A good question...

I moved from the top flat to the ground floor. The advantage, I thought, was a garden to walk into when the walls closed in.
Many a time I would sit at my PC gazing out of the window watching the man next door tending his beautiful garden. He had planted borders, installed a water feature and grown a mini forest at the far end that provided a leafy glade to rest from the hot sun.
The garden to our flats was unkempt and mostly overgrown and was included in the lease for the ground floor flat.
Before I moved in the place had belonged to an old chap by the name of Reg. Strange old cove, always peering out to see who was coming in and always up and about. No matter what the hour he could be heard shuffling round the rooms, coughing or peering through the curtains. Harmless but not very talkative is how I remember him.
When he died I took over the flat and spent the first five months decorating the place and bringing it into this century. As a genuine thirties museum it was all very well but that wasn’t what I wanted, I ripped out and sold a lot of the fittings, repainted others and adapted all manner of things in order to make it more conducive to modern living. Or at least my interpretation of it.
When it was finished I sat in my study one day beside an open patio door listening to the sound of the garden. That was when I decided to do something about the state it was in.
Business had been quite good - I write software for those that can’t tackle the task themselves and I make a good living. I am able to work from home as soon as I have the specification from the customer.
My first foray into the depths of the jungle turned up all sorts of things; A cast iron fountain, now cleaned and working well just beyond the patio. Two cart wheels. Varnished and housing my herb garden. A shed that leaned to starboard and was propped up by three stout pieces of timber; It stays that way because of its inherent character.
Three weeks later I had cleared it all and laid out the basis of a ‘proper’ garden. It was then that next door began to show an interest. I had unashamedly borrowed a few ideas from him by peering over the fence at various points and had adapted a couple of his ideas to my own interpretation..
He began to talk to me. We swapped seeds and catalogues and became friends. He came round and had tea and I went round to sit and enjoy the occasional G&T with him.
His story, when he told me one sunny afternoon sitting under the shade of his mature apple tree, was to say the least, startling…

A Military man. He had grown up with discipline and it had followed and stayed with him throughout his life. He didn’t think it was a fault, more a way of life. And therein lay his downfall. Discipline can lead to naïve actions.
He had met women. Plenty of them, but none had wanted to stay with someone who was to the point of obsession about neatness. ‘A place for everything and everything in it’s place.’
A mantra. Take time out to straighten the tie, make sure the curtain falls just so, the extra buff of a well-polished shoe.
Do things by the book. Do it right and it will work. So he did things right and the women came and went and none stayed. He became disillusioned in Civvie Street and decided that the only way for him to glean any enjoyment from life was to make some money.
It happened that a school friend who was in business making plastic wrapping for the food industry and had discovered a new way of producing the thin, clingy plastic and needed a healthy dose of Investment to launch it at the public. He could see that there was indeed a market for this stuff and decided that he wanted to put money in. In order to invest he devised a scheme whereby he might make himself some of the required cash.
He robbed a bank.
In true Wild-West style, he walked into the Fairfold Bank held the place up at gunpoint with a pair of six-guns dressed in the full regalia, boots and all.

Furthermore he got away with it. The Police had never ever come close in the forty intervening years. He had invested the money in the school-friends business, to the tune of £100,000. And he sat back to await the results.
After a few years and the business was up and running and the orders flew in for this new wonder-wrap because it was new and was useful around the kitchen, the profits soared and they banked their respective shares accordingly. But resentment by the owner began to surface. Remarks were made, inferences inferred.
Board meetings became a battleground for him. Then the friend announced that he wanted to stop with the wrap and move on to other areas. He had been given the nod from a well-known chemical company that a lot of money could be made for the right packaging. His plan was to throw everything at the new venture and drop the wrap and thus force out what he saw as a money grabber.
At the end of the battle my neighbour walked away with the sole rights to the wrapping production and the friend went off and tried to compete against the chemical companies. He lost.
Neighbour took out a lease on a small unit and installed the equipment, looked about for some people to run it; Pressed go and the cash-cow started to produce.
So that is how he got here.
And now he is thinking of turning himself in.
Had enough of the silliness of ‘everyday’ life. Had a hankering for the disciplined nature of a term in Jail; his military background would see him through and when he came out he would be old and a home would be available, a home that has been bought and paid for these many years…
Wanted to get it off his chest. A crime is just that. Law says Do Not and if you Do, you get punished. No punishment had been forthcoming so maybe it was time to seek it out and let justice prevail. Confession is good for the soul. Make peace.

We sat and watched the sun go down and our G & T’s emptied. He gave a sigh that startled the dog. “Tell me,” he said reaching for the bottle, “what would you do?”

