Awakening

by David Munro

  “Company Director. My grandmother began the company more than eighty years ago, and later, my mother became a director.”

  “And you?”

  “I wanted to be a nurse, however, I paint in my spare time.”

  “What is your grandmother’s name?” Have I met her in the past?

  “Evelyn Stoddart, her maiden name was White.”

  Evelyn White, that name is familiar. Of course! She worked as a receptionist at the hotel in Inveraray, which held a Christmas Eve dance in 1929.

  “Have you heard of her?”

  I nodded. “An older relative met her at the Burgess Hotel, Inveraray.”

  “That was the first in a chain of hotels.”

  “Is Lanbury your mother’s married name?” It’s uncommon for Ardrishaig.

  “No, it’s Smith, she didn’t want to use her real name. Incidentally, my name is Elizabeth Smith.” She held out her hand. “Beth to my friends.”

  I shook it. “James, James Carsell-Brown.”

  Just as Ella Lanbury arrived, the shop assistant returned with two coffees. When the audience had settled, she introduced herself, then recited a selection of her favourite poems. Fifteen minutes later, she received an appreciative round of applause. I drank my coffee, bid farewell to Beth, and left to the sound of that damn bell.

  I arrived home, checked the letterbox, and took out a leaflet. Too late, another garden maintenance firm beat you to it. I went into the kitchen, and put the leaflet into a drawer. Later, I will sit on my comfortable living room couch and watch football. Having experienced harsh and austere timelines, it’s a luxury I took for granted. Tonight, Germany plays Brazil for a place in the prestigious World Cup final. Attack-minded Brazil, with a passionate home crowd behind them, should stroll to victory.

  A dramatic one-sided encounter unfolded, though not for the favoured team. As someone once said, “football can be a strange game.” With a 7-0 score in favour of Germany, strange is an understatement! Brazil’s supporters will have to drown their sorrows, rather than celebrate, in the streets of Rio.

  Whilst about to fall asleep, sudden gusts of wind ensued, then noises from the coach house. A door banged to and fro, therefore, I hadn’t secured it. Damn! Then, the faint sound of footsteps could be heard. I got up, pulled back the curtain, and observed a deserted courtyard. After making myself respectable, I went downstairs and searched for a torch. Finding one, I opened the back door, and shone the torch around the courtyard. With no one about, I approached the coach house, closed the door, and locked it. I cast my gaze around the calm surrounds, went back inside, and returned to bed.

  Next day, I went into Ardrishaig, and bought flowers to lay at Abbie’s grave. Upon entering the cemetery, I noticed another visitor. Getting closer, I recognised the young woman from my previous visit, and wearing the same attire. Also, a similar eerie silence still existed. I approached Abbie’s grave, placed pink roses, and stood. After a period of reflection, I turned around to leave. Whilst I walked through the iron gates, a stocky white-bearded man carrying a shovel approached. He stopped, and tipped his grey cap. “Mornin’ to you, sir.”

  There’s no dirt etched into his cuticles. “A pleasant day to tend the grounds.”

  “Aye, it is that, sir.” The workman grinned.

  “Do you have many visitors to the cemetery?”

  The workman shook his head. “You’re the only one I’ve seen in a week.”

  “On the two occasions I’ve been here, I saw a young woman.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “Positive, she left only a minute ago.” I pointed. “She stood at the tall grey headstone.”

  The workman looked towards the headstone.

  “She wore a black dress and shawl.”

  “A young woman, you say, sir?”

  “Early to mid-twenties, she had long raven hair.”

  “Nobody passed me, sir.” The workman grinned. “Maybe she’s a quick walker.”

  I laughed.

  “Must get to work, sir.” He tipped his cap, and walked on.

  I headed back to the main street, and glanced at my watch – time for a late morning coffee. Entering the outlet, I had my pick of tables, and chose a window view. Outside, people walked past in summer clothes with a smile. Warm sunny weather can boost trade for local retailers, with an influx of visitors. However, today’s amiable weather won’t entice them indoors! The economic revolution of five decades ago will be a distant memory to locals, although, I witnessed it less than a year ago.

