into the free, all roads lead to home.
14:00
The Zafira was surprisingly easy to drive (if you don't count the number of kerbs I clipped and grass banks I drove along forgetting how wide it was) One thing did irk me greatly; the Jag, old and drafty had years of service and as such was as much as Xanthic as his coat and shoes and with that when I was in it, whether with its owner or no, it sang with rhythm played on brass and string. I would often drive the long way just to enjoy it.
The Zaf was deadly quiet. The small engine had power but nothing impressive when I revved it at traffic lights. There was no aura, no sound so I resorted to the radio.
The local station news for the area was on, a young sounding woman with a Southern accent was forcing laughter at the male host's terrible jokes between news stories; then the tail end of something caught my ear.
"......the pentagram was carved onto the tree and then the police chased the naked girls into the woods but none were found." Said the female voice
"I bet the police could have found those crazy girls if they followed the psycho path!" The make drone followed by more fake laughter.
"And one final note, the wild cat of Wykham has struck again and another sheep has been found dragged into the forest and ripped apart; so if you're out late in the woods tonight walking dogs keep safe. Stay tuned after the break for the weather and local traffic reports." The female voice ended and the last word before the ads went to the male vocal.
"Yes, anyone out tonight in the woods stay safe while dogging." And a jingle so saccharine forced me to turn the radio off and drive the rest of the way in silence.
I drove into a small village on the request of the sat-nav and found myself driving down a tunnel made of trees arching over the winding road; dappled green light shone through sparse gaps in the heavy foliage. The road turned and I headed up a hill, the trees thinned and fields edged by wirery hedges. The sat-nav asked me to turn left and promised I would reach my destination in 200 yards.
A driveway presented itself and I slowed to pass through the wrought iron gates and then to a halt outside a small single story cottage that sat just the other side. The driveway travelled further so I pulled over along side the cottage so other vehicles could pass.
I checked the name on the sat-nav to the name on the carved wooden sign (this cottage was beautiful, roses around the door, old turf stretching around gnarled trees and expertly tended flower beds - my luck does not normally stretch this far) The names matched, but as I stepped out of the car actually thinking I had the luck of an Angel my hopes were dashed.
An elderly man in a once brown cardigan, now faded and sagging out of any recognisable shape. His hair, what little he had left, was grey white and long strands curled around his gold wire framed glasses. He was smaller than me and twice as wide and smelled of rich tea biscuits. Any thought that he was a caretaker or grounds man were dashed as shortly after he stepped from the red glossed door came an equally old and grey lady in a checked long sleeved dress, cardigan and scarf (in the middle of Summer) a thick chain hung around her neck with thick rimmed and even thicker lensed glasses; she had a small plastic bag and in a cheery voice asked him to drop it in the bins on his way past.
They both saw me and smiled. The old lady drawing closer to stand next to her elderly husband. It was amazing how alike they were in height, width and stature; although where the man had a pronounced belly even in his baggy clothes, she had huge country breasts equally as outstanding in matching bagginess of dress.
"Good afternoon Dear." Annie said, she introduced herself and her husband Clive to me and commented on everything from the weather to the way the water tastes different these days, she even said how pretty I was and she didn't get to see many young lasses at her door.
"Excuse me Annie." I said interrupting her before she could get into her family history and what her Grandchildren are studying at college. Clive stood meekly by her side silent and showing all signs of enjoying the one-sided conversation (that or he secretly could leave his body for a higher plain and just leave a contented open face behind - wish I had that talent.)
"I'm trying to find this address, I thought it was here but I must be mistaken, can you help me with directions?" I held up a scrap of yellowing paper with the address written in my scrawled handwriting.
"Fernum." Annie said reading the paper after lifting up her glasses from her chest and then looking at me, I wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement so I was about to elaborate when Clive suddenly reappeared from his stupor.
"Why yes, you want the house." He said
I was about to state I was at the house and that I didn't understand when he raised an arm slow and shaky to point down the lane.
"You want the big house, its down there. You must be from the Master, he said someone would be coming to stay for a few days about now last time he was here and he's left provisions to make you comfortable."
"He was here recently?" I asked, wondering how unless he had driven down here whilst I was in hospital.
