To You The Stars

by Wendy Cartwright

  I smiled. ‘Oh, yes, you’ll be keeping an eye out for me, that’s for sure. It wouldn’t surprise me if you hired a private detective. But you know, there’s no way I’d go against your wishes, Mum - although I can’t pretend I’m happy with them. I feel uneasy.’

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way but there’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘You could tell me why.’

  ‘I have told you. You don’t listen. Because it would be hypocritical. I’m not a Christian, neither was your father, and neither are you.’

  ‘Oh, Dad believed in God, I think.’

  ‘He believed in Albert Gaskell.’

  ‘Heaven is on Earth, he used to say, and Hell is in No Man’s Land. He may have been a Buddhist.’

  ‘There weren’t any Buddhists in Barnsley when he was growing up. But never mind your father, it’s me we’re talking about here and I’m not having religion at my funeral.’

  ‘Oh, I blame your grandmother.’

  ‘My grandmother? What did she ever do to you? You didn’t even meet her.’

  ‘She was a Bible-thumper; and she gave you poisoned sweets.’

  ‘Oh, you’re exaggerating, as usual.’

  ‘You were very poor. It was just after the First World War. You’d never had any sweets, and your grandmother gave you poisoned ones. She came back from the shops with a bag of boiled sweets and dipped them in something nasty which made you very sick.’

  ‘Ah, yes, so she did. Cascara and Bitter Aloes. Well, fancy you remembering that. So, you do listen to me sometimes.’

  ‘I listen to you a lot, Mum, actually. Yes, I’ve often wondered why she did it. I’ve often thought it may have had something to do with her religion - all that hell fire and damnation stuff: We are all born in sin and must be punished - even when we haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘But we had done wrong. We took the sweets.’

  ‘No, Mum; she set you up. She told you not to eat them, but she knew you were watching when she hid them: you and Uncle Emrhys, hiding behind the long, thick, crimson velvet drapes.’

  ‘That’s right, we were. Yes, I can see her now, her long black skirts and the old Welsh dresser. And the look on her face when she found us – triumphant!’

  ‘What a terrible thing to do.’

  ‘It wasn’t very pleasant, I admit. But I doubt it had anything to do with her religion.’

  ‘I think that could well have been the reason.’

  ‘No, there doesn’t always have to be a reason. I saw enough of it during the War, believe you me. They’ll hang a small child because they don’t like the look of her mother. Now, you’ll tell me it was because of religion or their childhood, or they’ve been brainwashed. You make excuses, Gwendolen, because it makes you feel better. But it’s better to wise up and look it squarely in the face. My grandmother? She had a streak of the same. It was in her nature. Nothing to do with Original Sin.’

  I nodded: I’d heard her speak this way before. ‘The thing is though, Mum, there could be another kind of God, couldn’t there, who doesn’t give children tests they can’t pass. Other religions have different Gods.’

  ‘They do,’ she replied, ‘And I’m not having any of them at my funeral either. No, your task is to read the King’s Broadcast at the Outbreak of War, and keep God out of it.’

  This perplexed me: ‘I don’t see how I could do that. It wouldn’t make any sense.’

  ‘God isn’t in the Broadcast.’

  ‘Yes, He is.’ And I quoted the relevant passage.

  ‘Hmm, that doesn’t sound quite accurate to me.’

  ‘Well, I got it from your diary.’

  ‘All right then, if that’s what it says in my diary, we’ll go along with it. I do want the King’s Broadcast because it moved me at the time.’

  ‘I expect it gave you hope.’

  ‘No, I don’t recall feeling hopeful at the outbreak of War, I must say. Not with Matron handing out cyanide pills in case of German paratroopers. I want the King’s Broadcast because it moved me, and those were the most important years of my life. They made me who I am.’

  ‘All right, Mum, never fear, you shall have it. Your wish is my command.’ And I waved an imaginary wand.

  ‘Oh, you’ve always been a fairy, and now you’re my fairy godmother. Well, you can magic yourself into the bathroom and wash your hair.’

