Eighty-nine

A pensioner recalls her youth to a passing door-to-door salesman over tea and biscuits.

Eighty-nine

Ding-dong!

"Hold on, I'll be there in a minute! ... There we are. Hello young man. How can I help you? Oh, well, I don't know if I need that... Why don't you come in and tell me what it is you're selling? Here's the living room, take a seat if you like, don't mind her, she sleeps there most of the day, the little love. What's her name? She's Cottonsocks. I know, it's a silly name, cringe every time I say it, my granddaughter chose it for her when she was a kitten, you have to indulge them, don't you?! Would you like a cup of tea? How do you take it? I'll just be a moment while I put the kettle on.

   There we go, help yourself to biscuits. So what was it you wanted to offer me? Oh, my daughter deals with the utilities bills, tell me anyway, and I'll let her know. Do you have a card? Thanks. Have more biscuits, don't be shy, they're there to be eaten! I remember when the coalman used to do the rounds, there was no choosing from all these companies like nowadays, it was coal fires, electricity and gas, full stop. Everything's so different, but it's all the same at the end of the day.

   When I was at school, we did an exam called School Certificate, the smarter ones went on to do the Higher School Certificate, and the others left at fourteen to work and help the family out with that extra bit of money coming in. It was different then, more about reading, writing, arithmetic, and a good solid rounding in geography and history at least. School days, those were the days, before the war started. I remember how my father would say " If these men can't talk out the issues like civilised adults, they should be put in a boxing ring with boxing gloves and fight it out themselves, instead of sending young men to their deaths. I don't know, if only these things were as simple as that, but even so, even so... getting the more often than not poor to do the dirty work, there was as much spilt blood as tears in that war, and in the end you doubt anything changes, just the way it's done. After I left school, people did the Eleven-Plus, it sounds like one of those liquid supplements the doctor's always trying to get me to add to my diet.

   It was a real shame, my father was on his way to get the 'paper one morning, got caught in a raid, and lost his leg, he was never the same again, still cheery, still father, but you could see it in his eyes, he could never play cricket again and I think that's one of the things that most affected him. There were so many like that, what a waste, what a waste. Oh, look, she's woken, up, you can stroke her if you want, she doesn't scratch, she's a big softie, keeps me company, she's a love, bless 'er. Father was an ARP Warden until his leg. I worked in a factory by day, I was lucky I had a job and didn't have to stay at home as I hadn't married young, we made parts for aeroplanes, it was hard work, and we got paid less than the men, but you couldn't complain, and it was everyone pulling together, real spirit.

   I was an Air Raid Warden too, they took anyone able and willing to do it, it wasn't paid, we did it for each other's sake. I was eighteen when I started being a Warden, I'll never forget those days, the steel helmet with the white "W" on it, that ugly gas-mask, the blackout lamp, the bell, the armlet, the ARP badge, that lovely whistle " I still have a few bits of my kit upstairs, they're in a box in the attic somewhere. We would patrol the streets during the blackout with our lamps, sometimes shouting up at windows "Put that light out!", you weren't even allowed to light a cigarette in the street at night in those days.

   We had to do a training course, we learnt how to distinguish different gasses with little vials; everybody knew which planes were which by the engine sounds " you didn't need to do a course to know them, needless to say; first aid; how to keep people calm; how to fill the Incident Report Form in after an attack; how to extinguish fires and incendiary fires " dirty bombs which could burn for days if they weren't attended to immediately. Of course a lot of the skills you learnt on the job. We'd dig in rubble to look for survivors, get them off to the hospital, or find the dead, it wasn't a picnic... there were teenagers who worked as Fire Guard Messengers, they'd run or cycle through the night raids to pass the messages from ARPs and fire departments, such brave little things they were - we couldn't rely on 'phones at that time as they could be bombed out of action. Funfh, not like these mobiles nowadays, my Sharon got me one years ago but I find it so hard to use, the buttons are so small, and when I go to answer I often accidentally hang up, or make calls by accident and she hears the contents of my handbag.

