I have recently been tasked
regarding the vow I made never to return to my
home village. With my present fuzzy brain I'm
not sure if it came from a friend or via an email
from a reader of the book.
This far into the future it's tricky to explain
the emotion of those long ago days, plus it
wasn't so much a single event that led to the
vow, rather it was a series of them, like some
bitter layer cake, one rancid slice on top of
another, on top of another ... Also, I believe
I was almost as much disillusioned with the
whole country as with my little corner of it.
Let's go back - I was (I think) 18 years old
and had been serving in the Navy for over a
year and as I was between ships, thought I would
pay a visit to the old stamping ground. My parents
were dead, the old house had gone and brothers
and sister had scattered; they didn't like me
very much, so letters, cards and phone calls
just never happened.
Midshipmen aren't exactly overpaid (2 pound
10 shillings a week - of which you had to save
10 shilling) so I took the train down to Oakstead
(2nd class) where Dickie Warner would pick me
up in his derelict banger of a car.
It was a cold, damp December afternoon when
I disembarked onto the platform, strange, this
was the same platform from which, under the
magical sunshine of youth, I had spent untold
hours as a train spotter and by the time I was
11, was sometimes allowed to drive the old '2-
4-2' steamer between Oakstead and Cursed Green
Halt.
Now the engine was a diesel, no hissing steam,
no smell of coal dust and oil, no old man Steptoe
leaning out of the cab with a coal dust sprinkled
cheese sandwich in his hand and blackened face
split by that huge grin of his. Now there was
just a quiet click of closing doors, a quarter
second toot of the electric horn and the train
slid away ... Where was the fanfare, where was
the excitement, where was the panache... ?
Dickie was still the same, a ready humour hiding
behind a quiet disposition. He had joined his
father in their little handyman service company
'Warner & Warner' Plumbers, Carpenters,
Electricians, Gardeners. The fact that they
had not even one qualification between them
didn't seem to disturb them, or their many customers,
in the slightest ... but they were on borrowed
time.
The thing that I really remember about that
day was the silence between us, few words were
spoken it was enough that the old twosome were
back together again.
Dickie first drove me to where the old house
had stood. God it was awful. The socialist driven
council had grabbed the land and turned it into
one of those drab, grey, soulless council housing
estates - cheap rentals for people that deserved
them (yes I am being a snob). Where the orchard
had stood and where I had found Rodney the Fox,
was a sort of cemented square with blocks of
housing units around it, one and two bedroom
boxes that would form the slums of tomorrow.
The residents of these boxes would never know
that on the spot where they now existed (I won't
say lived as that implies more than they were),
once a succession of grand houses had stood.
From these houses, great plans had been hatched,
armies had gathered to journey to far off battles
from Darkest Africa and the Far East to the
Americas - and The Families had presided over
the land and brought order to chaos.
There was a glaringly lit cement block of a
corner store occupying one corner of the square
and although only a few years old the windows
had already been sufficiently neglected to become
less than clean with grime showing in every
corner, still the grime matched the faces of
those people hanging around, seemingly without
purpose, eyes without interest, hiding personas
with no will to learn, no dreams to stir them
on to larger things ... I was pleased to get
back into the car, I didn't belong here.
We drove back to Oakstead; the heavy grey sky
was now sprinkling the land with a few large
snowflakes but as yet, not sufficient to put
a covering over the brittle grass and frozen
soil. I was interested to see how the memorial
park was faring now that my family had gone.
This small park was attached to the village
green and although not large, had, a hundred
and ninety years earlier, been well designed
to give shade in summer and some rain protection
in winter. A small path wound its way between
a combination of trees and shrubs, interspersed
by small areas of flowers, allowed to grow wild.
In the centre were a small pond and a memorial
to all these 'Of The Village', that had fallen
in, mostly long forgotten, wars. This land had
been a gift, from my family, to the village
and they had paid to have it developed and for
the memorial, it was a grand little place that
oozed a sense of peace and tranquility.
When we got there I understood why Dickie had
been so quiet, the park was gone and in its
place was a revolting ugly, new Council Offices
block. To make matters worse this disgrace to
the eye even had a sign naming it after the
present Mayor, a seedy, skinny, spivvy type
who made his money in selling kitchen appliances,
such as they were back then, this income he
supplemented by being a collector for the Prudential
Insurance Company. He often had a cigarette
dangling from the side of his mouth and the
skills required to properly wear a tie seemed
quite beyond him.
A small plaque had shown that the park was named
after the family that had donated and built
it, that plaque had gone but Dickie showed me
where it was, sitting on a pile of rubble ready
to be hauled off to the tip.
In the evening (although it's pitch dark by
4.00pm) we drove to the 'Old Bell' pub for dinner.
Even here the day didn't see any joy. A local
man spotted me and started making comments (loud
enough for me to hear) about how good it was
that the old 'poncy' families had all gone "And
good riddance too". Finally I had, had
enough and getting up politely asked him to
take back what he said and apologize. This,
he refused to do, having obtained courage from
a few beers and a couple of mates at his back:
so, I just had to break his nose, there was
really no alternative. I think the thing that
really irked me was that there were quite a
few of the older villagers about and none could
meet my eye. I think it was in that second of
time that I realised that all that had been
... was now gone.
We left that pub and drove to another 'The Diamond'
here the old landlord greeted us with open arms
and the more farm type folk gave a friendly
nod and a wink. At ten minutes to ten of the
clock the call 'Time Gentle Please' rang out,
announcing that it was time to close up for
the night.
Next morning, after a huge breakfast cooked
by Dickie's mother, we drove up to our old look-out
place high on the side of the downs. I hate
to think how many hours as kids we had wasted
sitting up here looking out over the countryside.
From here you could see a world just big enough
for children, Darkmere Wood, with its haunted
centre. Stafford's Wood which still hid away
our old railway station and from where, on that
special day, I had come with Carole and the
others, before our last night of that last wonderful
summer holiday. The Chalk Quarry itself where
we had tunneled to the centre of the world and
fought monsters that only lived at the world's
core. Oaks Corner where we had gathered bonfire
wood for the 5th of November celebrations. Gallows
Crossroads, so haunted that we never (except
once) went after dark, what a night that was.
Overnight, snow had softened all the ridges
and contours, I wished it could have been a
summer's day for my departure, but there again,
perhaps, the chill was more fitting, for me
sunshine had gone from this place.
In my mind I could hear the words from the previous
night 'Time gentlemen please'. Yes, it was time
to shut up shop, there was nothing left to buy
in this place.
Dickie drove me to the station but didn't wait
to see me off, I think we both knew that this
was our last parting and stretching it out was
pointless. However, there was one last surprise.
Sitting on the bench outside of the waiting
room was an old man that I recognised. It was
Mr Cooper the old, now retired, Station Master.
Sitting down I said Hello and turning to me
he said. "Well master Frank, I guess you
be a goin' now and that's probably a good thing,
nowt left around here for the likes of us".
As the train slithered into the platform and
squeaked to halt I shook his hand and boarded.
The ingratitude and sheer bloody meanness of
the place had overwhelmed me and I resolved
never to come back ... and I never did.
Three days later Dickie phoned me to say that
Mr. Cooper had died, it was almost as if he
had been waiting to say goodbye to someone from
... back when.
I learned over the years that there would always
be a voice waiting in the shadows of time to
again whisper that same dreadful announcement
... 'Time gentlemen please'.