  “Hello again, sir,” said the shop assistant, “a black coffee?”

  “White, please.”

  She smiled. “Today, we have excellent chocolate fudge cake on special offer.”

  “Do you have any doughnuts?”

  She nodded. “Yes, we do.”

  “I’ll have two, please.”

  “Back soon.” What’s wrong with fudge cake.

  I looked out the window and noticed two women with jackets on top of their nurses’ uniforms. One is Beth, whom I spoke to at a recent poetry recital. The two women entered, and Beth looked at me, then came over with her colleague.

  “Hello, again,” I said.

  “Can we join you?” said Beth.

  “Of course, have a seat.”

  Both women sat opposite me, and looked towards the shop counter. The assistant acknowledged them and came over.

  “Two black coffees, please,” said Beth.

  The shop assistant smiled, and departed.

  “James, this is Sarah, my friend and colleague.”

  Sarah held out her trim hand.

  I shook it. She has a strong grip.

  “Phew!” said Beth, “it’s hot in here.” She removed her dark blue jacket.

  Sarah removed her cream jacket.

  I grinned. “Customers who enter may think this is a casualty unit.”

  Both women laughed, looked at each other, then at several customers at their tables. Sarah flicked a dark hair off her pale blue uniform.

  “How long does your shift last?” I looked at both women.

  “Eight hours,” said Beth.

  Sarah removed a black shoe, and massaged her foot. “I must get a pair of larger ones.” She replaced the shoe.

  “You should wear softer ones,” said Beth.

  “My feet will be fine for the weekend.” She smiled at Beth.

  I looked at Beth.

  “Sarah and I are going hill-walking this weekend.”

  “Far afield?”

  “Lochgilphead,” said Sarah, “the hills are not as steep.”

  Beth laughed. “The Munros in Argyll can be tackled later.”

  Sarah nodded. “When we become hardy and experienced, similar to my brother.”

  “When did Derek tackle his first Munro?” said Beth.

  “Four years ago, and has climbed all nineteen within Argyll.” Sarah looked towards the counter.

  “What are your plans for this weekend, James?” said Beth.

  “I have an idea for a novel, and will attempt to make a start.”

  “Sarah raised her eyebrows.

  “What’s it about?” said Beth.

  “Time travel.”

  “Fiction?” said Sarah.

  I nodded. Not really.

  “Come hill-walking with us,” said Beth, “the weather is ideal.”

  “Write your novel later,” added Sarah.

  The shop assistant returned, and lifted each white saucer and cup off a wooden tray onto the table. “If you require more coffee, let me know.” She went to serve another customer.

  Sarah lifted her cup, took a sip, and set it down. “That’s better.” She sat back.

  As Beth and I followed, Sarah looked my way. “What did you do this morning, James?”

  “I visited the cemetery.”

  “Paying your respects to someone?”

  I nodded.

  “You would have the cemetery to yourself,” said Beth, as she sipped her coffee.r />
  I shook my head. “There was another visitor, a young woman.”

  Beth coughed, setting her cup on the saucer.

  “Wearing a long black dress and shawl?” said Sarah.

  “Why, yes, do you know her?” I sat back.

  Sarah stared at Beth.

  “What’s up?” They have serious expressions.

  “Have you not heard the cemetery is haunted by a young woman?” said Beth.

  I smiled at both women. “Is this a wind-up?”

  Sarah leaned forward. “We’re not winding you up, James! She has haunted the cemetery for almost a century.”

  “Not many people have seen her,” said Beth, “she appears at certain periods in time.”

  “I’ve seen her twice.”

  Beth stared at Sarah.

  “When did someone last see her?”

  “Ten years ago,” said Sarah, “around this time of year.”

  I finished my coffee, and set the cup on its saucer. “I have a joiner due at one o’clock.”

