Polly Brown
Page 25
Now on to the next bit. You say, “Goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” Well, God, I would really love this to be the case, but to date I have found nothing but unhappiness and trouble, and therefore mercy is a word that I have the greatest difficulty understanding. Have I got it all wrong? I have heard of Mercedes! This sounds almost the same as mercies, and they are very expensive cars, I believe. Is that what You’re trying to tell me? Is there some undercover operation going on and I am being constantly watched and monitored by secret agents from inside their Mercedes? Surely Gailey Gobbstopper couldn’t be involved, could she? Hmm…maybe not, for she could never afford such an expensive car on threepence a week. So who else could it be? If this is the case, then I can only thank You for being so kind as to warn me. I will certainly be on my guard, for it goes a long way in explaining why I can do nothing in secret without being found out.
At this point, Ralph had to cover his mouth, for he was afraid if he laughed too loudly his cover would be well-and-truly blown. He came to the conclusion that Polly would make a most excellent politician, for he had never met so young a lady who could keep going for so long. She would indeed make an excellent candidate for the House of Lords.
Polly, on the other hand, felt so much better for having had this little talk with God. She felt the anger was beginning to leave her, taking with it the dark, ugly cloud that had hung over her head. So she was now feeling a whole heap lighter. She believed she was almost there in terms of letting off steam, and she resolved to hurry things up, for she did not want to be late home and be in more trouble, as well as miss tea.
Finally, God, You tell me that “I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.” Well, again, this is a real problem to me. If You had invited me to stay forever a few months ago, I would have been very happy to oblige. But now I have these two friends. Yes, they are gentlemen of the road, but I tell you, God, they are really very nice ragamuffins with extraordinarily good hearts. One of them, a man called Ralph, has told me there may be some purpose to all the things I am going through. He has encouraged me to follow my dreams, of which I am most proud to say I have many. So I need to make it perfectly clear that while I am very happy to pop in for a cup of tea and a chat, I do need to stress that I can only stay a while, for I have important things that I need to achieve. So, what I am trying to say in the politest way that I know how is that I’m not entirely sure about the “for ever” bit, at least not at the moment! Now please don’t get mad at me about that! My decision is not set in concrete, and in time I might well change my mind. We’ll just have to wait and see!
Ralph secretly nodded in agreement.
Oh, and one more thing that I nearly forgot to mention, but it is of extreme importance. You have never given me the exact details on how to find You. How can I possibly pay a visit if I have absolutely no idea where You reside? Surely anyone with an ounce of courtesy would think to give a map of some kind if they were giving out a lot of invites? I even took the liberty of popping into our local estate agents, Sting and Chargemore, to ask them if Your house had ever been on the market. Because, crazy as it might sound, I thought that maybe if it had, they would be able to look it up and print off some useful directions. They went to great lengths to assure me that although they had sold thousands of houses over the years, Yours wasn’t one of them. So sadly they were unable to be of any assistance whatsoever to me.
With this in mind, I feel somebody has got to risk all and be honest with You and spell out that in future You really do need to send very clear directions to all persons that You’ve kindly invited. This will go a long way towards preventing any further disappointment. So I look forward to receiving written confirmation of Your address and whereabouts at Your earliest convenience. Also, if You don’t mind, a little map or sketch would also be really appreciated.
Ralph looked on despairingly, for he was most concerned that Polly would be there all night if she kept thinking of new things to discuss and debate. Still, Polly continued to chatter on, rearranging the poppies and bluebells that were in the glass jar as she spoke.
Now, about Thomas, for he’s the real reason I am here today. I really need You to take great care of him for me. Please tell Your staff to spare him the rod, for he has had a lifetime of being given the cane—sometimes for no reason at all! So he really does not deserve to be punished anymore. I hope You agree with me on that one. Also, if You find him crying in a corner, I do think it would be really nice if You could see Your way to putting an arm around his shoulder, or better still, could You give him a little hug and wipe away his tears. I used to do that when he was badly hurting, she gulped, wiping away her own tears as she spoke. Please ask him if he liked my little note, and finally, I am quite certain he will forget to ask You for drawing paper and pencils. So please, please, God, can You make sure he gets some? He will be so happy painting and drawing. You never know, You might even get to like some of his pictures! So promise me You won’t forget.
After she finished saying all that needed to be said, Polly stood up from the ground and remained motionless with her eyes firmly shut. She had seen this minute of silence done many times in church on special occasions, so she thought she was following correct procedure by doing it. Ralph felt extremely grateful, for it was the first time he had ever witnessed Polly wide awake and not talking!
Polly moved away from the graveside, blowing Thomas a final kiss. Then with a single tear sliding slowly down her cheek, she said, “Good-bye for now, my precious one,” before hastily turning on her heels to leave the cemetery.