   More tea, love? Go on " the biscuits want you to eat them, I can see you want another, finish the plate off, feel at home. Oh, I say, I'm here waffling on, you must think I'm a little doolally, a dizzy old lady, and you must have work to do. - Eh? You're not in a hurry, you say, you don't make much money anyway, I know, I know, times are hard, it's a shame for you youngsters. My Sharon's been lucky, she was born in 'fifty, she did O-Levels, she got a good education, she even went to university, she's something important at a bank, I can't remember what, started as a clerk and worked her way up, a good lass, disciplined, hard-working, clever, her father would be proud if he were here to see her.

   She married in 'eighty-one, a beautiful day, beautiful, still brings tears to my eyes. Her husband, Malcolm used to do something with roads, he was an engineer and set up on his own company, he's retired now, wanted to spend more time in the garden hybridising his roses, loves roses, retired more than comfortably, still works behind the scenes too, lovely lad. Mind you, I remember the first few years weren't easy. I think he thought I meddled in their relationship, maybe I did, I don't think so. I recollect one day I'd gone to theirs for lunch, long time ago, and " funny, aren't we funny things " I'd never realised that he liked the sugar bowl to be between the salt and pepper and the oil and vinegar set, I gave them that, and I'd always put it to the side of them, it seemed to look nicer to me there, sugar is sugar and condiments are condiments. Well, that day he got all angry and said to me "You silly old woman! Put the sugar back in the right place for once!" I was quite shocked, I hadn't even realised it mattered so much to him, don't like to tread on anybody's toes, especially in their own home. Well, as he huffily put it back where it mattered to him, I put my hand on his, and said, "Malcolm. I'm sorry, really. But that's no way to speak to a lady, and especially your wife's mother. Really, Malcolm, shame on you! And I'll have you know, I've dug out more wounded and dead from bombed-out houses than you've had hot dinners, you impetulant whippersnapper. I apologise for the sugar bowl. Now, everything better, you're like my son, don't forget it.", he looked sheepish, and quite right too, and mumbled an apology - those are the only cross words we've ever had. He's a lovely man, helps me no end here, fixes things, takes Cottonsocks to the vet for me, a lovely man, I'm so glad Sharon married well " not the money, the man.

   They brought me here in two thousand; heehee - my granny flat, Sharon wanted me closer, she worries a lot, you know, and it was a surprise, Malcolm picked me up one Sunday for lunch an hour early, and they showed me it and said it was mine if I wanted, a lovely present. I have savings and I don't know what to do with them, they won't take any money for rent or anything, they don't even let me pay the bills, very nice of them, very nice. Still, made me feel old, I don't like feeling old. Every day I get up, put the dentures in, and do five minutes stretching exercises, good for the body and good for the mind. I'm eighty-nine, not long to go, but still, they tell me to spend my money, but I don't want anything, I don't want to go on biddy cruises, I'm happy here, with Cottonsocks, and I've made provisions for my grandchildren's future, it makes me sad, they'll need it, I don't know what the future holds for them, but I'm almost glad to have been alive when I have.

   I hate to be a fuddy-duddy, but there's no decency anymore, I don't mean you, it's the leaders, the companies, all faceless, rude, accountable to no-one, some shameless. There are no Churchills " he wasn't a saint but he was a statesman, didn't sell the country, wasn't like some abroad who are mere village idiot crooks lining their cynical pockets. I'm sorry son, it didn't used to be like this, at least it didn't seem like this " no jobs, no scruples, no community, no future, no nothing. I listen to the radio every day, I used to read a lot, but now it's hard even with these glasses, I like the afternoon plays, and the news, it's all lies as well, but you get an idea at least, and do you know " I've been counting, every day for the last two months, I hadn't been paying attention before, every day there is a story of a suicide bomber somewhere, what is the world coming to..., there is nothing noble in upholding ideas by murdering your fellow men and women at the marketplace and throwing your own life away. I blame those nasty old men who brainwash them with mistruths, waste good lives and destroy good people, for their belligerent intolerant ideas, it's a disgrace. Like father said, if it matters so much to them, and debate is beneath them, they should get in a boxing ring and fight it out themselves,and leave you youngsters out of it, I care not for their excuses about this and that, two wrongs don't make a right, ever.