"No Dear," Said Annie walking back towards the cottage. "He hasn't been this way for best part of fifteen years. Come inside and I'll get you the key."
The cottage was warm, I checked and the radiators were on full even in mid July. Clutter, ornaments and pictures either hung on the wall everywhere a window wasn't or placed on every flat surface, not already occupied by ceramic thimbles or plaster animals, other than the floor which was already over flowing with rugs and runners. There was one main room which encompassed the living area, kitchen and dining room with two doors on the back wall and one on the side, I assumed bedroom and bathroom side by side and from the view through the glass panel on the third door this led to the outside again. Everything inside was brown, different shades of brown, tan, coffee, chocolate, tawny, umber and wood fought for prominence while my eyes were fighting to find colour.
Annie reached up to a little wooden spice rack that was mostly empty bar two old sticky jars of unidentifiable spices and a run of small brass hooks under the rack held more keys than practically possible. She rooted through the multitude of small padlock and widow keys, mortise and cylinder keys and old keys on rings of string; once satisfied she had found the right one, Annie handed me a long black key, bent slightly halfway down the shaft: It was dusty and ancient.
I thanked Annie and then Clive, who had returned from the garden with some cut logs and placed them on a pile near the unlit chimney. Annie wished me well and said she'll bring round some fresh milk on her way back from bingo at the village hall.
Clive walked me back to my car and I tried for small talk. I asked how he and his wife had come to live in such a beautiful cottage and he said it was a gift from the owner of the big house to her grandfather many years ago for faithful service and it was written into the deeds of the estate that the gate house was theirs for as long as the family stay in residence.
"Take care child." Clive said as I unlocked the Zaf's door and sat down. I said I would and said I would see him again soon; thanked him once again, started the car and drove down along the lane to its end, where my heart skipped and I expelled a bust of laughter. The house at the end was huge! O.K it was no mansion or large country manor but it was by far the biggest I had ever had the pleasure to stay in. Three obvious stories and eight windows wide with exposed black painted beams running between them all. A large oval sat in front large enough to park a fleet of cars and still have room for a bus. I think I may enjoy this assignment after all.
The Zafira was surprisingly easy to drive (if you don't count the number of kerbs I clipped and grass banks I drove along forgetting how wide it was) One thing did irk me greatly; the Jag, old and drafty had years of service and as such was as much as Xanthic as his coat and shoes and with that when I was in it, whether with its owner or no, it sang with rhythm played on brass and string. I would often drive the long way just to enjoy it.
The Zaf was deadly quiet. The small engine had power but nothing impressive when I revved it at traffic lights. There was no aura, no sound so I resorted to the radio.
The local station news for the area was on, a young sounding woman with a Southern accent was forcing laughter at the male host's terrible jokes between news stories; then the tail end of something caught my ear.
"......the pentagram was carved onto the tree and then the police chased the naked girls into the woods but none were found." Said the female voice
"I bet the police could have found those crazy girls if they followed the psycho path!" The make drone followed by more fake laughter.
"And one final note, the wild cat of Wykham has struck again and another sheep has been found dragged into the forest and ripped apart; so if you're out late in the woods tonight walking dogs keep safe. Stay tuned after the break for the weather and local traffic reports." The female voice ended and the last word before the ads went to the male vocal.
"Yes, anyone out tonight in the woods stay safe while dogging." And a jingle so saccharine forced me to turn the radio off and drive the rest of the way in silence.
I drove into a small village on the request of the sat-nav and found myself driving down a tunnel made of trees arching over the winding road; dappled green light shone through sparse gaps in the heavy foliage. The road turned and I headed up a hill, the trees thinned and fields edged by wirery hedges. The sat-nav asked me to turn left and promised I would reach my destination in 200 yards.
A driveway presented itself and I slowed to pass through the wrought iron gates and then to a halt outside a small single story cottage that sat just the other side. The driveway travelled further so I pulled over along side the cottage so other vehicles could pass.
I checked the name on the sat-nav to the name on the carved wooden sign (this cottage was beautiful, roses around the door, old turf stretching around gnarled trees and expertly tended flower beds - my luck does not normally stretch this far) The names matched, but as I stepped out of the car actually thinking I had the luck of an Angel my hopes were dashed.