As she opened the church gate to leave, she looked back at the grave and her jar of flowers one more time. She could not help but observe that the wild poppies that earlier in the day had stood so tall and majestic were now wilted. She smiled to herself, for she truly believed that they too had bowed their heads in prayer and now appeared to be bleeding all over Thomas’s little grave. She winced as she thought that it must be the sunlight doing funny tricks.
Ralph, who had watched the whole funeral from beginning to end from behind a tombstone, breathed a deep sigh of relief as he thought to himself, “She is, I believe, most definitely ready to leave the orphanage and go on her journey.” He then made an even deeper sigh as he thought to himself, “Thank goodness she only knows the twenty-third psalm from the church hymnal. What would have happened had she known there were a further one hundred forty-nine psalms that she could take issue with!”
Ralph was fairly certain that if Polly discovered their existence, he would certainly be in for a long night. God help everyone if this should ever happen. He would in such a case be well advised to book into a local hotel for a fortnight at the very least! He shook his head as he pondered such an event ever taking place. He hoped that by the time Polly discovered the other psalms in that most ancient of books, she would be wiser and much more trusting towards her Maker! He shook his head again as he got up to leave, for he knew with much certainty that for Polly the road ahead would be strewn with many trials and tribulations. It would at times be most treacherous, and she would indeed go through many dark nights of the soul before she found that dreams do finally come true and with them, much joy and freedom. He therefore hoped and prayed that Polly would have the very necessary courage to take a leap into the unknown and follow her destiny.
Chapter 16
TRUTH COMES IN A DAY
AS POLLY WALKED out of the graveyard she noticed a piece of folded paper. She stooped down to pick it up with the clear intention of disposing of it in the nearest wastebasket. But as she held it in her hand she found herself unfolding it. She instantly felt very guilty as she discovered it was a letter and therefore may be of a personal nature to its owner. However, curiosity prevailed and she started to read it. She was very surprised to discover that the letter was addressed to the Scumberrys and more surprised, if not shocked, when she read it contents.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Scumberry,
My name is Camill
a Ascot, and I am a very distant relative of Polly Brown and her brothers Thomas and James. I have been working for many years with the poor and needy in darkest Bolivia. Therefore I had no idea that these children had been taken into the care of the social services.
As soon as this most sad news became known to me, I got on a plane and came back to England in search of them. Once home on English soil, I arranged for an interview with the social services in the hope of getting the necessary information. To my surprise, that information was not forthcoming. I was told the reason for this secrecy is that all their information is regarded as highly confidential and that, as I was not an immediate relative, they were in no position to help me with my search. I have therefore taken it upon myself to approach every orphanage and private home for children in care in the hope that eventually I would find them or at least get a positive lead as to where they might be.
To date, I have had no response whatsoever. So with all possible leads exhausted, I am turning to you as a last resort. I am feeling most forlorn and frustrated in my efforts, for I cannot bear to think of these children alone and without any real hope. Their mother wrote many times telling me how wonderful and beautiful they were as babies, and I am therefore quite certain that she was very distressed at having to give them away. From what little I have found out, she fell on hard times, losing her job and then her home, and she was finally forced to live on the streets in London, taking refuge in shelters and going from soup kitchen to soup kitchen in search of the food and comfort that The Salvation Army give to so many lost and weary homeless souls. (God bless them for their wonderful work.) Had I known any of this I would certainly have done all I could to help her. But I think she allowed her pride to prevent her from writing and asking for my help. Sadly, she caught pneumonia, and with no shelter to take refuge, she died alone in an alley. She was found by some of her friends, clutching a photograph of the children in her frozen hand.
At this point Polly started to uncontrollably tremble, before breaking down in tears as she wept for this unknown woman who went by the name of Mother. She found it unbearable to think that her mummy had died alone and in such a terrible manner. Her guardians had always led her to believe that her mother was a woman of ill repute, and this belief had been expressed in many of the so-called private family sessions. Her guardians told all present that Polly would end up exactly the same as her mother. For at the end of the day it was in her genes, just as madness was! Polly had therefore determined that she would never wear a pair of jeans if this was going to be the end result!
The children had used this terrible and most false piece of information to cruelly taunt Polly—especially dear Gailey Gobbstopper, who slept in the next bed. She made it her mission to gather up every piece of salacious information she could in order to make Polly’s nights terrible! Sadly, Gailey and many of the other children were more than willing to call Polly the most terrible names associated with this usually-never-talked-about and most undesirable trade. Only now did Polly know that like most other things, it was an absolute lie! This made her weep even more. She finally took control of herself and read on.
Luckily, the friend who discovered her body had many friends in The Salvation Army, and as they specialize in tracing family members the organization attempted to contact any other living relatives, to no avail. With only the possessions found by her side in a carrier bag, they were eventually forced to give up looking, and her belongings were disposed of, with the exception of a pile of photographs. Many of these are of the children as babies. These I now have in my possession, ready to give to the children if ever I’m lucky enough to find them. I want to help these children in any way that I can. Although they must be between six and twelve years of age by now, I enclose a photo of them as babies in the hope that you might recognize them.
