by Nick Corbett
Archie doesn’t reply. He turns his back to Joe, stares at the cherry tree. Joe talks to the back of Archie’s head.
“I love this place. I thought you did. It’s where we grew up.”
Archie turns around, eyes slightly bulging. “Yeah, but Joe, you’re supposed to move on aren’t you, rather than going backwards? Otherwise, it’s entropy. You become a loser.”
“Eh? You think I’m a loser?” Joe feels that Archie has overstepped the line now. Archie stares at Joe, unnervingly. Joe tries not to show how hurt he feels. He looks down at the ground.
“I think you’re a loser if you stay here,” says Archie coldly.
Joe can’t believe what Archie just said. He feels angry.
“I need to go now,” he says, as calmly as he can. “I need to find Elias. I’m giving him a lift back to Lullingdon.”
“Remember what I said,” says Archie, as if knocking a nail into the coffin. They flash a look into each other’s eyes; go their separate ways.
A few minutes later, Joe is leaning against the bandstand, trying not to feel offended. He is waiting for Elias who’s helping his fellow musicians pack away their gear. The lead singer from the band puts his guitar into its case. He offers a friendly nod to Joe.
“Hello, I’m Simeon.” He’s tall, thin, aged around thirty. He seems familiar to Joe, but he can’t quite place him.
“Hello, I’m Joe. Thanks for the music. I liked the mix of classical and pop.”
“I’m glad you liked it. It’s an honour to play with Elias. You’re a friend of his aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“And don’t you work with the developer?”
“Yeah.”
“What’d you do?”
“Project manger, oversaw this redevelopment.”
With that response, Joe seems to go up in Simeon’s estimation. He is searching for a question, but before he can find it, Joe asks questions him one.
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m studying at the college, just over there, through the woods.”
“What, you mean behind the gatehouse?”
“That’s it.”
“Isn’t that some kind of religious institution?”
Simeon nods. ‘It’s a seminary.”
Joe looks perplexed. “You look more hoody than clergy.”
Simeon laughs. “Thanks, I think.”
“I’ve always wanted to see the building beyond those woods, what’s it like over there?”
“It’s certainly impressive. There’s a great view. You take it for granted after a while. I’m heading back now. I could show you the building if you like, there’s a great view from the top of the tower.”
Joe can’t believe his luck. “Can I bring some others?”
“How many?”
Joe counts out loud on his fingers. “Hannah, Grandad, Elias and me; four of us.”
“That’s fine. Oh, I heard Elias was going for a drink, though, with the other band members.”
Joe is annoyed to discover that Elias has planned to go for an afternoon drink without telling him. He had agreed to give Elias a lift back to his digs at Lullingdon because Elias’s motor scooter is broken. Now he finds himself hanging around as Elias’s chauffeur. To add insult to injury, Simeon says that Archie is also going for a drink with them. Simeon and Joe agree to meet back at the bandstand in ten minutes.
Joe eventually finds Elias. He speaks to him in a rather unfriendly tone.
“Would you like to see an historic building?”
“No, I’d rather go to the pub.”
Some quick negotiations follow. It is agreed that Joe will go and see the seminary and Elias will go to the pub. Joe will give Elias a lift back to Lullingdon, but only if he is back at the bandstand in an hour.
“I won’t wait for you if you’re late,” says Joe.
Joe scans around the thinning crowd, searching for Hannah and Grandad. He knows they’ll want to see the seminary and its view. He can’t find either of them. He spots David and Bill, engrossed in conversation, beside the bandstand. Joe makes his way over to them, loiters.
The Secretary of State is explaining that the renaissance of the city centre is fine but there is a lot more work to be done in Birmingham.
“David, I want you to stand as the candidate!” he says emphatically. He is referring to the new position of the city’s elected mayor. He hammers his point.
“You’ll have real power. You can roll out what you’ve learnt about regeneration and football; take the whole city into the Premier League.”
David looks uncomfortable. Bill continues undeterred.
“Just look what you’ve done with this housing estate. Don’t you want to roll this out as best practice?”
David frowns. “No, I don’t think I do want to roll it out.”
“Why not?” Bill looks confused.
“I’m seventy-three years old, still learning so much. Rebuilding whole neighbourhoods isn’t sustainable. We had to start again with the Broadway estate because it was a catastrophic failure, but retrofitting is the future, working with people to improve their existing homes and streets. You’re right to mention the football club though. There are some lessons to learn. It starts with hearts and minds, installing some belief.”
Bill looks very determined. “If you become mayor, you can champion a grassroots approach, empower communities, be at the cutting edge.”
“Be at the cutting edge? I think you said that to me, on this very spot, forty years ago.”
“Oh, come on David!”
David looks concerned. “I’m too old for the cutting edge, now.”
“Pah! That’s nonsense. I’m the same age as you and I’m practically running the country! You just need to have the right team, with some young blood.” He spots Joe, calls him over. He places a hand on Joe’s shoulder, turns to David. “This lad’s learnt a lot working with you, and he’s done a stint in London. The two of you work well together.”
