Mysterious Tales Read online

  “Another beautiful day!” he smiled. “You seem to bring the sun with you, my dear. You really must come more often!” I laughed at this and noticed the aid was sitting perfectly in his ear as I did so. The next half hour was spent checking everything was working properly with it and I was not surprised to find that Ron was having no trouble with it at all. Once that was concluded Ron reached for his walking stick.

  “Don’t take him too far away!” shouted matron from just inside the patio doors, and Ron smiled and raised his hat to her.

  “Come now!” he announced as if he were conducting a tour. “A walk in the grounds is what I promised you, and I have never been one to go back on my word.” With that he stood and offered his arm to me. Linking our arms he steered me off the terrace and onto a wide gravel path that seemed to wander off across the grounds of the home.

  We wandered in silence at first as we moved along the path, then Ron began to point out several of the flowers about the grounds.

  “Look at the foxgloves.” I exclaimed as we rounded a corner on the path. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Foxgloves?” he laughed, stopping to look at the tall deeply coloured flowers.

  “Indeed.” I said. “Digitalis to give them their Latin name.” Ron laughed once again at this.

  “Oh dear.” he said. “So many names for one little thing. “Latin too.” he tutted. “Such a dead language. Never saw the point of it myself.” He paused, and waved his walking stick at the large spread of flowers to the side of the path. “Virgin’s glove.” he pronounced solemnly, giving the foxgloves another name. But he was not done yet. “Witches’ gloves.” he continued, before grimacing slightly as another name for them popped into his head. “Dead men’s bells.” I smiled at his mock distaste for the name. “Never liked that one. “Folk’s Glove.” he finally pronounced, “That’s what they are.” And we set off again along the path. “Other names too.” he muttered as we left the brightly swaying plants behind us. “So many names, but that is the one I like best.” I nodded to him as he guided me further along the path.

  “Folk’s Glove it is.” I smiled. For a while we wandered amongst the paths, seeming hardly ever to pass anyone as we did so. When he did however, Ron raised his hat and gave a hearty “Good afternoon!” as we passed them. The path eased around the grounds of the home and as we passed under the large boughs of an old oak the home disappeared from view altogether. We were nearly at the edge of the woods now but the path veered sharply away from them, presumably heading back to the main house. As we rounded a corner in the trees a broad bed of marigolds spread along the side of the path, their golden flowers lighting up the small dell we found ourselves in.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” I asked, and Ron grinned. “Late flowering though, are they not?” I enquired. Ron paused besides them and reached down and ran his fingers across the petals of one of the nearer flowers. “From the Africa’s.” He explained. “They flower later. It is said that if you look at them long enough they will improve your sight.” He squinted slightly, pulling a funny face and I laughed aloud as he did so. Without a pause we are off again. “Summer’s bride.” he suddenly said, half turning and waving his walking stick at the marigolds as we left them behind us. “Husbandman’s dial. Bride of the sun or summer’s bride. “He smiled once again. “Mary’s Gold. That’s the one I prefer.” and I nodded at his choice.

  We continued through the trees and eventually the house came back into view, the small French terrace visible in the distance. As the path turned and twisted before us we were both suddenly startled as a small black cat appeared from the trees, crossed ahead of us, and without giving hardly even a sidelong glance, disappeared into the trees once again.

  “That’s lucky!” I exclaimed, and the old man linking my arm besides me laughed too in agreement.

  “I had a cat that talked once.” he said suddenly, as if remembering something he had long forgotten.

  “Really.” I laughed out loud, waiting for the punch line or some other tall tale that old men seem to find particularly endearing. “What did it say?” I laughed.

  “Oh not much of interest.” he said, and we paused on the path as if he was trying to remember. “I seem to remember it talked about mice an awful lot.” I paused beside him, giggling. “Fish too.” he concluded. “Had to send the damned thing away once he learnt how to sing though.” he said with a chuckle. “Songs about fish and mice from dawn to dusk. No idea who told him he could sing. Couldn’t hold a tune in a bucket, that cat.” He laughed out loud as he remembered.

