Stranger in Paradise

by stan graham

  “What has happened Mr Smythe” I called?

  “Captain” he muttered under his breath. “Just testing the fire alarm Mrs Bond. No need to panic, I do it every week. Its regulations you know.”

  “So if there really is a fire nobody will take any notice they will just think it is you playing with your klaxon. I am going to check with the landlord to see whether you are allowed to do this.”

  “No need for that attitude Mrs Bond I am just doing my job.”

  “That’s what the Nazi’s said,” I replied.

  “I have been meaning to have a word with you Mrs Bond. The reason I do not give my telephone number to all and sundry is that I have no desire to be pestered by calls at all hours of the day and night.”

  I wonder if he is spying on me. I could have sworn that I only mentioned to Jane that he wanted all the residents’ numbers but refused to give out his own.

  Just before the war, I must have been about four or five, maybe a bit older, or younger, nearly gave away my age there eh. There had been a man just like him had called at the house one day asking for my father. I had hid under the table until he was gone. I didn’t like him he made Mummy cry. When my Dad came home he just scowled and had gone out again immediately. I never found out why the man had called but I knew I hadn’t liked him.

  Next door to us lived Maureen she was a few years older than me and acted as if she was my big sister. When my Dad left, Mummy cried and so did I although I wasn’t sure why. Maureen came and gave me a cuddle and let me play with her doll. She never asked for it back and I kept it for months until it’s head fell off. She and her brother Billy used to play a game called evacuees and pretend they had been sent away to the countryside and that their parents weren’t really their parents but were wicked people who stole children. After the war was over the family moved. Their father found a job as a gardener at a big house somewhere down south and moved the family down there. Sadly I never heard from them again.

  Today it is my birthday. It has poured with rain all day so I stayed indoors. The postman came at about 10am and delivered cards and parcels from the children.

  “Birthday card’s by the look of it Mrs Bond, many happy returns. Twenty one is it?”

  “Maybe, a lady never reveals her age,” I blushed. Can’t abide familiarity but I suppose he is only trying to be friendly and he is cute.

  Picture of a fluffy dog on the card from Jane and of a cyclist on the one from Peter. Cannot imagine what that is supposed to convey unless he means that I should get on my bike, which I haven’t got, haven’t ridden one since I was a teenager; Arthur was keen of cycling but I never had much time for it. Sooner forget them, the birthdays that is. Once you pass twenty-one they cease to have any meaning.

  Jane phoned this morning to wish me happy birthday and to ask if her present had arrived. It had. A pink shawl, I hate pink it makes me look like Barbara Cartload. In the afternoon Peter rung and asked the same questions. He had sent me a two-pound box of Dairy Box chocolates. At least he has got some idea as to how to treat his mum.

  Really enjoyed the chocolates, apart from the coffee flavoured ones. Ate them while watching Coronation St and then finished the box in bed. Well they don’t keep do they?

  The following day the rain had turned into light drizzle and as I needed some teabags I decided to go out. There was an air of gloom hanging over the town caused by the dripping of the trees. Even the birds had decided that today was a no show.

  The rain has not stopped for three days, since my birthday. Maybe I should note that like St Swithin’s day, if it rains on my birthday then it rains for three days and three nights. It could be called Mother Bond’s prediction. I think I will send it to Old Moore’s. Only joking, I don’t take myself that seriously.

  ***********

  Chapter 2 . APRIL

  The Easter service at the Church of St Luke's was quite nice. Long, boring and rambling but nice, it gave me time to observe the other worshippers. The boy scouts and the girl guides marched up to church in their uniforms, with their brightly coloured scarves and flags. It was nice to see so many people attending; the congregation is usually quite small. Well it seemed to inspire the Reverend Colin Clarke and he spoke for at least an hour or so it felt like. I could see some of the boys getting restless and coughing and mumbling to their friends but it didn’t stop him.

  After the service they all run outside and gathered up into their patrols and marched off proudly waving their flags and banners. It made me remember when I was a Girl Guide and June and I would attend the church parades at St John’s in Stripford.

  Ah happy days, although I remember the services being boring even then. The vicar there had been the Reverend Bastille. Now he had been a real fire and brimstone type putting the fear of God into us all while we waited for the drip on the end of his nose to fall, which it never did.

  There must be about seven people here apart from Smythe who own cars but do you think anyone of them would give me a lift. Talk about mean spirited, I approached an elderly gentleman who was doing something with the bonnet of his car up and introduced myself He told me his name was Oliver Jonson and that he lived at number 5, that’s in Gordon Block. I said I was going to the town and asked if he was as well but he said he had better things to do with his time that traipse around the shops.

  As Janice peeps out from her first floor eyrie into the courtyard a sharp bird like shadow forms on the wall opposite the window. Mrs Porter was pottering about outside Wellington Block, weeding and planting some boxes of what looks like Pansies. She really seems to love her gardening, lugging home big bags of fertiliser and laying down trails of slug pellets. She has suspended CD’s around the plot to scare off the birds. Suddenly a spark of interest lights up in Janice’s eyes, she has noticed the curtains in Mr Peers flat across the courtyard are still drawn.