No Imagination - Epiphany

Betty Lees locked her front door and looked up and down the street as was her habit every morning. She liked to check that all was in order before setting off for work. – Had the milkman been, or the postman? Did the street-cleaner machine manage to get that corner swept? Last week it had skirted round the corner piece and had left a pile of rubbish there for days.
It seemed that all was indeed in order so she gave the door a push to check that it had firmly locked and turned toward work.
As she walked she pondered on her day ahead. It was time today to move bed one and bed two. She had not been able to get to them yesterday and she could not allow things to go another day; Not in the ITU, it simply would not do.
Cleaning was in her blood she told people. Her Mother had been a cleaner and her Grandmother had kept house for the Gentry out in the country. She liked to clean and when the job at the Hospital had become available she had gone against her husbands wishes and taken on the task. That was some years ago now and she mulled over the twenty seven years she had spent there. Next year she was going to have to retire. She was approaching the age and, though she had asked, they were not about to give any leeway. If the department was still run by the Health Service she could no doubt have gone on untill she dropped, but the Domestic Services had been privatised last year and they ran a tight ship which gave no quarter and the rules were engraved in stone.
A sigh escaped her lips as she walked. There was no doubt she would miss working and hoped that she could find something to keep her busy when the time came. The prospect of being at home nowadays held no attraction since her husband had died five years ago. Pheumonia had got him and he had died in the very ward she now cleaned so assidiously. Her thoughts returned to moving beds one & two.
The butchers shop stood by itself because the Town Planners had removed all the building around it for redevelopment. Something else that would be gone by years end. Betty recalled when she and Norman had first moved to this area. Row upon row of terraced houses had occupied the two blocks that now served as a makeshift car-park. She had long since ceased to ask the question as to Why they did these things.
She knocked on the window of the shop and the butcher within looked up and waved, She mouthed that she would like a lamb-chop for dinner and he signalled back that it would be ready for her when she passed on her way home. As she walked on she wondered if the supermarket would be so obliging when Elliots – High Class Butcher closed his door for the last time?

The Hospital had grown over the years that Betty had been working. It was now a collection of Specialist units and not like the General Hospital she had started in. Still and all, it was “Her” hospital just as it was to the rest of the town. She hated the way that the modern regime saw it as a tool for political football. She hated the new Directors for turning it into a management exercise in cost-cutting and above all – she hated the current spotty kids that held these posts and spoke in a new jargon – fretting over ‘waiting times’, ‘bed-blocking’ and talked of patients as ‘Clients’. Somewhere along the way the mere act of Caring for patients as people had been forgotten.
Another sigh could be heard as she walked into the office to sign-in for her shift of duty. She barely acknowledged the Team-Leaders and collected her trolley from the store, making sure she had the required items and she added a few extra floor wipes because she knew that the given quota was never enough to do a proper job.

As if a light switch was flicked on when she entered the Intensive Therapy Unit her demeanour changed; she became the woman she knew herself to be. Knowing, caring, and able.
“Morning Sister” she called cheerily. “Got here early for a change I see. Feeling guilty I s’pose? Two days off? Who said you could have them?”
Sister Hilary Hobbs had asked for betty to be asigned to the ward ages ago because she knew a damn good worker when she saw one. The warm smile she gave spoke volumes.
“Good morning Betty. I hope you are going to clean this place properly today. It looks a complete mess, have you been off too?”
The banter continued for a few minutes as Betty wheeled her trolley into a corner and surveyed the area she had plans for. First thing was to empty all the bins of rubbish and change the plastic sacks that in a couple of cases bulged with rubbish.