  “Small and whiskered, king of the hill

  On my eyes I beg to differ

  Whisk your tail, climb a tree

  The day will come when you will be my dinner...”

  I was very surprised at the deep, resonant voice that came from Ron as he sang a verse of the song to me. It mocked the tuneless cat he was describing, for sure! I laughed in delight and Ron laughed along with me.

  “That was just one of many, many verses.” he sighed. “Though they were pretty much all the same one you took the fish and mice into account that is.”

  “You have a fine voice.” I said, and he bowed his head to me ever so slightly.

  “Thank you.” he said, not entirely displeased with my compliment. “It was much better when I was a younger man.” He smiled once again at the recollection. “Then I was not reduced to repeating the words of a particularly mouse obsessed cat.” We both laughed at this as we emerged from the trees, the home now much nearer. As we began to cross the lawn a plane appeared high in the bright blue sky above us, leaving a vapour trail as it went. We both drew to a halt to watch its progress across the sky.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I said in admiration. “Isn’t it amazing what we can do nowadays?”

  “It is indeed.” said Ron, but his voice had the sound of a man who was not too convinced. “Though these days it seems that we have forgotten much more than we have learned, don’t you think? It’s a shame, really. It does make you wonder though, doesn’t it? Where does all that knowledge go when you die? Is it just lost?” I was somewhat surprised at the sudden darkening of the conversation. Poor Ron - he looked so alone all of a sudden. Nevertheless he continued, and seemed to reach a conclusion he was reconciled with. “As long as we remember them then they live on, even if only in memory. That is their legacy, if you like. The things they knew we pass on in memories, and as they become our own we become part of them as well. All of their words, their love; their songs.”

  “Cat songs too?” I enquired and Ron laughed with a sparkle in his eyes as the mood lightened again.

  “Perhaps not them.” he laughed, and I was surprised to find that we were now very nearly at the terrace. Poor Ron looked nearly bushed and so I led him to the nearest table and we took a seat.

  “Thank you for accompanying me on a walk.” he smiled as he sat gathering his breath. “It was most lovely.” He fished in his jacket pocket as if looking for something and having found whatever it was he palmed it and held his hand out to mine to pass it over to me.

  “Here.” he said, nodding at his outstretched hand. “I have a present for you.”

  “I’m sorry?” I asked, not sure what he meant. He just waved his hand at me and as I held out my palm to him he dropped a small metal object into it.

  “I can’t take this.” I began; aware suddenly that doing so would break all forms of professional conduct that I had to very strictly adhere to.

  “You don’t even know what it is yet!” he laughed, withdrawing his hand. I examined the small piece of metal in my palm. That it was without a doubt a coin was never in doubt. There were several small grooves cut into the face of it, and though I could not make out any dates or pictures upon it, a coin it undoubtedly it was.

  “I can’t take this, Ron.” I said. “There are all sorts of rules about this kind of thing. I...” Ron just waved my protestations away and sat back in his seat. “What is it?” I asked in exaspera
tion, and a memory flitted across his face.

  “It is a coin I found in the darker, wind-swept places of the world.” Noting my confusion he carried on. “It is just a trifle.” he said, before concluding with an air of finality, “Perhaps it will bring you luck.” He smiled once again as the matron approached through the patio windows. I took hold of the coin in my palm and made to return it to him. To my great surprise the coin would not move at all. It was almost as if it were glued to my palm. Ron leaned over the table and closed my palm around it just as the matron reached our table.

  “Time to return to your room now, Ron.” she chided. “I think you may just manage to fit in a nap before dinner.” Ron rose to be led away with her. Under the table I continued to attempt to remove the coin from my palm, but to no avail. With a wave Ron was led away, but I was more than just a little distracted by the object that was seemingly stuck to my hand. Slowly I made my way back to the car, tugging at the coin. It failed to move completely. I held my hand out palm down and still the coin failed to fall onto the ground. In a slight panic I got back into the car and drove down the drive, the stuck coin in my palm pressed against the steering wheel as I drove. I began to wonder if Ron was playing some elaborate trick on me. Perhaps he had placed superglue on the coin? If so how had he managed to pass it on to me? By now I was in traffic as I headed for the centre of town. Still struggling to free the coin from my hand I approached a set of lights that turned from red through amber to green as I neared them.