  ‘I can’t, I told you, my hands.’

  ‘In that case, go back to your brother’s and get Alison to wash it for you. Go on, before they arrive with my afternoon tea.’

  ‘So how did you find her today?’ My brother asked, as we sat on his terrace over-looking the sea.

  ‘Hmm? Oh, very low when I arrived; perked up during her funeral plans; then got frantic just as I was leaving, telling the girl who brought her tea how hopeless I am. But she didn’t keep it up for quite as long.’

  He nodded thoughtfully then opened a can of beer. ‘She’s not going to change now, Gwen, let’s face it. That would be too much to expect. Still, she’s not doing too badly, is she? The last report from the doctor was very encouraging, I thought. And did you notice, she’s been trying to write with her left hand? How’s that for determination. She’ll never give up, will she, our Mum. She’ll outlive you if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Did you want me to hang round for supper, Dan, or shall I walk off now while the tide’s in?’

  He gave a gently ironic smile, reminiscent of my father. ‘Now, you know I didn’t mean it to come out that way, but I am worried about you. I had hoped that with Mum down here, and more settled, your skin would have started to clear up. But if anything it’s looking worse.’

  ‘Bill says it’s psychosomatic. It could well be.’

  ‘And what did the specialist say?’

  ‘They’re not really sure. Apparently it’s common in women of a certain age who smoke. There could be a hormonal component.’

  ‘Perhaps you should stop smoking.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start. I’ve got enough people telling me what to do.’

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. So, maybe what you need’s a change of scene. I know money’s tight, but I’d be happy to fund you.’

  ‘That’s really good of you, Dan, but I’d rather feel I could turn to you in an emergency. I’d rather you’d help me out then.’

  ‘You don’t think this is an emergency?’

  ‘No. Anyway, I’m going away for a week with Bill. His sister’s rented a cottage and invited us to join her party.’

  ‘That was good of her.’ He took another sip of his beer. ‘And when you get back – what then?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’ve postponed your wedding plans, I take it. Only you haven’t mentioned them.’

  ‘Oh. No, I’ve postponed them for now. The Registry Office is booked until September.’

  ‘Hmm, well, if I were you I’d postpone them indefinitely. I didn’t want to say anything before because you were so full of it, but I’ve talked it over with Alison and we don’t think it would work. You like to be your own boss, and so does Bill. And it’s always been a bit of a roller-coaster ride, hasn’t it? And, I don’t know, maybe you like it better that way, the pair of you, so why change it? I’m surprised, actually, that he asked you to marry him after all this time. What do you think brought it on?’

  I laughed. ‘You make it sound as though he had an attack of something unpleasant.’

  ‘No, I was just wondering why now? It’s not as if anything’s changed, is it? You’re no different, he’s no different. The only thing that’s changed is that he’s now got a child which is a big change, of course.’

  I began to feel uncomfortable, ‘I know that, Dan, but she doesn’t live with him.’

  ‘She doesn’t live with him yet.’

  ‘She lives with her mother and I should think she’ll continue to live with her mother.’

  ‘I daresay she will, but anything can happen in life. No, you need to think this through very c
arefully, Gwen. Would you really want to be cast in the step-mother role? And how would you feel about the child under the circumstances?’

  ‘I’m over it,’ I said, reaching for my cigarettes. ‘Really, I’m not upset about the baby, Dan. She was meant to be.’

  ‘You think you’re over it, and maybe you are; but you won’t mind me giving you a bit of brotherly advice, I hope. I say to keep things as they are. It wouldn’t be fair on Bill, either, for you to marry him then find you couldn’t hack it; and it wouldn’t be fair on Eleanor. Well, that’s my opinion for what it’s worth, and I’m sure that’s what Dad would have said. At least don’t make a decision until your health improves.’

  I nodded and looked out across the sea – would it ever improve?