If you can be of any assistance in my pursuit to find these children, I would be eternally grateful and indebted to you. For my time in England is fast running out, and it is only a matter of time before I head back to Bolivia to oversee my next project. I am sure that you are aware that only one in seven people in the world have a tap with running water. This is most shocking, don’t you think? I am therefore heading up a project that will provide many poor villages with clean running water so that the villagers will be able to drink from it, as well as give water to their animals and sustain their crops.
It is indeed most wonderful to know that we are all on the same side, working to give love and hope to those in great need—suffering souls that are dying daily without any help. God bless you for the personal sacrifice you are making to ensure that deprived, unfortunate children are given a warm and loving home, thereby ensuring they have futures filled with great promise. It is good to know that there are others in this sometimes-selfish world in which we live who wish to make it a better place to live. I therefore enclose a small donation of £100 to be spent on the children in your good care.
Yours sincerely,
P. S. I leave for Bolivia in just under six months, so I would appreciate an early reply. Thank you so kindly for taking the time to read my letter. If you are unable to be of any assistance, I would be most grateful if you would return the most precious photos of the children back to me at your earliest convenience.
To say that Polly was shocked is to underestimate the depth of pain she experienced as the contents of the letter were slowly and painfully revealed to her. Her heart was pounding so fast that she felt it might well explode as she struggled to understand what was going on. Polly noted that the letter was dated and was therefore some nine months old. Sadly the address had been obliterated by large lines of blue ink. Why had Uncle Boritz and Aunt Mildred never mentioned the letter? Polly felt as though she was going crazy. If her relative had been informed that they were all living at the castle, surely she would have come for them? Worse still, Thomas would still be alive. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. She had consistently prayed to God to be rescued, and He had, after all, heard her prayers. But all hope was now gone, for her cruel and very deceitful guardians had as usual sabotaged her only hope and chance of freedom. Polly wept bitterly.
Instead of going straight home as she had originally planned, she now decided to make one small detour. She knew she was running late, and this in itself would cause much suspicion at home. What difference would a few more minutes make? She therefore turned on her heels and headed back to the church.
Once inside, she headed up to the altar and lit a candle for Thomas, as well as for her mother. She then knelt down and prayed in silence until the candle had fully melted and the flame finally died. Then she got up from her knees and, with a still-heavy heart and tears tumbling down her cheeks, she walked out of the church, shutting the door quietly as she left before heading home to the castle. She had been coping so well until she found that stupid little folded piece of paper. She now wished that she had never opened it up to read its contents, for then she would have been none the wiser. Her heart felt so heavy and her life so beyond all hope as she opened the door and crept back inside the castle, wanting to find a small dark corner to sort out her confused thoughts and weep alone.
On her walk home that evening she found herself going back in time to a specific day in a history lesson. After the lesson was over and all the other students had left the classroom, she had gone up to his desk to challenge dear Mr. Beloski over certain events they had discussed in that lesson which had greatly disturbed her. Polly had always enjoyed learning about the historical events that had shaped the world over thousands of years. But she was also often very distressed when she learned for the first time about rulers and their wars, where so many people lost their lives due to the arrogance of some terrible and wicked tyrant. She could understand the need to fight, for it was very important to defend your country, but she had nothing but anger towards those who purely wished to extend their boundaries and killed innocent people as a result of their power and greed.
She hated evil and injustice
with a passion. She had just finished a book on King Arthur, and in the book she had read, “War is the trade of kings.” Polly felt it was high time all these so-called kings became satisfied and content with what they already had instead of being greedy and wanting what did not belong to them. She felt strongly that these kings had a duty to do all within their power to make their subjects’ lives as safe and happy as possible, specifically looking out for those citizens that needed more help, such as the poor and downtrodden. That’s why kings were born, wasn’t it? Besides which, they got to live in beautiful castles and eat wonderful, scrumptious food, and that privilege alone should make them more merciful and generous, or so she thought. So Polly rightly believed that true kings ruled over their people with honor and integrity, and any that didn’t do this were imposters who should feel very ashamed of themselves!
“Why is there so much hate in the world?” she had asked him, desperately seeking some suitably acceptable and consoling explanation. Mr. Beloski had stopped marking the papers in front of him and paused, toying with his pen as he gave thoughtful consideration to her question.
“Come on, Mr. Beloski, I need a truthful answer,” she urged, completely misunderstanding the reason behind his reticence to give a quick answer off the top of his head.
“Sometimes there is no right answer to a question, Polly,” he gently replied.
“Well, that’s crazy,” said Polly rather abrasively. “For if all those in power around the world know and see terrible wickedness going on under their noses, then why do they often appear to stand by, doing little or nothing whatsoever to help? I find it all makes me feel not only very sad, but also very angry.”
Mr. Beloski had agreed that history often had a way of troubling the heart and conscience.