   You know, the war, it still upsets me to think what we found out, maybe it's a lie but there's no smoke without fire, that it was more to do with making money. We got wind that the same men egged things on, lent money to both sides, made a fortune from ammunition sales, loans for the war itself, and loans for rebuilding all our destroyed countries afterwards, the same sorry men, I hope you never sink so low chasing pennies, but you look a good lad, you have a clean face, I can see it in your eyes.

   Would you like a sandwich? More tea? The war...? Ooof, there's so much to tell, I wouldn't know where to start even. I remember the Anderson shelters we'd hide in during the raids, you could get six people in there, sometimes eight at a push but you weren't supposed to, but sometimes you had to run for cover wherever you were. The problem with those was that in winter they got ever so cold and damp, and would sometimes flood. They were bedrooms in the garden, and they kept many of us alive. Then they made the Morrison Shelters, like metal cages in the living room, they doubled up as dinner tables during the day, sleeping in those was funny, frightening, cramped, but you had to laugh about it.

   People in London would shelter in the Underground, they all pulled together, some stations had canteens and toilets, they had bunk beds, even businesses and government offices were installed in some. At first the government didn't allow people to use the Tube stations, they said they would encourage diseases, and people would stay in there day and night, but in the end they had to accept that we needed somewhere to hide from the bombing raids. Terrible, terrible it all was. My husband was at the front, he was lucky to make it back alive and in one piece, so many didn't. We met in 'forty-seven when I was working as a secretary, not quite as fun as making 'planes, but still, he was an omnibus driver. I still miss him. He'd wake up screaming, screaming, remembering things he nor other men should ever see or have to do, screaming, it took him years to get over it.

   It was hard after the war, no jobs, no money, no food, such misery, like now, but we all soldiered on and things slowly got better. You have to remember that... What's your name?... John, You have to remember that John, it all goes round in circles, don't ask me why it isn't a straight line that gets ever better, some decades are worse, others are better, it all goes round in circles. Well, I mustn't keep you, I'm sure you're a busy man, and the sales won't wait, 'though I'm loving your company, and Cottonsocks seems to have taken a liking to you " she's a good judge of character. I'll give Sharon your card and tell her what you showed me, I don't see any real savings with your offer, but still, you never know, we may call you tomorrow, about tennish?, you never know. Chin up, John, stiff upper lip, todays always end and tomorrows always begin. Here, here, take some biscuits with you, please. Tennish, okey-dokey. Tatty-bye!"

Author's Note

I know this is a little simple in appearance, I try to make my short stories/flashfiction comprehensible to all ages and walks of life (except other stories of mine which deal with adult issues). Maybe my writing is rather wooden, feel free to tell me.

Reviews

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

I really enjoyed this story. There were many things done well, but I enjoyed your ability to use the illusion of time the most. The way you have the reader phase in and out of the past into the present was flawless. The structure of this story made those transitions seamless. I love the concept. The imagery was vivid and just like a real conversation with such an interesting person, I read along wanting more and more. Great Work!

[Daniel Sala]

Thank you, an interesting review, that's very kind of you indeed.

[Woody]

I've been reading for long years and, if my memory serves me right, I've never read anything like this before. this one-sided conversation is wonderfully executed. an endearing character. with a bit of history thrown in. a delightful read indeed.

[emmajoy]

This is wonderful! The woman's character physical and cerebral is so clear, and delightfully lovable - there are quite a few of these ladies in England, in fact, I'm sure i recognise her! Your writing is very fluid, flows beautifully, drifts into descriptions calmly and cohesively, gives great touches of time past that add to the woman's persona. And in spite of the almost deliberate guile of the lady she really is a darling.. and so too is the door.to.door salesman who stays long enough to discover what and who live behind her door. In fact, tis said that every door and face has its own tale to tell. True here for sure.

[Daniel Sala]

Hi Emma, thanks for the comprehensive review, your feedback helps a lot with regard to seeing where one is going with writing, most appreciated. True, eh, there are people like this lady in many places who knock the socks off fops like myself of later generations.
Many thanks.

[Jaimie Hollick]

I like that we never hear the other person, keeps you intrigued. I kept waiting for the character she's talking to to finally say something or to get a bit of description of them.