  By now I was heartily sick of this eczema, it was slowing me down during the day and waking me up at night. I did stop smoking for a while and tried various natural remedies but the eczema refused to budge. I read somewhere that it can be caused by repressed anger so I bought a cheap chair and tried bashing it with a rolling pin. The chair collapsed, the eczema remained. Oh, well, I told myself, as I ironed Bill’s clothes ready for our holiday, no one ever died of eczema – although I might die of exhaustion at this rate. Where was he? We were meant to be leaving at the crack of dawn and it had now gone ten o’clock.

  Shortly before midnight, the ‘phone rang. His friend, Louise, had ‘broken down’ during dinner so he would be staying until her housemate returned home. He couldn’t leave her because she had a ‘history’ (the nature of which, he did not, divulge).

  Well, I thought, as I sat in the garden on his smoking bench, this is one of the things I like about him, of course, his concern for his friends, but do I really need to marry him since he already treats me as a wife? But before I could get any further with that train of thought, he arrived with a bunch of flowers from a garage, then proceeded to give me a break down of our itinerary while I cleaned out the thermos flask.

  On my way to bed, I glanced in the landing mirror. I looked tired and drawn. Two red splodges had appeared on my cheekbones as if a toddler had been playing at make-up, and my eyes looked more grey than blue. Maybe I should take Dan up on his offer. I really could do with some time out when I could shut myself away without responsibility for anyone one else. Now, I don’t recall offering this thought to the Cosmos as a prayer, but I did have occasion before much longer to contemplate the meaning of the old saw: be careful what you wish for.

  Towards the end of our holiday, Bill cooked a chicken concoction; and as I watched him, I began to feel uneasy. He was performing like a television chef: a glass of wine in one hand, a spatula in the other, and peppering the conversation with witty remarks. Anxiously, I looked around the circle, but no one else appeared concerned so I told myself I was being neurotic and ate some. I won’t bore you with the details. No one else ended up in hospital. I got worse on the journey home.

  Bill cleaned up my kitchen as we waited for the doctor to arrive. Was he turning into my mother? ‘I can’t believe you’ve allowed your kitchen to get into such a state. When was the last time you cleaned behind the stove?’

  Was I turning into my mother? ‘I can’t go into hospital, Doctor Robbins, they don’t clean as well as they used to - I might catch something else.’

  Was Eleanor turning into me? ‘I know you can’t eat but I’ve brought you some wine gums. You like wine gums, I know.’

  My mother, thankfully, remained true to herself. She got her carer to send me a nightdress as she felt sure I would not possess a suitable garment.

  A few days later, I checked myself out. I hadn’t fully recovered, but, after spotting some blood in the communal lavatory, I decided I’d be better off at home. Tucked up safely in my own bed, and in my own nightdress, I began to make plans. I was determined to celebrate Dorothy’s forthcoming birthday: she would be one hundred years old.

  Mars

  August 6th 2000

  On Dorothy’s 100th birthday, I met a Martian. A young man, strong and fit, approached me while I stood at her graveside; and a very belligerent young man - or so it appeared - for without concern for a formal introduction, he launched into a veritable tirade against the Church authorities for allowing the graveyard to deteriorate so badly.

  ‘Well, yes,’ I said, when I managed to get a word in, ‘I feel quite strongly about it myself.’

  ‘I know you do,’ he replied, fixing me with an intense look. ‘I’ve seen you down here before. But what do they care, eh?’ And he shook his fist at the church before gesturing towards a small colony of war graves partially obscured in the undergrowth some distance away. ‘Bloody bishops, and priests and politicians, can’t even keep their graves clean when they gave their all.’

  ‘Yes, it’s not very good,’ I agreed, ‘but the Army did come down earlier this year to do some clearing up.’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it to me.’

  ‘No, well, it’s grown back a bit since. It’s a nightmare, actually, getting rid of nettles. But they were here, burning off the undergrowth around the war graves. I think they were a pioneer regiment.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Lily told me. You may have seen her? She comes down every day to feed the churchyard cats.’

  ‘I know. Game old bird. Look of a sparrow hawk. She’s got respect. Same as you.’

