.
Then she told me,
“I’ve some shopping to do so we shall have to go into town this morning.”
“Oh good,” I answered, “Can I ride in the front of the car?”
“Gracious me no. Remember, we have gone back to when I was a little girl. We didn’t have cars in those days. We walk to the end of the lane and catch the bus into town. Just think, if it was a Monday or Wednesday there would be no bus so we would have had to go all the way on our bikes. All six miles.”
50 Short Stories Page 15