David looks a little unsteady. He turns away and leans against the bandstand. His mop of white hair blows across his pale face. Bill cuts in again.
“You’re not one for sitting on your arse in retirement, David. You’d drive poor Annie mad. So what’d you say?”
There is no reply. Bill turns to Joe, rolls his eyes.
“It’s nice to see you again, young man. I’ve been hearing good things about you!”
Joe’s face beams, it’s not every day you get a compliment from a member of Her Majesty’s Government.
“Thanks very much,” he says, and then turns to David. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Hannah?”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
At that point Simeon joins them. Joe introduces him to David and Bill
“We’re going on to see the seminary building,” Joe tells them.
“Oh, do you mean the old college beyond the gatehouse?” asks Bill. “I’ve always wanted to see that building, it’s by Pugin.”
Joe nods. David suddenly looks more attentive.
“Could I come with you?”
“Eh, yeah, if that’s okay with Simeon,” says Joe.
Simeon nods. “That’s fine.”
David’s face lights up like a child’s on Christmas morning. Bill frowns.
“I wish I could join you, but I’ve got to leave for London - homework for the Prime Minister.”
Simeon looks at his watch.
“Are you ready to go?”
David and Joe nod keenly. Then Joe spots Grandad returning home. He excuses himself for a moment, runs over to get him. Grandad is now eighty-three years old, but he is sprightly enough. His suntan disguises the chill he has caught, which he dismisses with his usual bravado. He is more bent over than usual, due to backache. He perks up when Joe says they’ve been invited to see the seminary.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that for the world!” He fetches his overcoat, remembers he has a message for Joe from Hannah; she�
��s gone shopping with Cathy.
Grandad greets Simeon with a handshake.
“Hello, we’ve met before.”
“Of course, how are you?”
“Fine, thanks.”
Grandad then shakes hands with David; they’ve met a few times to discuss building works.
As the afternoon wanes, winter begins a fight back. The air temperature drops. A few dark bottomed clouds roll over the sky. David and Grandad are both wearing thick overcoats. Joe is just wearing his rather thin but dapper beige suit. Simeon wears a thick grey hoody over his clothes. He pulls the hood over his head, looks like a monk. The four men make their way across the garden square and then up a smart new street. It is lined with green verges and recently planted trees, fronted by new red brick town houses.
They arrive at the imposing Gothic gatehouse; weathered, fiery orange bricks, buttresses and arches. The soaring architectural elements, like the gnarled bark of an ancient tree, suggest an eternal, living thing. In all the years that Joe and Grandad have known the gatehouse, its grey wooden door has always been fixed shut. None of the local residents have ever seen that door open. Now Simeon produces an enormous medieval-looking key.
“Apart from today, I’ve never come this way before,” he says. “I always use the main entrance. It took ages to find this key.” He unlocks the door, presses his shoulder against it. It opens. They all step into a cold, dark passageway; high stone vaulted ceiling. The heavy door closes behind them.
At last, Joe has entered into the mysterious woods. The air is fresh, yet everything is veiled in secrecy. Joe is relieved to have his grandad and David with him. There is a rough path before them, carpeted in crunchy, golden leaves, amalgamated from many summers. The path continues around majestic beech trees. In the distance are swathes of luminous bluebells. Lime-green leaf buds, vivid blue, gold. The woods are alive with birdsong. The four men walk without talking. Too soon, they’re out of the woods, standing on the edge of an open expanse. In front of them is a mown sports field, surrounded by a belt of wild grass. In a commanding position, at the other end of the field, is the magnificent Victorian seminary. The turreted main tower thrusts into a patch of blue sky. Simeon glances at his watch again, but Joe needs more time to absorb this amazing sight. The others move on. Joe drags his feet. His eyes feast on the surroundings. He is awestruck.
How can such a beautiful place exist so close to where I’ve grown up?
“I really can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” says David, with a slightly bewildered look.
There is a burst of song from a bird they’ve flushed out of the tall grass. “That’s a lark!” he exclaims. Its song reminds him of when he was a boy. The mission school would take him on trips into the countryside. Simeon mutters half to himself.
“Look at the birds of the air, they don’t sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.” David scratches the back of his head.
Joe is still looking upwards. The others have walked off. The sun streams down through a gap in the rolling clouds. It feels a little warmer. Joe drags himself away from the view. He jogs over to join the others. They have already crossed the sports field. Now they all walk together, past an ornate chapel, also built by Pugin, and then they are in front of the main seminary building. It stands upon an elevated plateau. To one side the land drops steeply, westwards, towards the city. There would be a fine view if it weren’t for the trees. The seminary building is made from the same fiery, orange bricks as the gatehouse, but it is covered with lilac wisteria. It has tall, arched windows, soaring chimneys and towers. Pugin calculated everything to lift the spirit. It is bursting with dynamic energy.
“What’s the view like from the upper windows?” asks Joe.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll see the view in a minute,” replies Simeon.
