by Louise James
“Can I give you a lift anywhere? The basket looks heavy.’
“No thanks, used to it.’ She didn’t turn around and he watched her walk over the ford and out of sight.
‘That’s a weird one’ he thought. ‘I hope that’s not a sample of the neighbourhood’. The realisation of what she said suddenly struck him. He shouted aloud “It’s for sale.” He jumped from the car and began searching first one side of the road then the other but found nothing.
“Damn that woman she must have seen that sign sometime and must know who the agent is.’ About to give up and go to find someone more helpful, his eye caught sight of a green board down in the ditch. He tugged it free to read.
FOR SALE BY BROWN TURNER AND CO. AUCTIONEERS AND ESTATE AGENTS. ABERGAVENNY 01843 6874286 and 01843 687544
Greg held it a moment in deep thought. “Is this meant for me? Why should I come here? Father would probably say that God moves in mysterious ways. Some would call it destiny but is it what I want and can I afford it? I don’t have a job or much time either” Greg slowly stood the sign back up in the hedge.
“First things first I suppose, go and see how much they want. I could get a key and have a good look around again. I’d like to do that anyway. I must follow where I am led it’s all I have to hang on to.’
He started the car driving slowly down to the ford suddenly slamming into reverse gear he fled back up the road to where the sign now stood upright. With a wicked grin he pulled it out and thrust it deep where he had found it upside down. ‘There’s no harm in giving fate a helping hand.’
It took him fifteen minutes to the Auctioneer’s office in town.
He decided to spend the night in Abergavenny. There were several things he had to do and it was a very interesting market town. First he booked into an attractive looking guest house on the outskirts then made his way into the old market place to do some shopping. He needed wellington boots and a pair of gloves for the nettles. An ordinance survey map and a good torch completed his purchases.
Arriving back at the guest house, his landlady greeted him with warmth until her husband jealous of Greg’ good looks banished her back to the kitchen where she contented herself preparing him a culinary masterpiece instead. Mr Williams was a born host and knew how to treat his guests. Two other men were also staying and Greg enjoyed the chat. Afterwards he sat in the small annex and phoned Tom his boss giving him an update. He and Tom worked well together and after five years were more friends than employer and employee. Greg and Stephanie had enjoyed their hospitality on more than one occasion and had wined and dined them in return. Strangely Tom had never cared for Stephanie, although his charm and good manners never let it show but he had once said to Greg. “She is not the girl for you Greg.” The words had stayed at the back of his mind. Now Tom was at a complete loss on what to say. He was devastated at Greg’s words, to be losing him as a colleague and a workmate. He had received the report from James Riley the medic aboard the rig and could find no words to express his grief. He had hoped that Mr McLaughlin’s had come through with a different verdict or at least with news of some kind of cure. This was dreadful and he was almost unable to speak. Greg promised to meet him on his return, accepting an invitation to meet him and his wife Betty in the privacy of their home.
His next call was to Ray Bower, unable to tell him the truth he only told him a little of what he was up to. Ray complained down the phone.
“Wish I was there with you, I could do with prowling around the mountains for a while”
Greg smiled to himself, Ray would enjoy that and the current girlfriend would have to come too or be packed off home for the weekend.
“Nothing is stopping you if I should decide to stay here for a while. I’ll let you know my plans soon. Anyway I’ll be back next week so catch you then. See you Saturday”
Greg mulled things for a while before he rang his father. He was pleased Greg had found Graig-y- dorth. “What do you intend to do?”
“I’m going to take a good look tomorrow and if it feels good I’ll put in an offer. It’s a realistic price but in bad state. I have enough for a deposit but I’ll sell the flat only hope it shifts quickly but it would be stupid to look at a mortgage in my condition”
There was a deep silence as John blew his nose sharply. “We have a little put by, Greg.” His voice was gruff and Greg quickly interrupted. ‘Dad I don’t want to do that let me handle it in my own way
Thanks anyway. Maybe I could get a loan until the flat sells. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If I do go for it will you come and see it first?”