  “See you later,” said Beth.

  I paid for my coffee at the counter, and whilst leaving, acknowledged Beth and Sarah’s farewell gesture.

  Beth lifted her cup, and looked at Sarah. “Glad you didn’t mention the curse.”

  “Anyone who can see her, dies soon after.” Sarah frowned. “Thankfully, not many have.”

  “Why James?”

  Sarah shrugged her shoulders.

  By August, rain had become a rarity, thus benefiting Scotland’s inhabitants, retailers and tourists. Those who visited Glasgow’s Commonwealth Games would perceive the country as a desirable destination, with its scenic charm and constant sunshine. For me, glorious weather or not, I wanted to start my novel – easier said than done. Does the story begin with me as a child in Edinburgh, or, an adult in Aberdeen? Then there is my liaison in Nice with the French Secret Service, and their spy, pretty Michelle Duvallier. Having lived in Nice, knowledge of the city will be beneficial. I could start from when first entering the coach house, and being thrust back in time! I will go for a walk, ponder, and later decide.

  Whilst walking, I recalled certain events. Before my travels began. I had visited great-aunt Olivia’s grave. After I went back in time, I met her as a young woman! This being one of many surreal moments that I experienced. Further on, I came across the active lady at work in her garden. She spotted me, approached the garden wall, and removed her green gloves. “Dare I say it, some light rain would help.”

  I smiled. “It will arrive, soon enough.”

  She laughed. “Back to the village?”

  “Yes, the cemetery.”

  “A relative?”

  “Olivia Carsell-Brown.”

  “A lovely person, and did a lot of charity work for the local community.”

  “She enjoyed her work.”

  “What was the connection?”

  “My great-aunt.”

  “Losing her father at such an early age.” The lady shook her head.

  I met Edward in 1896. “A charming individual.”

  The lady paused. “To the florist?”

  “Yes, see you later.”

  “Unless it rains!”

  I laughed.

  “Bye.” How would he have known Edward, he died in 1916.

  I carried on and observed many shiny vehicles pass by. The car wash in the village garage has been busy.

  After popping into the florist, I arrived at the cemetery. Even though the sun shone, a strange chill existed. I approached Olivia’s place of rest, and laid white Gladiolus at the headstone. Since my previous visit to her grave, a year had passed, but fourteen years for others. Walking back to the gates, I pinpointed where the young woman had stood. Being curious, I went over to the grave, and stared at the headstone inscription – Edward Beaumont, 1884-1916. With Edward being an only child and Olivia having no children, the young woman isn’t a close relative. Who is she?

  As I left the cemetery, the grave worker approached, shovel on shoulder and whistling a merry tune. “Any young women around today, sir?” he said grinning.

  “If so, they’re invisible!”

  He laughed, and walked on.

  In Ardrishaig’s main street, I spotted a board outside the Grey Gull Inn. It advertised a two-course lunch for £4.95, plus a drink. Hungry and a tad thirsty, I was hooked. I went up to the bar, and a curvaceous woman came forward. Her blonde hair in a ponytail added to a pleasant appearance. “What can I get you, sir?” she said smiling.

  Lovely white teeth. “I saw your special offer on the advertising board.”

  She handed me a printed menu card.

  Nothing appeals. “Any toasted sandwiches?”

  “What would you like, sir?”

  “Do you have ham and cheese?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Splendid.”

  “Something to drink, sir?”

  “A lager.”

  “A pint?”

  “Just a half-pint.” A pint this early will send me to sleep.

  The woman poured lager into a sparkling glass, and laid it on the counter. “When the toasted sandwiches are ready, I’ll bring them over.”

  “Shall I pay now?”

  “Later, is fine.”

  Lifting my glass, I sat at a nearby dark wooden table with two matching chairs. Noticing a newspaper on the next table, I reached over. I opened The Oban Times at its sports section, which highlighted the aftermath of Glasgow’s successful Commonwealth Games, plus Andy Murray not retaining his Wimbledon title. As for football, a paragraph touched on Fort William’s determination to win the Highland League title. However, the region’s prominent sport of shinty, received wide coverage. My toasties appeared, and I put aside the newspaper.