In silence, they walk though splendid formal gardens, cross a gravel driveway. Simeon leads them on, underneath an impressive portico entrance. They are in a richly furnished reception area. The walls are lined with a cream limestone, soft and warm as skin. From deep within the building come voices, singing. The songs from centuries past are resonating through the walls, a soothing sound. The visitors follow Simeon along a grand, limestone colonnade. Fine paintings hang from the walls. Their eyes are darting around, taking in wondrous things. David Rogers stops in front of a painting.
“That’s an Italian masterpiece,” he gasps.
Simeon looks at his watch again.
“You’re more than welcome to come back another time, to have a proper look around.”
They turn a corner and follow a long corridor, lined with well-polished wood panelling. There is a strong smell of beeswax. They stop. Simeon leans against a small, polished door.
“I should warn you, it’s pretty cramped and dusty in here. It’s a long way up. Are you sure you want to do it?” He looks with some concern at the smart clothes of his guests. He is also a little concerned about Grandad’s age.
“Oh, don’t worry, we wouldn’t miss this for the world!” says Grandad, a little less convincingly than when he first said those words.
Simeon steps through the doorway, into the tight confines of a stairwell. The narrow, spiral, stone steps will take them to the top of the tower. The four men climb slowly. Joe is at the back of the line. They keep going for ages. David is breathing heavily, like an overheated steam engine.
“Are you okay, David?” asks Joe.
“I’m quite alright, thank you,” he gasps back.
“Actually, I could do with a breather, can we rest for a minute?” puffs Grandad.
“Come on, we can all have a good rest at the top,” David huffs back.
Grandad continues his climb, very slowly. At last, they reach the top of the staircase.
Joe steps through a tiny arched doorway. He joins the others in the brightness of the afternoon. They are all standing upon the middle section of a lead roof, which is almost flat, but not quite. It consists of a central ridge, from which there are two gentle slopes towards waist high battlements. Even though it is a gentle slope, it is vertigo inducing. Joe turns his collar jacket up against the strong wind, which is buffeting his face and ears. In the sky above them floats tall clouds against patches of blue. The men bravely walk over to the battlements; each one takes a different corner. They look in wonderment at the expansive view before them.
Joe spots a kestrel demonstrating perfect aerodynamics. It hovers, effortlessly, holding its position in the air, just a few metres away. Its reddish brown feathers are ruffled by the wind. The kestrel turns, folds back its wings, soars. It disappears against a woodland haze. Joe’s eyes wander over suburbia. There is the new Broadway Place, a rich grain of streets, squares, intricate roofs; all looking as if they belong there. He spots Hannah’s parents’ house, on top of the adjacent hill. Joe breathes deeply, feels energised. He would like to lift his arms, to feel the wind under them, but then David taps him on his shoulder. He looks a little shaky; a sudden gust of wind takes his words away. He is pointing at the dark hills on the horizon.
“Do you see the forest?”
Joe smiles back. “Yeah, Lullingdon!”
Joe notices a deck chair, positioned in the corner of the tower. Beside it, there is an empty bottle of wine. He turns to Simeon.
“Is that deckchair for sunbathing?”
Simeon looks a little sheepish. “It’s my prayer chair.”
Joe’s quizzical face suggests some further explanation is needed.
“I’ve been praying for the Broadway estate, since I first arrived,” says Simeon.
“Oh,” says Joe. “When did you first arrive?”
“About five years ago. I’d never seen anywhere quite as bad as the estate. I thought it needed all the help it could get.”
“Do you mind me asking, what made you choose to be a priest?”
“No, I don’t mind you asking. I was living an ordinary life, training to be an accountant, living with my
girlfriend. One morning I woke up, with a particularly bad hangover, and a revelation. There are two paths in life. Salvation and damnation; it was time for me to choose.”
“Accountancy often has that affect on people,” interjects David.
Joe looks puzzled. He wants to ask Simeon what happened to his girlfriend, but it doesn’t seem an appropriate question.
“Do you think your prayers have resulted in the rebuilding?” he asks instead.
“Well, you’ve put a lot of hard work into that, haven’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe it’s been like a partnership.”
There is a slightly awkward silence.
“The works have gone a lot quicker than I thought they would,” says David, before picking up the empty bottle of wine and raising half a smile.
“Is it thirsty work, this praying?”
“We take communion up here too,” replies Simeon.
“Oh, of course, sorry.”
“No need to apologise,” says Simeon and he quietly stares into space, lost in thought for a moment. Without further explanation, he ushers them to the other side of the tower.
“Look at this view. You can see all of Birmingham and beyond.”
The men all follow Simeon’s instructions, lean against the battlements. They are looking beyond the trees that Joe and Hannah could see from their childhood windows. Stretched out before them is a wide-open country, a great bowl containing a city region. Rising in the far distance are the Shropshire hills, in a bluish haze. Shafts of white light illuminate a cluster of tall buildings, glittering like jewels, upon a ridge of land. It’s the city centre, about seven miles away. An uncanny silence descends. They stare at the city, as if through a dream; it is unimaginably beautiful. Joe crouches down, leaning against the parapet, sighs.
“This is awesome. It’s like a great garden, a forest, how can there be so many trees? It’s so quiet. What’s happening? Is this real?”