“Of course I will.” his father replied. “Take a good look, see what you think and we will join you on Sunday and have another look around. You had better have a word with your mother she is pacing around the floor here.”
“Thanks Dad.” Greg had to school himself to sound normal to his mother. In one way he would be glad when she knew but couldn’t bear the thought of her pain when she did. Luckily for him she was still full of the wedding next day, entreating him to at least to come to the evening do to which he had been invited, barely stopping to enquire how his digs were before she was gone. He went back to the bar for a nightcap.
Greg read the brochure for the third time. “Twenty acres of land and hill rights, not really suitable for an invalid” he muttered aloud stuffing the papers in his pocket. It was still early as he headed out to the little farm that drew him like a magnet. The morning was chilly and damp with clouds lowering over the mountains as different from the previous day as autumn is from spring. He splashed his way through the puddles into the yard. He realised that he must be very careful and disciplined in his inspections otherwise his emotions might lead him into doing something silly. He still wasn’t in a good place yet; with this in mind he shut off his emotions and went to work as if this was one of his lab security checks.
The key was stiff in the lock and took some jiggling until he was in the porch. Here a pair of cracked wellies stood on a stone bench to the side underneath which stood an old bucket containing a few pieces of coal and some kindling. The inner door opened easily enough and he went up a step into a large room. It was dark and smelt of mice and soot. The curtains were closed and the pressure of bushes closed the other. He pulled at the curtains that hung drunkenly from overstretched wires, spiders fled down the walls. The light streamed in and he saw with relief the general condition was good so far. Patches of damp showed on one wall, paper had fallen away and some plaster had fallen on the flagstone floor otherwise the room was surprisingly in fair shape. Greg was relieved to see the huge beams that ran through the ceiling were sound. ‘Definitely oak’ he decided after proving them with his penknife, pegs protruded but no hooks or nails. The windows were small but well made with deep panel lined seats. The doors oak with peg latches and the outer walls at least six foot thick. He examined the old range, once black and shiny; it now stood rusty, its tripod bent, oven door hanging off its hinges. Fire dogs and fender were black with neglect and soot lay deep out on the floor. Shining his torch up the chimney it was as he thought full of old nests.
A huge welsh dresser filled one wall, an old settee gave him the shudders but a small corner cupboard although filthy he could see at once was of value. Stephanie had taught him well it had been her hobby going to auctions buying small cabinets and tables and never far out in her judgements had made herself a few pounds. “Why did they leave it behind?” he wondered aloud. “Its amazing the place hasn’t been broken into.” He smiled to himself, if the lady he had met yesterday was a sample of the neighbourhood, it wasn’t surprising at all. The kitchen beyond was slightly bigger, the deep stone sink had been fitted with double draining boards, large new looking brass taps and was quite clean. One wall held cupboards and shelves, every shelf carrying about twenty cup hooks. The cupboards smelt of mice but were otherwise sound. Greg tried the taps, muddy brown water gushed out then abruptly stopp
ed. A single light bulb hanging from the ceiling reminded him to look at the fuse box which was hidden above the porch. The resulting feeble light did little to dispel the gloom of a house abandoned.
Slightly daunted he opened the remaining door. The whole area was an intended extension that had never been completed crossed with supporting beams and open to the tin roof above, stone walls awaiting plaster with a window not fixed which looked out over the orchard and the hill behind the house. The whole was amateur; no qualified builder had any hand in it. A new staircase rose on the right hand side of the room, Greg wondered what awaited him at the top. He was pleasantly surprised. The landing ran the length of the house with doors opening off it down the right hand side; the left wall had been fitted with a huge picture window where Greg stood a moment enchanted. The whole panorama of the mountain with the great rock rising in the centre spread before him the top reaching the skyline above. Sheep were tiny models seemingly without movement. Clouds hung across the mountains brow like hair rolling away as the rain passed allowing glimpses of sunlight wander over scenes of green and brown. Birds swung in the air against the background of rock as if the sky was too high for them. Greg would have liked to have sat there all day watching the changing tones of light and dark ebbed and flowed with the sun picking up and highlighting different points of trees and rock. ‘This must be a fantasy when snowstorms or thunder is coming in. A view like this should be in the main bedroom’ reluctantly he tore himself away to look at the rest of the house.