  ‘Well, I hope I have,’ I replied. ‘I try to visit the war graves when I can. Mainly on Remembrance Day. My mother likes me to. She was a nurse with the Eighth Army - and afterwards, in Europe. My father fought in the War as well.’

  ‘You don’t look old enough.’

  ‘Oh, thank you very much, that’s very kind of you to say so. No, I was born after the War. My father died of his wounds later, which is why he’s got a war grave.’

  He nodded towards the war graves. ‘One of those, is he?’

  ‘No, he’s buried in Brighton. He was a St.Dunstaner. They’ve got a plot in the cemetery for men and women blinded on active service.’

  ‘Oh, blinded was he? That’s bad.’

  ‘Yes, a machine gun bullet ricocheted off a post.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have known that would he?’

  ‘No, he always thought it must have been blast. But my brother and I went over there for the D-day Commemoration, and met the Sergeant who was with him at the time. They were fighting for a village called Annebault. He was in a ditch, on the walkie-talkie, radioing back their position.’

  ‘So what did he do, raise his head?’

  ‘Something like that. They were on the advance and hadn’t had any sleep. I expect he lost concentration. He was only twenty.’

  ‘Brave bloke.’

  ‘Yes, very. He lost his sense of taste as well. But there you go. It was a job, he said, it had to be done and that was all there was to it.’

  Again, he gave a short, sharp nod. He tended to punctuate his speech with these, I noticed, or by pulling harder on his hand-rolled cigarette. ‘You come down here a lot,’ he said. ‘You come for some peace and quiet, I know. I do.’

  And that was when he told me about his son. Or, rather, told Dorothy. Moving closer towards the grave, he maintained a steady gaze upon the headstone while speaking more softly of his son. He had a son, he said, who had died in infancy and was buried somewhere else. But where his son was buried, it was immaculate. They did look after the graves. They kept the hedges trimmed, the grass perfectly clipped; and there were proper gravel pathways, all fully-lined so the weeds didn’t poke through. Where his son was, it was all above board, exactly as it should be - nothing to complain about there.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s terrible when a child dies.’

  ‘S’all right,’ he replied, abruptly shrugging it off.

  ‘So you and I have both got someone – somewhere else.’

  ‘Yep. So, what about her then, Dorothy - she family?’

  ‘No, no. I just like to visit her grave. I sort of adopted it ages ago.’
r />   ‘And Peter? Was he her husband?’

  ‘I don’t know. Her husband was named Wilfrid.’

  ‘Could have been her name for him.’

  ‘Yes, I did think that at one point. When I found out he was a Capricorn, I thought he may he have been her Rock, but then I thought, probably not.’

  ‘You’re into that, are you, Astrology? I’m not.’

  ‘No? Well, it’s not everybody’s thing.’

  ‘Not going to tell you you’re wrong though.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ I replied. ‘That’ll make a change.’ He almost smiled.

  ‘So, what do you make of the inscription?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s okay. Grave’s in a bit of a state though.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I normally keep it up but I haven’t been well recently.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Eczema, and I got food poisoning, but I’m all right now.’

  ‘Not a hundred per cent though.’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘Hmm. Tell you what, I’m a stonemason by trade. Or was. I could probably do something about the subsidence.’

  ‘Could you?’ I hesitated at the idea of Dorothy being disturbed. ‘You’d have to dig quite deep, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No, no. She’d be okay.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yep, no problem.’

  He then proceeded to tell me how he would go about it, in very precise detail. He would dig so far down, insert a plinth and apply a chemical to kill off the algae. Bleach wouldn’t do it. He had a stronger chemical back home in his yard.

  ‘Well, I have been worrying about the inscription vanishing,’ I said.

  ‘No need.’

  ‘I’ll pay you, of course.’

  ‘Just for the materials. It won’t take long. An afternoon’s work.’

  ‘You must let me pay you for your labour.’

  ‘No,’ he repeated, beginning to sound angry again.

  ‘Perhaps I could get you something then - something to drink, or tobacco?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘So, how will I contact you?’