The Angel of Mons - Chapter nine

Ten

George smiled broadly as he watched Joseph play. They sat on the sun soaked terrace the child’s wooden toys spread in orderly rows. Joseph purred when he pushed the cars and peeped as he dragged the large red-wheeled train across the warm slabs.
George perched on the front edge of his deck chair, his large rimmed hat protecting him from sun. His eyes never left the child. His face beamed as he held his head to one side. Occasionally, Joseph would break from his play and look up at him. His dark eyes squinting slightly his tanned face glowing his long dark wavy hair blowing gently in the slight breeze. He would grin a gapie smile and hold out his hand opening and closing the fingers into a tiny fist. “Hello George,” he said before chuckling and returning to his play.
“Good morning Joseph.”
Graham could be heard in the garage clattering around. Suddenly the large doors that led from the garage to the garden swung open and he appeared pushing the green petrol powered lawn mower. Bully stirred from his slumber next to George, and fully aware of what was about to happen he made his way quickly into the house. The mower rolled over loose pebbles on the path, which scraped and snapped noisily as its heavy roller weighed down on the tiny brittle stones. Joseph jumped and ran over to George. He leant against George’s leg and buried his face into his knee.
“Do you have to do that now?” shouted George who gently ran his fingers through the child’s hair.
Graham looked down at his brother and then at Joseph. His face remained unchanged. “I thought we could perhaps go for a drive later.”
“I promised I would look after Joseph for Terri, she is having a driving lesson.”
Graham made no reply; he simply looked to the blue sky and marched into the house where he noisily set about the washing up, forcing Bully to once again feel the need to abandon his position which he did with an irritable snort.
George felt the child was growing so quickly that he could almost see him changing in front of his very eyes. He saw his teeth break through and watched as uncertain steps developed into sure-footed strides across the garden. He listened as his voice formed and his opinions and feelings became clear and understandable. George watched Joseph’s face change, he watched his expressions become animated and real. He watched him laugh and smile, make jokes and play, and as Joseph grew older, George felt in himself that perhaps he were growing younger.
He watched the seasons change, and summer turn to autumn and winter. He watched the Christmas tree lights glisten in Joseph’s eyes as they sat by the fire and listened to Carols on the radio.
On Joseph’s fifth birthday, George had insisted that Graham hunt out a large chest that he had brought from the Gables. It was George’s special chest, and to Graham’s knowledge, it had not been opened for at least thirty years.
George insisted it was put in the room they used as their study and then quietly he asked Graham to leave and to take Bully with him.
George sat by his father’s old desk, which virtually filled the room and stared at the dusty brown box in front of him. It had large leather hinges which were strapped down and buckled at the front. In the centre, was a copper plated key whole which was green and speckled around the edges.
George sighed and stroked his chin; he gritted his teeth and pulled a small key from the pocket of his shirt. His hand was shacking slightly as he reached over to the case and gently slid the key into the lock. It clicked as it released and George’s shoulders tensed. He sat back hesitantly and looked to the ceiling as if in search of guidance. Suddenly he lurched forward and lifted the lid. He exhaled as if in relief, as if he had been afraid that something were going to leap out at him, as if he were happy that some danger had passed.
His shaking hands lowered into the case and he smiled. He lifted a tiny white smock with a large blue collar and a pair of tiny matching white trousers that completed the beautifully made sailor suit. He held them to his face and inhaled through his nose. He lifted out a little straw hat and a white christening shawl, more clothes, small suits, jackets and trousers for a small boy, a tiny pair of red shoes that were roughly scuffed on the toes. George ran his thumb over the marks, his mouth smiled but his eyes were glazed and distant.
He lifted out a large sealed brown envelope, and as he did, George exhaled deeply. He held it for a moment before turning it over and examining the back. George bit his lip and then slowly returned the package to the dark depths of the chest.
George slipped slowly from his chair and knelt awkwardly by the box. He reached in with both hands and felt around under the piles of old clothes. Suddenly he stopped and his eyes opened wide. He strained, pulled and lifted a large brown cardboard box from the bottom of the chest.
It had a large blue faded ribbon tied carefully around it. “Yes,” whispered George triumphantly as he struggled to lift himself up onto the chair once more, the box resting precariously on his lap. He sat for a number of minutes his fingers running under the ribbons touching the large black lettering on the lid. His eyes stared at a point on the floor in front of him, his thoughts far away in another time, at another place, to George perhaps during another life.
Eventually he stiffened, put the clothes back into the chest, locked it and left the house. He instructed Graham to return the chest to loft and ignoring his enquiries as to what was in the box, he left the house and moments later was standing by the fire in the living room of his neighbours.
“I bought it from Harrods in London on my way back from France in 1919. As you can see, it has never been used and,” he paused for a moment and shrugged his shoulders and looked up at Terri as she came from the kitchen where she had been preparing their Christmas dinner, “and I thought it was high time it was,” he continued while handing the box to Jerry.
“My God George we cant accept this, it must be worth a fortune,” said Jerry as he looked down at the box, his eyes wide flicking from George to the box from the box to Terri as if trying to prompt her to protest as well.
“You must take it, please, I always intended it to be played with and thought your children would like it. It was only gathering dust.” George paused and nodded at Terri, she smiled at him and reaching over she gently squeezed his arm.
“Jerry get George a drink, will Graham join us?”
George insisted that he would only trouble them for a quick drink and insisted that his brother be left to peel the potatoes.
The four children lay on their fronts in a circle around the completed track. Two shining red metal carriages stood on the rails. They were painted with tiny details including windows, that featured smiling faces, a soldier, a man with a pipe and woman in black with a large rimmed hat - a beautiful woman with a broad mysterious smile returning from an adventure of some sort perhaps. Jerry gently turned the large metal key and placed the detailed metal locomotive in front of the procession taking care to hook the carriages and the engine together. “Joseph,” he said pointing to the side of the train, “push this leaver to make it go.”
George watched their eyes follow the train around the track time and time again. They seemed not even to blink.
Terri put her arm around George’s waist and smiled up at him. He continued to watch the children watch the train. “Merry Christmas, and a happy birthday to you Joseph. God bless you all,” he said quietly.
The New Year came and the world slipped back into its usual rhythm. Joseph visited often, the door was never locked and George looked forward to hearing the sound of the handle creak as the child stretched up to let himself into the kitchen. And George loved to give him small gifts. Items he too had once loved so much as a child. A silver napkin ring that had belonged to his father. A book on the history of the world which he remembered reading. It was a huge musty blue leather bound volume filled with bright illustrations of a distant, innocent, almost magical world full of Kings and Queens of countries long since consumed by conflict and hatred, and lands full of people who lived in caves.
The ice of winter melted. The splendour of a new summer dawned in a splash of yellow. And George began to feel the sun on his back as walked around the garden closely followed as always by Bully, both of them admiring the new flowers and looking forward to the arrival of the new warm season.