The three bedrooms were similar in size with wide oak floors which would have once gleamed with polish now thick with dust, good condition with built in wardrobes and wonderful views of garden, orchard or mountains. A bathroom of sorts was squeezed between the first bedroom and the top of the stairs.
Keys jingling in his pocket reminded him of the shed and the land rover, locking the house Greg made his way to the shed glad of the wellington boots he had bought. The weeds grew tall wet clinging to the door for although the padlock opened easily enough he had to pull at clumps to get the door open enough to slip inside. It was dark and he couldn’t find a light switch without doing himself a mischief on the rubbish piled inside the door. He waited a while until his eyes were accustomed to the light. His gaze sharpened as he made out some of the objects around him. Greg loved old engines, he and Ray had restored several cars, boats and motorbikes and there appeared to be an couple of engines lying here including a old Fordson tractor, he could just make out, batteries, a mower and a load of garden tools. He wanted to make his way to the back of the shed where the ash tree rested on outer walls but branches and rubbish blocked his way. The tree would have to be moved before he could even see the Land rover and he was beginning to feel unwell and could walk no more. He locked the shed and went to have his packed lunch in the car.
As he ate he thought of the sad story the agent had told him about the previous owners. A widow and her son had lived here for about fifteen years until the son had been killed when his tractor had overturned on a neighbour’s farm down the valley about four years ago. His mother had stayed on keeping very much to herself and no one knew when a bad storm had damaged the roof or when she had it galvanised or who had done it for her. (The agent guessed that the son had started the extension and run out of money) The old lady had been found one winter’s day collapsed on the road. She had been taken to hospital and later to a nursing home where she had died about a year ago. It had taken until now for a distant relative to be found who had ordered the farm to be sold without ever seeing it but obviously someone had come and removed all the furniture and the old lady’s possessions. No one had seen them according to the agent but the letter came through to sell. Reading again through the brochure, he noted there were two small fields of about four or five acres each. They were protected by an order which prevented them being ploughed or grazed at a certain time of the year because of wild flowers the rare meadow saffron and several types of orchid. There was an address and telephone number of a Mr T Davis of the local Conservation Society whom the new owner would have to contact.
Besides these fields there was a larger one of twelve acres and a strip of about two and a half between these and the mountain, the rest of the acreage was made up of the orchard and the wooded area where the stream came through. The original acreage had been sold many years ago.
‘Neat little parcel.’ Greg mused. ‘Dad thought it was about seventy acres when he was a boy and that Grandad had rented more as well.’
He decided that he felt well enough to have a gentle stroll around the little fields, he found hedges and ditches needed attention, there was a lot of work to be done and he wouldn’t be able to do it that was for sure. He noticed there were some good trees in some of the hedges and in the little wood, some fine sycamores, oaks, ash, birch and a few beech trees; someone must have loved trees to plant such a choice. He realised with a start it must have been his great grandfather, he had been born here and some of the trees weren’t that old. A feeling of belonging crept over Greg again, he pulled some leaves from an elder tree as he walked and remembered his grandmother giving him a cordial when he had tummy ache as a child. ‘Maybe I could make some wine.’ He thought. ‘I must get a book.’ He could go no further the long strip edging the other field was rough filled with nettles, docks, fern and briars. ‘Take some cleaning.” he pondered, “It’s too small to crop and too rough to graze?”
The light was beginning to fade and it started to rain. Greg headed for the car. He sighed heavily as he dragged the gate shut retying the string around the post.
“Found the answers to your questions then?”