  At that exact moment the coin dropped from my hand and fell into my lap. As it did so I was so surprised I pressed on the brakes and the car screamed to a halt just as another car shot before me! It flew over the red light and carried on across the junction, whilst simultaneously breaking at least half a dozen traffic laws as it did so. I sat in the car gasping, staring at the coin in my lap. Behind me several backed up cars began to sound their horns noisily as I sat there. Had I not braked the car that had just flown across the lights would have crashed right into the side of me. I sat there stunned for a moment more and there slowly and carefully made my way home, Ron’s words ringing in my ears. “Perhaps it will bring you luck...”

  ***

  My next visit to Ron was not to be for three months but as the day slowly approached I found myself becoming increasingly excited to see the old man once again. This was to be a rehabilitation visit, and I was aware that by now Ron would either be completely used to the hearing aid or it would have been in a draw for the last few months. I was in no doubt which one of these two brackets Ron would fall in. As i made my way into the reception area I noticed matron standing to one side of the main desk almost as if waiting for me. She made towards me as I entered and led me off to one side.

  “I am afraid Ron had a stroke some six weeks ago.” she said carefully. I was surprised to find I could not speak, waiting for the next piece of bad news.

  “Is he...” I finally managed but matron just shook her head.

  “He is back from hospital now, but he is not too good, I am afraid. It seems to have affected him pretty badly. I did think about calling you to say not to come, but in truth I think your visit may perk him up a bit.” I nodded and she led me up the stairs to Ron’s room. “But please be aware he does tend to ramble a little.”

  With trepidation I entered Ron’s room, and saw him as before sitting before the open window. I was ashamed to realise that the first thing I looked for was whether the hearing aid was in his ear, and I was pleased to see that it was. Ron however, looked terrible. The left side of his face seemed frozen, and he sat slumped in his chair as I drew closer to him. Matron excused herself and left Ron and I alone.

  “Is that you, Tish?” Came the thin voice from across the room. I drew closer and as he saw me he smiled. “Of course it isn’t.” he slurred, “My dear!” he said, recognising me at last, and attempted to rise to greet me. There was a momentary flash of panic in his eyes when he realised that he could not stand, and then a flash of resignation played upon his stricken face. I simply leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.

  “It’s good to see you, Ron.” I said. “Though I believe you’ve been rather poorly I’m told.” He simply nodded, seeming to be exhausted by the effort, and paused to look past me on the other side of the room.

  “You seem to have brought a ghost with you.” he said simply, still slumped in his chair. “How strange.”

  I looked about me like a fool, but saw nothing. Ron however continued to track something across the room with his eyes that I could not see at all. Ron sat unmoving, and I continued to be dumbstruck at the sight of his deterioration. I looked about me nervously, as if expecting to see something moving out of the corner of my eye, but there was nothing.

  “Don’t worry dear, it’s gone now, Poor thing.” said Ron suddenly, obviously watching my reaction to what he had said.

  “How sad it is to be so far away from home, lost and alone.” he concluded, and a tear formed at the corner of his eye. Then almost in dismissal, he whispered, “If you see Tish tell her I miss her.” and promptly fell asleep. I crept quietly from the room and bumped into matron as she headed up the stairs towards me. Noticing the distressed look upon my face she took my arm and guided me down the stairs. “It won’t be long now, dear.” she said, sadly. “If he needs any help with the hearing aid I’ll let you know but it’s probably for the best not to make any firm appointments.” I mumbled something but cannot really remember what, apart from a request to be informed if there was “any news.” and left the home and slowly made my way back to my car where I sat for a while, composing myself.