Soon autumn came and Joseph’s first day at school marked a break in routine. George passed his time around the house busying himself with small chores. Dusting and cleaning windows. He walked around the garden removing the heads of flowers now retreating in readiness for the approaching winter. George looked constantly at his watch which seemed to drag so, each minute feeling more like an hour. Worst of all George knew that this was how it was going to be from now on. There would be weekends, but each day Monday to Friday Joseph would be at school and George would have to fill his days as best he could. Graham George and Bulls-eye drove out to the reservoirs and watched the gathering of geese preparing to leave for warmer climes. Bully enthusiastically helping them on their way as he chased them from the bank, the heavy birds hooting into the sky above. The three of them sat on a long wooden bench and George felt his head grow heavy and his eyes slowly close. Graham smiled at his brother and stretched his arm behind his shoulders on the back of the seat. A large grey dog sniffed around them causing Bully to whimper timidly. A gaggle of walkers appeared and headed toward them along the gravel path.
Inside Georges mind the sound of the boots on stone set his mind to another time, he thought he had looked to his left and as his head slowly turned he saw them marching toward him. George smiled. They were just as he had remembered. Smart, long jawed determined and proud. They moved as one in formation. Their eyes were fixed forward and their heads held high. They were young and so full of life. It had been such a very long time thought George, since that morning in at the end of June when he had marched the Oakley boys down the support trench to the front line. But to him they had not changed at all. They were as they were then and as they will be forever more.
George raised his head with a start, the sound around him had changed, a breeze blew across his face he shivered a little - they were gone.
“We must plan our days a little better perhaps,” said Graham, “make more of them. What do you say? Can you think of anywhere you would like to go and see.”
“Oakley,” said George enthusiastically, “I really would like to go to Oakley.” Graham looked a little startled by the promptness of his reply.
“Oakley? Well I have no idea where that is, but if that is where you would like to go then Oakley it is,” he announced laughing and slowly shaking his head.