sons

Tuesday Tiny Tale – The Letter

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If you are reading this I am probably dead. I wonder who found me? A police officer, the neighbours… did my solicitor pass the letter on to you?

Of course, it may be that you yourself called in unexpectedly and got a shock. But this is not a suicide note. I have no idea as I write this when or how I might die. I am fit and well, but it is the elderly well living alone who are prone to dropping dead suddenly, a nice way to go for the deceased, maybe not for anyone else involved, so best to be prepared. Hopefully my departure will be dignified, tucked up in bed or sitting in my recliner with a good book in my lap, not the way your poor father went.

I could be a skeleton, preferable to a less advanced state of decomposition. Perhaps if you had phoned more often, or at all, I would not have reached that state. Scooped up by the council for a pauper’s funeral.

There is no need to contact my solicitor; no money, no house to sell, I did one of those release your capital schemes. I had a great time spending it on myself, or rather working out how best to spend it on myself. Tried a cruise, but that was full of old people, too depressing, though it livened up when a chap fell overboard. You wouldn’t believe how long it takes a floating tower block to stop, let alone turn around. Of course there was no chance of finding him. His wife apologised for us missing our next port and urged the captain to get underway. We reassured her that she might as well enjoy the rest of the cruise.

Where was I, oh yes, in the end I decided to buy an art gallery and exhibit the entire collection of my art. The young man next door got down those larger paintings you put in the loft. I am having a good deal of success under my pseudonym. I also have an adjacent studio, exploring my third age creativity and inviting young artists to share the space.  If you came across my gallery you would be unlikely to recognise it as mine as you never looked at any of my paintings or sculptures.

Well Michael, it was good while it lasted, until you were about ten. Enjoy the rest of your life.

                            Mother

‘Amelia, Mrs Haversham, can you hear me, I’m a doctor, you’re in hospital. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, you have been in a coma for three months, you had a stroke. Your son is here. …Talk to her Michael… ‘

‘Hello Mother, I got your letter.’

Thursday Tiny Tale -Last Words

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Where can it be?

Goodness knows, we’ve looked in all the likely places, but there’s so much junk stuffed everywhere.

Don’t sneer, could be valuables hiding amongst the rubbish.

Ah ha, this could be interesting, Diary 1949 …

’I am determined to write in this every day, so many exciting things happening to me at the moment. Tricia had a new year’s party and her brother chatted to me!!! He is going to call me on our new telephone.’

Oh no, that’s all she wrote, bet he didn’t phone her.

Here’s a hopeful looking envelope…

‘To my grandchildren’

Bad luck on that front Mum…

Open it then.

‘I know everything is electronic now, but newspapers are a wonderful record of everyday life. I saved a newspaper from every eventful day starting with the day Giles was born right up to William and Catherine’s royal wedding; if you’re doing a school project or even a history degree they could come in handy.’

Oh that would be interesting, a newspaper from the day I was born…

Bad luck Giles, we put all those boxes of papers in the recycling bin when we tackled the loft, anyway, you can look them up on line…

Now this envelope looks a lot more hopeful.

‘If you find a pair of pink gloves I bought them on holiday. I remember taking them out of my suitcase, then I never saw them again.’

Perhaps she wasn’t joking when she said there was a secret drawer in that awful old bureau.

Oh look, our homemade birthday cards…

Never mind those, get a tape measure and work out if there’s a false back, or feel around for some secret levers.

We’re not taking it to Antiques Roadshow, let’s try that small panel with a screwdriver.

Well I never, why would she leave a letter to me hidden away?

Open it then, don’t keep us in suspense.

‘My Darling Giles, you always wanted to know the truth; the truth about your father.  I’m afraid I have to tell you, hard though it will be to come to terms, my husband was your father and the father of your younger brothers. I know he was very boring, but I’m afraid I did not have an affair with some splendidly exotic chap, goodness knows where you get your good looks from.

Oh at last, you’re no better than us Darling Giles, even if you were Mum’s favourite.

But is that it then, what happened to

‘All will be revealed in the house when I’m gone.’

She said that about ten years ago, probably forgot to leave the clues.

Now we’re getting somewhere –

 Last Will and Testament

Thought she said she wasn’t going to leave one.

Perhaps that’s the surprise we were supposed to get. Right, let’s open it

WH Smith make your own will kit

She never filled it in…

A Tale of Two Sons

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Writers are not alone in observing people, pondering on their background story, or even inventing a whole life and family for them. I wonder how wrong our assumptions might be.


Out and about on holiday I saw two very different lives, two very different sons. Thanks to modern technology and perhaps thanks to fund raising friends or rich relatives, the disabled are able to get out and about more easily than ever.


Wheelchairs for those who cannot walk, or cannot walk far have been superseded by bespoke motorised thrones controlled by touch pads for the severely disabled.


Sitting outside a coffee shop, enjoying lunch and the scenery, the table next to us was soon occupied by a young man, perhaps still a teenager, and his carer, or was it his mother? He was a cheerful chap despite his obvious limitations. Chatting to them, they were locals having a regular but simple treat, coffee in a cup with a straw for the young man and a chocolate muffin shared with his mother. Then the son told us proudly he was leaving home tomorrow, his mother cheered, they both had a sense of humour. He was going to the National Star College near Cheltenham, a further education college for the disabled.


However dependent they are, however loving their families, I’m sure most disabled young adults want to be independent and move away from home when they choose, the same as anybody else. I wonder what the future will hold for that young man?


The next day found us at an air museum, where outside and in the hangars there was plenty of room and level access. I spotted a boy skipping alongside his father’s motorised chariot. Strangely, everywhere I wandered I kept seeing them and couldn’t help wondering whether disease or disaster had left the father so disabled.


At lunchtime they turned up near our table and someone brought them over huge plates of fish and chips that neither could possibly manage. The staff behind the self service counter had been particularly bored and uninterested when we were getting our food, so I hoped they had shown some patience and empathy with the father and son. All along I had been expecting a mother or wife to appear, or at least a responsible adult, but they sat alone at the table. We should not make assumptions about how independent disabled people are.


There was plenty to see and they were still exploring late into the afternoon. The son looked a cheerful cheeky lad, but obviously a child who could be trusted not to run off and get lost; a child most parents would be delighted with, who did not get bored, whine or beg to go to the gift shop. I wondered what the future held for them.