  Out drinking last night at the Royal Oak I suppose. He has become quite a heavy drinker lately. Comes back when they throw him out I imagine but it’s rarely before midnight. At least so I heard from Pippa who feels it her business to give me the low-down on all the residents, although Pippa did say she could hardly blame him as he didn't seem to have much to live for since Violet his wife died suddenly.. Such a nice lady, always cheerful, not that she had much to be cheerful about married to him for forty-nine years. They don't give murderers that long Pippa had said. I didn’t really know her and hope this is not going to be a regular occurrence people dying that is.

  At least my Arthur had the decency to die quite young, before we got tired of one another’s peculiarities. Fifty-nine he had been when he had a heart attack running for a bus. Silly old fool.

  What a shock I had when a policeman had come knocking at the door to tell me that he was in the hospital. He didn’t last long once they got their hands on him, just three days. It was a Thursday, the 31st. of October, Halloween, I thought they were playing one of those nasty tricks. I had to fill in countless forms from his employers and the Pensions offices, so many that I had barely paid any attention to them just signing my name and returning them. Peter offered to look them over as he said that I should be careful about what I sign but if you can’t trust his employers who can you trust. That’s what I always say. I have got a nice lump sum in the bank now, more than I have ever owned in my own name. I feel quite wealthy.

  You have to keep an eye out, these old people they sometimes die on you without as much a bye your leave. Not really surprising with Smythe continuing to blast the fire alarm every Wednesday. At least Arthur has seen I am well provided for, and the children Jane and Peter said they would be looking in from time too time, making the journey when they had business or were visiting friends in the area, just to make sure I hadn't died without telling them.

  No it's all right there is that gnome, Mr Tontine, call me Dave, with his scruffy jeans and ridiculous hat and scruffy dog. I had nearly missed him, that would never do, rumours could easily start. Like the time four weeks after my arrival, and t
wo days after Mr Harness had arrived I had smelt smoke and set the fire alarm off, only to find it had been Mr Harness. Mind you that had been funny, all the old dears wandering around the courtyard in their pyjamas and nightdresses looking lost, until Smythe had appeared and tried to accuse me of vandalism.

  "You must be more considerate of the older residents Mrs Bond. A fire alarm is not a plaything."

  "I am not in the habit of being told how to behave by a jumped up little popinjay like you Mr Smythe" I retorted red faced and raring for a fight. “And as for it not being a plaything you would do well to keep that in mind when you play with it every Wednesday.”

  That was an early warning signal as to how the relationship between these two protagonists would develop.

  Mr Tontine was knocking at the door delivering Mr Peer’s copy of the Sun. She would just wait a second to make sure Mr Peers opened the door himself. They claimed that they shared the single copy and when Mr Tontine had fetched and read it he passed it on to Mr Peers. Maybe but Janice was sure there was more to it than that. Probably smuggled those top shelf magazines in for each other she thought.

  Nobody is going to read my Daily Mail before or after me. I made that plain when I first arrived.

  "Just because I rent this flat that doesn’t mean that I want to be involved in all your little schemes and extracurricular activities” I had said, sending Captain Smythe off with a flea in his ear. I notice that Smythe doesn’t spend any more time than he has too with the residents.

  The do-gooders who had pestered me when I had first arrived also got short thrift.

  I told the people from Christian Aid, “I go to church every Sunday, I put into the collection box, not like some. I think I do enough.”

  Likewise the Age Concern people when they came knocking at the door.

  “Why on earth would I want to be involved with Age Concern, full of old people that have nothing better to do and just wanted me so that I can do things for them.”

  Needless to say that wasn’t well received, growing old gracefully, stuff that.

  I still feel as if I'm in my twenties. It's funny how although the body gets old the mind still stays young. Mind you I still look good for my age. I’ve still got most of my own teeth, unlike my parents who had both had all their teeth extracted when they were teenagers so as to save the cost of dental bills. It was the usual thing in them days. Arthur always used to say that people must have thought he had pulled a dolly bird when they saw us out together. Silly old fool.

  I am never ever going into a rest home; this place is bad enough. If Paradise Lodge is the end of the line then those places are God’s waiting room. Just another step nearer the grave, them places. Eat when they tell you and if you are out then you missed the meal, and you hear such tales about them. Not that Pippa was likely to be out, out to lunch maybe but not where food is concerned. No never, they will carry me out of here that’s for sure. Pippa had been in tears when they had told her three weeks after I arrived that it was for the best, as she could not look after herself properly.

  What happened was that she had gone missing on a Monday. Nobody worried at first they just thought she had gone to town. When Smythe couldn't get an answer to her doorbell on Tuesday morning he got his passkey and went into her flat expecting to find that she was dead. Nobody was there and when he asked residents if they knew anything about her disappearance it turned out that no one had seen her since the previous day.