An elderly man in a once brown cardigan, now faded and sagging out of any recognisable shape. His hair, what little he had left, was grey white and long strands curled around his gold wire framed glasses. He was smaller than me and twice as wide and smelled of rich tea biscuits. Any thought that he was a caretaker or grounds man were dashed as shortly after he stepped from the red glossed door came an equally old and grey lady in a checked long sleeved dress, cardigan and scarf (in the middle of Summer) a thick chain hung around her neck with thick rimmed and even thicker lensed glasses; she had a small plastic bag and in a cheery voice asked him to drop it in the bins on his way past.
They both saw me and smiled. The old lady drawing closer to stand next to her elderly husband. It was amazing how alike they were in height, width and stature; although where the man had a pronounced belly even in his baggy clothes, she had huge country breasts equally as outstanding in matching bagginess of dress.
"Good afternoon Dear." Annie said, she introduced herself and her husband Clive to me and commented on everything from the weather to the way the water tastes different these days, she even said how pretty I was and she didn't get to see many young lasses at her door.
"Excuse me Annie." I said interrupting her before she could get into her family history and what her Grandchildren are studying at college. Clive stood meekly by her side silent and showing all signs of enjoying the one-sided conversation (that or he secretly could leave his body for a higher plain and just leave a contented open face behind - wish I had that talent.)
"I'm trying to find this address, I thought it was here but I must be mistaken, can you help me with directions?" I held up a scrap of yellowing paper with the address written in my scrawled handwriting.
"Fernum." Annie said reading the paper after lifting up her glasses from her chest and then looking at me, I wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement so I was about to elaborate when Clive suddenly reappeared from his stupor.
"Why yes, you want the house." He said
I was about to state I was at the house and that I didn't understand when he raised an arm slow and shaky to point down the lane.
"You want the big house, its down there. You must be from the Master, he said someone would be coming to stay for a few days about now last time he was here and he's left provisions to make you comfortable."
"He was here recently?" I asked, wondering how unless he had driven down here whilst I was in hospital.
"No Dear," Said Annie walking back towards the cottage. "He hasn't been this way for best part of fifteen years. Come inside and I'll get you the key."
The cottage was warm, I checked and the radiators were on full even in mid July. Clutter, ornaments and pictures either hung on the wall everywhere a window wasn't or placed on every flat surface, not already occupied by ceramic thimbles or plaster animals, other than the floor which was already over flowing with rugs and runners. There was one main room which encompassed the living area, kitchen and dining room with two doors on the back wall and one on the side, I assumed bedroom and bathroom side by side and from the view through the glass panel on the third door this led to the outside again. Everything inside was brown, different shades of brown, tan, coffee, chocolate, tawny, umber and wood fought for prominence while my eyes were fighting to find colour.
Annie reached up to a little wooden spice rack that was mostly empty bar two old sticky jars of unidentifiable spices and a run of small brass hooks under the rack held more keys than practically possible. She rooted through the multitude of small padlock and widow keys, mortise and cylinder keys and old keys on rings of string; once satisfied she had found the right one, Annie handed me a long black key, bent slightly halfway down the shaft: It was dusty and ancient.
I thanked Annie and then Clive, who had returned from the garden with some cut logs and placed them on a pile near the unlit chimney. Annie wished me well and said she'll bring round some fresh milk on her way back from bingo at the village hall.
Clive walked me back to my car and I tried for small talk. I asked how he and his wife had come to live in such a beautiful cottage and he said it was a gift from the owner of the big house to her grandfather many years ago for faithful service and it was written into the deeds of the estate that the gate house was theirs for as long as the family stay in residence.
"Take care child." Clive said as I unlocked the Zaf's door and sat down. I said I would and said I would see him again soon; thanked him once again, started the car and drove down along the lane to its end, where my heart skipped and I expelled a bust of laughter. The house at the end was huge! O.K it was no mansion or large country manor but it was by far the biggest I had ever had the pleasure to stay in. Three obvious stories and eight windows wide with exposed black painted beams running between them all. A large oval sat in front large enough to park a fleet of cars and still have room for a bus. I think I may enjoy this assignment after all.
Comments
Post a Comment