  Feeling refreshed, I left the Stag Inn, and strolled along the main street. Passing a charity shop, I observed a window poster with large bold letters – Food Bank. I moved closer, surely, not in 2014! When I travelled back to 1929, much hardship existed, what has transpired in the present? An unkempt man about my age approached, and stood beside me, then glared at the window. “That’s due tae cuts in benefit,” he said, “people can’t afford essentials.” He shook his head. “I’ve had tae cut doon on ma beer and fags.”

  I continued along the main street, and whilst nearing the supermarket, spotted a black purse on the ground. Further on, a hunched white-haired woman carried a shopping bag. As I picked up the purse, she went into her jacket pocket, stopped and turned round.

  I walked up to her, and gave her the purse.

  The woman sighed. “Thanks, son.” She put her hand on my arm, then swiftly

  removed it.

  “Are you okay?”

  The woman composed herself.

  “Can I help?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She stared at me.

  I handed over the purse and the woman put it into her pocket. She appeared upset, therefore, I made a suggestion. “Can I buy you a coffee or tea?”

  The woman smiled. “Coffee, please.”

  We walked to the coffee shop, entered, and found a spare table. A minute later, the shop assistant came across.

  “A coffee, please,” I said.

  The shop assistant smiled. “White?”

  I nodded.

  “Black for me,” said my guest.

  As the shop assistant departed, the woman unbuttoned her beige jacket, and leaned forward. Her thick spectacle lenses and black rim put me on the defence.

  “Touching your arm gave me a jolt!”

  “Why?”

  “I’m psychic, and sensed an unnatural presence.” The woman sat back. “Has someone close to you passed away recently?”

  “A year ago.”

  “Since then, have you experienced unusual occurrences?”

  “When in the cemetery paying my respects to that person, I saw a young woman at a nearby grave, and moments later, she was gone. I asked a gravedigger if he had seen her.”

  “What did he say?
”

  “He hadn’t.”

  “Describe her?”

  “Long raven hair, black dress and shawl. Also, I have seen her more than once.”

  The woman stared.

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “You are not from here?”

  “I came to live here fourteen years ago, left not long after, and have just returned.”

  The shop assistant brought both coffees, laid them on the table, and departed. The woman lifted her cup, took a sip, and set it on the saucer. As she did so, I noticed her wrinkled hand shake. I lifted my cup, took a sip, then gripped it with both hands.

  “The young woman is not of this world.”

  I set my cup on the saucer.

  “She is caught between both worlds – the living and the dead.”

  “Why?”

  “Following a broken heart, she took her own life, and her spirit cannot rest

  “What happened?”

  “She was having an affair with a dashing army officer who came from an affluent family in the village. Before going off to fight in the Great War, he promised to write.”

  The First World War began exactly a century ago.

  “However, unable to be with him, the young woman longed for the war to end and their relationship to resume. When she discovered he had been killed, it was devastating. She attended his morning funeral, then at one o’clock, returned to the grave with a kitchen knife and slit both wrists.”

  I shook my head. Tragic.

  “When found, all colour had gone from her body.” The woman sighed.

  The haunted stare I received.

  “Her parents could not accept that their only daughter had taken her life. Less than a year later, her mother passed away, and the father suffered constant ill health, until his death three years later.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Ann Anderson.” The woman paused. “My great-aunt.”

  I looked at the woman.

  “My grandfather found letters from Edward neatly placed inside a box.”

  I drank what remained of my lukewarm coffee, and set it down. The shop assistant came over, and I shook my head.

  “I’ve often been to the cemetery in the hope of catching a glimpse of Ann.”

  “Why me?”

  “There must be a connection, perhaps a meeting in the past.” The woman smiled. “You wouldn’t have been around a century ago.”