  He had contacted her next of kin, a son called Ronald who denied knowing of her whereabouts or of knowing of any plans she might have had to visit him, so Smythe had contacted the police. They had issued a request over the local radio saying that she was at risk, I think they intended to put it on television on South Today. It appears that she is a diabetic and she had missed her insulin injections so they were really worried about her. Her son said that without the injections she could fall into a coma and die. Although it seems that if she had taken her injection and then missed her meals she could get a hypoglycaemic reaction and go into a coma anyway.

  The upshot was that she was in danger whether she had had her injection or not if she wasn’t found very soon. It turned out that she was seen talking to a Big Issue seller at Bournemouth, from then it was only a few hours before she was brought back.

  It was a mystery where she had spent Monday night; she told the police that she had slept on the beach. How she managed to get to Bournemouth beats me. She claimed that somebody had given her a lift. I told her she should never take lifts from strangers. Anyway the police insisted that a doctor give her a check over and she appeared unharmed, so all’s well as ends well. She was full of her little adventure going on about having a ride in a police car.

  Smythe arranged with her son and the social workers to get rid of her. He said he couldn't be doing with the shock if she ran off again.

  Before she left she asked me if I would like something to remember her by. I had called round to see if there was anything I could do to help and she invited me into her flat, it was the only time that I had ever been there. There was an overwhelming smell of Lavender that permeated everywhere. The flat was higgerly piggledy, packed with furniture. A sunken armchair faced a small television, a worn carpet, photos of Ronald, on a cheap battered sideboard that took up most of one wall. Dead flowers in a vase, dust and ornaments on every surface including the top of the television.

  “Would you like the sideboard?” she asked. “I got it from the second hand shop in the town only six months ago. “

  I declined explaining that I already had one.

  “Yes these places are so small but you could squeeze it into your bedroom if you wanted,” she said. “I would like you to have something to remember me by.”

  “I could never forget you Pippa,” I smiled.

  She let me choose from a collection of porcelain figurines that she had in a glass fronted case. I had difficulty deciding what to choose, as they were all very nice so she told me to take several pieces.

  “I won’t be needing them where I am going. Ronald doesn’t care for them. He had them valued and said they were not worth keeping. It will be nice to know they have a good home,” she had said.

  I chose a cute matching pair of porcelain Dresden style Shepherdesses that had been made in Birmingham as they reminded me of home. While there I noticed a number of black and white photographs of a young man in air force uniform.

  “Is that your husband?” I asked.

  “Yes he got shot down over Germany. We had only been married two weeks. I never heard from him again.”

  I suppose you wouldn’t if he was dead but one must not state the obvious.“Oh, I’m so sorry for you.”

  “I was pregnant at the time although I didn’t realise it so he died without ever knowing he had a son. It was difficult after the war being a single mother that’s why I feel so for those young single mothers nowadays. I know what it is like to struggle on your own with nobody to help you. However it’s all the past now, I will soon be meeting him again.”

  “Can I ask you a question Pippa?”

  “Of course what is it?”

  “The police were worried that you might have had a hypoglycaemic reaction. What is it like?”

  “I used to get them fairly frequently in the early years although not so much now. You just seem to lose touch with reality. The whole world seems to be united or connected, it’s a bit like a spiritual experience, as if we are all one. Other times you just get bad tempered, in a really bad mood. Or you can just blank out and know nothing until you regain consciousness.”

  “Oh. Do you think that was what happened when you had your little adventure?”

  Pippa shrugged her shoulders.

  Another resident has moved in. There was barely enough time to get used to Pippa not being there. They don't like these places being empty. Smythe told me It upsets the residents to have a lot of empty places. I don’t think that has anything to do with it. The landlord doesn’t like it beca
use he's not getting any rent. Sharks, that’s what they are.

  At least Pippa hadn't smoked, unlike the one in there now.

  Naturally I welcomed him and told him that if he needed to borrow a cup of sugar he was not to hesitate in coming to my door.

  His name is Joseph Harness, he smokes like a chimney, and the smoke infiltrates everywhere. Horrible French cigarettes in a blue packet called Gauloise. Smell like a mixture of old leaves and horse dung. Coughs all the time, right deep lung wrenching, I can’t see him lasting the winter out. A tall thin cadaverous looking man. He's got that greenish grey colour that you see in some cancer patients.

  My Arthur used to smoke a pipe when I first met him at the Palais dance hall. He was there with his mates and I was with two of the girls from Woolworth’s where we all worked. I told him "If you want me to go out with you, you will have to get rid of that thing. You smell like an old ashtray." Well he did, snapped his pipe in front of my face and never smoked again.

  I have complained to Smythe but he isn't interested, he smokes himself you see. I told him that I would organise a rent strike but he said that most of the residents have their rent paid directly by the council and that if I withheld my rent I would be taken to court and evicted.