  Not a week later the phone rang early evening and matron informed me that Ron had passed away quietly in his sleep. Noting the time of the funeral on a pad I kept by the telephone and confirming to matron that I would be attending; I put the phone down and sat myself down and wept for a while. He was such a sweet old man, and yet something else as well. I could not explain it. That was how I felt.

  ***

  On the day of the funeral I left the house early to drive to the church and got there in plenty of time. As I stood outside the church gate a large old car pulled into the drive and stopped before me. It looked like some sort of car a gangster would drive in the old films, but it was, I discovered of British origin. The long, sleek black bonnet was fronted by an enormous silver grille upon which sat the emblem of a Vikings head all in silver, the large words, “Rover 14” carved carefully onto the metal. It looked like something from another age, and I suppose it was. It looked brand new, the wooden interior gleaming of polished wood as the driver got out, and making his way around the car opened the back door in which the passenger sat. I watched as a tall, dark haired woman took the short squat chauffeurs hand and stepped out of the car and on to the pavement. she stood there looking all about her and then seemed to notice me for the first time and came across to greet me. “I am Tish.” she said solemnly. “I have come for the funeral, but do not know anyone here, I’m afraid.” She paused, standing back to take me in, as it were. “Yet you knew him, I see.” She smiled sweetly. “You bear a gift.” she explained patiently, nodding at my pocket. I simply stood there blinking, not sure where this was heading. She leaned in closely and whispered in my ear as if sharing a secret, “You bear his coin.”

  She was right, of course. I had popped the small coin that Ron had given me into my pocket for some reason that I cannot explain and I pulled it from my pocket and dumbly showed it to her now. “See?” she smiled, and guided my hand back into my pocket. She turned towards the church and sniffed. “Come.” she said. “It is time.”

  ***

  So it was that I stood before the grave, with Tish holding on to my arm at the funeral. The other people there all seemed to be familiar from the home, yet even then there were few of them. Matron stood to one side, and she had nodded to me as I had approached, her eyes taking in the somewhat imposing sight of Tish beside me, which obviously caused her some considerable consternation.
Once the ceremony was over I accompanied Tish back to her long elegant car and she clambered inside. “We shall meet again.” she said to me as the chauffeur waited to close the car door upon her. “When the headstone is finished I shall call upon you to come and see.” I smiled at her and the door was closed. The engine of the car seemed to roar as the long car drove away and just before it rounded the bend Tish waved her arm through the obviously open window in farewell, and she was gone.

  It was to be more than six months until I saw Tish again. One dry sunny Sunday morning I had despaired of ever hearing from her again, and so I took myself off to the supermarket and bought a large bunch of flowers with the intention of laying them on Ron’s grave. I was walking back to my car when I heard a low, deep rumble of a car engine approaching from the other side of the hill and the Rover fourteen drew up alongside the kerb beside me. Inside I saw Tish shuffle along the seat and open the door. “Come, my dear.” she said in her usual deep throated voice. “You have some flowers.” she held up a carefully wrapped flower that was presumably a single rose, it was difficult to say for it was completely covered up. “I have one too. Come along, child.” she said, and motioned for me to get into the car.

  I climbed in and the chauffeur appeared from nowhere and closed the door behind me. I was stunned by just how wonderful the inside of the Rover was. The seats were obviously of leather, but the inside of the car smelt of roses, presumably from the flower that Tish now held to her breast. The wooden finish was obviously real, and was polished to perfection, the knots in the wood clearly visible. Eventually we pulled up at the graveyard and once the car had drawn to the chauffeur appeared once again and opened the door. “Thank you, Mr Hockley.” said Tish as she exited, giving a name at last to the seemingly ever present chauffeur. He merely nodded and waited beside the car as we made our way into the churchyard and eventually towards where I remembered Ron’s grave to be. I was surprised to see a small marble headstone placed on the grave, and as we approached the back of the stone Tish seemed to hesitate for a second and then we made our way around the other graves and found ourselves at the foot of where Ron now lay.