[Daniel Sala]

Thanks Jaimie, a valid point. The salesman is a prop for the ladies monologue, and in my mind is a nondescript twenty-something with little to say, one of the thousands of people in cheap suits trying to make a living doing door-to-door, he just sits there scoffing biscuits absorbed in her recounting her memories. Also, I often avoid details so as to make places or people available to the reader to imagine and fit into their own world.
Your comment is very interesting and helpful, actually, thank you.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I could hear this dear, sweet lady in my head. She just prattled on and on and on, and I don't know that John got a word in edgewise. I'm reminded of those who'll come to your door and spend thirty minutes talking about how busy they are and how they have so much to do and how they just don't have any time. LOL!

They say that those who are unaware of history are bound to repeat it. Unfortunately, so many today are ignorant of history and are marching straight toward that same end. It's the older and wiser among us who know the history, and I think it's important that we listen to what they have to say.

In the whole of this one-sided conversation, this lady has taken us through politics, the war, and poverty, Yet, she's so optimistic and positive. I love that.

You did a wonderful job at giving this lady a voice, and it's not wooden at all. She's vivacious, lively, and humorous. And most definitely, she's not boring.

[Daniel Sala]

I'm getting distracted from work again, WritersCafe is a lovely vice, so much to read and enjoy here...
Your kind review is appreciated, it helps to see things through the eyes of others, ...more biscuits or tea, Linda...?!, I'm glad you get the person/character and the underlying message I wanted to convey, that makes me happy, thank you.

[Lyn Anderson]

Yeah, my mind always turns to a surprise at the end, and not a very nice one, but that is just me. Overall an interesting read, with a few minor corrections that were previously mentioned.

[Daniel Sala]

Thanks for the fair and honest review, your opinion is valued. I try to write "nice" sometimes as a lot of my other work is harsh or sarcastic/satirical.

[Sami Khalil]

"There are no Churchills " he wasn't a saint but he was a statesman, didn't sell the country, wasn't like some abroad who are mere village idiot crooks lining their cynical pockets."

Amazing as a whole and those words are so true...Bravo

[Daniel Sala]

Thank you, coming from yourself that is a much appreciated compliment. Sad that the sentence you put in the comment is true for too many, thank goodness some of them still try to be states(wo)men.

[Sami Khalil]

Wow. So ture...You are welcome...:)...................

[Tam Warink]

I like it, Daniel. Very much. The character/voice isn't as wooden as you may think. I did get a sort of image of the speaker but it was just an outline; nothing firm or solid. Of course the cat-queue was great. Instantly saw the feet and a curled up ball of fat fur in on overstuffed something-or-other. The encounter with the son-in-law was firmly delicate and would be in character for someone of that generation too. The best part for me was the rambling history lesson from the perspective of someone that has actually lived through it. It's difficult for someone outside of the culture to make that sort of stuff up. You must have absorbed it from your mother or others in the know and it shows in the writing. The speech almost has enough clues to profile the location if one were an expert of that sort. (Not me.) All in all, a most delightful story to read. Thank you!

[Daniel Sala]

Hi Tam, thanks for your input, great to know how others see this piece.

[prince]

Its a good story. I enjoyed a lot reading

[Daniel Sala]

Thanks Prince, that's nice to hear.

[zainul]

I took almost two days to read this.
I tried to relate and compare your piece with the situations/events that happened in Bangladesh.
I feel very much enlightened by this work.
Thanks for sharing the great write.

[Daniel Sala]

Hi Zainul, that's very kind of you. ...Excuse my probable ignorance: Which situations/events in Bangladesh are you referring to, please?

[zainul]

You are most welcome,Daniel.
I am referring to the liberation war of Bangladesh.
You may love to read a poem about the war in this site.
This is the link of the poem:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zainul/993057/

[Daniel Sala]

Thanks for the explanation, I'll take a look at the poem now. I had a quick peek at your web, it's very interesting, I haven't had time to explore indepth yet as there are always too many things to do each day..., but I noticed a lot of interesting articles there.

[zainul]

You are always welcome.
I understand your nice gesture to me.
Please read the contents in relaxed mood.