He turned quickly; the woman he had met yesterday stood on the lane, dressed as before, hands deep in her pockets. He had the feeling that she wouldn’t have spoken if he hadn’t almost bumped into her.
“Yes I did.” (no thanks to you) he added mentally.
She turned to walk on up the road giving a funny shrill whistle. Out of the hedge beside him jumped the strangest dog he had ever seen, built like a collie but he was blue-grey in colour with a heavy curly coat and a silky plumed tail. As he saw Greg he ran towards him sniffing at his jeans. Greg caught his breath for the eyes of the dog were odd, one dark brown and the other the same strange light blue as the woman’s.
‘What a strange dog.” he exclaimed. “Am I seeing things or is he blue?”
The woman turned back. “Of course he is; he’s a Blue Merle. They are usually wall-eyed. Don’t stare at the blue one it’s the brown one you need to watch”
“What’s his name?”
“Samuel Peeps’
He burst out laughing. ‘Samuel Pepys? I’m sorry.” he spluttered. “I’m not always so rude. I had better introduce myself. I’m Greg Morgan.’
As he held out his hand, he thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to take it but she moved forward gripping his hand firmly.
‘Bronwyn Rys’ The strange light eyes met his, again Greg was unnerved by the colour and the intensity of her gaze, he felt as if she was looking into his very soul indeed she may have been for as she released his hand she said.
“You are a fine strong lad, well favoured but you have a problem; heavy to bear. The mountains will help one way or another. Going to buy?” she nodded at the house.
“Don’t know yet.” Greg was disconcerted at her perception. ‘It needs a lot of thought and hard work.’
“You’ll have enough time on your hands for that no doubt but you won’t want that fancy car, rip the guts out of it on these roads, good thing too if you ask me it’s no good for passengers or goods; place for that is on a race track. Too many think these mountain roads are just that in the summertime, good job when it snows and stops them coming.”
She turned on her heel abruptly then suddenly stopped without turning back
“Don’t think too much, young man. You’ll need to do something with the time you hav
e.” She whistled the dog and was gone.
Greg stood looking after her in the deepening light. Was she weird or what? He shivered suddenly, perhaps she was a witch, and they lived in the hills in lonely places didn’t they? Though she did have an educated voice and was obviously once a very attractive woman. He could almost believe it though even though she had gone he could still feel her presence- and that strange dog! He remembered that it was Samuel Peeps not Samuel Pepys and was still chuckling as he headed for town.
Chapter 5
Sally put her foot down as the big car ate up the miles from Swansea. She preferred to drive when she was excited as she was today. She felt guilty as she knew that she hadn’t given Greg much attention since he had come home and she had been so busy with the wedding. Now she was going to revisit the place where she and John had married and Greg was going to live. Of course it would only be a holiday home as his work was in Hull but it would be nice if he was nearer some of the time and they could visit.
John was deep in miserable thoughts. Sally still hadn’t been told of Greg’s illness and that had to happen soon and should he encourage him to buy this hard little mountain farm miles from anywhere? He hardly noticed the speed Sally was doing and only answered her chatter in monosyllables. She wondered what was wrong with him. They pulled into the Green Man carpark as Greg arrived. His father was pleased to see he was relatively cheerful although giving his mother guilty glances.
The food was excellent and Sally enjoyed it chattering happily not noticing the men picking at theirs. They were on their way to Graig-y-dorth when the little church on the hill came into view.
“Oh! John! We must stop. This is where we were married, Greg you must see inside”
The church was old and mellow with a small spire and bell tower; small inside with a simple wooden alter that had two brass candlesticks and a plain cross standing on snowy white lace. Someone kept it beautiful with masses of spring flowers and tall white candles. Greg not as religious as his father nevertheless felt compelled to kneel with him a moment at the alter rail while Sally sat at the back of the church admiring the tapestry kneelers and reading leaflets on the church’s activities. Greg rose knowing that his mother must not be deceived any longer. As they followed her back to the car his father touched his arm.