Bed one was occupied by the newest arrival, but he was making good progress and would not be here for much longer, a few broken bones that would soon heal meant he would be able to go up to the Orthopaedic ward very quickly and free up a bed in anticipation of the next Trauma case.
Bed two was Daevid Hardy who had been in the ITU for a long time. He had been thrown from his motorcycle and had been unconscious ever since. The machines kept him fed and watered and the Nurses tended him and made sure that his needs were kept up.
Betty was surprised to note that his girlfriend Jane was not in yet, she came in every single day to talk to him and hold his hand and to wash him and read to him. And nothing was to trivial, she would read anything and everything. She would play his music and talk to him about that. Betty sometimes wished she had done as much for her dear Norman, but times had been different then.
The trolley held the various impliments needed to keep infection at bay and she selected the dusting wipes to make a start. The whole Unit always exuded an air of calm even in those moments when things went awry and the machines beeded and buzzed and doctors came at the run – even then the calm professional nature of the unit gave hope to every visitor.
As she wiped down the myriad surfaces she talked to Daevid. She had been in and out of the room for months so by now she felt she knew his taste in most things because Jane chatted all the time to him and about him.
“I see that the cricket is going well.” She said chattily, “I heard on the news this morning that England only need a few more runs to secure a victory. It should all be over by lunchtime.” She paused while she took another wipe from the pack. “That new roundabout at the bottom of the hill is causing nasty traffic-jams all through the town. Even up your road it gets crowded at rush hour.” She paused to slide the cloth behind the stand that held a monitor and her tongue poked out a touch as it always did when she concentrated. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Jane talking to Dr. Anderson who was the Anaesthetist that looked out for Daevid. Everyone like Dr. A. She cared not only for the patient, she looked after the friends and relatives also.
Sister poked her head around the glass door of the unit “Give a shout when you need the bed moved Bett. Things are quiet today so we should get lots done. If you are up to it of course. I don’t want you overdoing things.”
“Cheeky monkey! Thanks Sister, I’ll tell you when. Is it ok to play some music? It is so quite in here you lot are in danger of falling asleep!”
Hilary laughed and suggested that Bett choose something from Daevids collection.
After finishing dusting around the stand she looked through the box for something that would appeal. Years ago she had gone to a few concerts with her husband and her eyes alighted on a cd by Bob Dylan. With a mischievious grin she selected the it and placed it into the player. Norman had liked Dylan and had taken her to two three or concerts that the singer had given in London. She liked to hear that gravelly voice because it gave fond memories. She pressed play.

“Look out across the fields, see me returning,

Smoke is in your eye, you draw a smile.

From the fireplace where my letters to you are burning,

You've had time to think about it for a while.”

Jane heard the music and smiled to herself, she knew that Daevid had liked this one. Dr.Anderson had given the usual reassuring but blunt appraisal and wandered off to write up her assessments of the patients in her care. She had seen Betty going about her duties and knew that Daevid was in safe hands. She sat down in a chair by the entrance and watched Betty at work and allowed herself to dream a little. And the music played.

Well, I've walked two hundred miles, now look me over,

It's the end of the chase and the moon is high.

It won't matter who loves who, You'll love me or I'll love you

When the night comes falling from the sky.

Hilary stopped what she was doing and cocked her head to one side, she had heard this song before but the strong beat and words caused her to listen as she worked.

I can see through your walls and I know you're hurting,

Sorrow covers you up like a cape.

Only yesterday I know that you've been flirting

With disaster that you managed to escape.

Jill Anderson had been the Consultant Anaesthetist for many years and loved what she did. She did it well and it showed by the thousands of letters from patients and relatives that had taken time out to write to express their thanks. She kept them all in a filing cabinet in the office. As she wrote up her notes she to paused to listen.

I can't provide for you no easy answers,

Who are you that I should have to lie?

You'll know all about it, love, It'll fit you like a glove

When the night comes falling from the sky.

Staff Nurse Pam Jenkins was teaching the new Student Nurse the fundamentals of a new cathetar that had been adopted. It was tricky at first but once you got the knack it was simple. A model was used to demonstrate and the student was repeating the exercise over and over.

I can hear your trembling heart beat like a river,

You must have been protecting someone last time I called.

I've never asked you for nothing that you couldn't deliver,

I've never asked you to set yourself up for a fall.

In the far corner of the unit sat a machine that measured blood gas and a Porter had been called earlier to change the Co2 cylinder. Andy Keely had been given the task. As he worked he to paused to listen. He knew this track, he and Daevid had spent many nights together on nights and music was a prerequisite when working overnight. They used to take turns in providing tapes or cd’s. He remembered that Daevid had rated Bob Dylan above all else.

I saw thousands who could have overcome the darkness,

For the love of a lousy buck, I've watched them die.

Stick around, baby, we're not through, Don't look for me, I'll see you

When the night comes falling from the sky.

Betty finished the dusting and turned her attention to the floor. It looked spotless of course but nothing could be taken for granted in an envoirenment where bugs lurked awaiting the chance to strike. She was about to call Sister Hills to shift the bed so she could give those bugs a splash of disenfectent when a movement caught her eye.

In your teardrops, I can see my own reflection,

It was on the northern border of Texas where I crossed the line.

I don't want to be a fool starving for affection,

I don't want to drown in someone else's wine.

She blinked. No. That wasn’t right. Or rather it WAS right – it was what everyone had hoped for. For a moment she stared not quite beleiving her eyes She opened her mouth to call Jane and Hillary…. No sound came. No movement could she make. Her disbelieif in what she could see made no sense and she stood staring.

For all eternity I think I will remember

That icy wind that's howling in your eye.

You will seek me and you'll find me In the wasteland of your mind

When the night comes falling from the sky.

Hilary sensed the change in the air. She has known this before at certain moments. She was not a believer; However, she knew this to be the moment when God walks in.

Well, I sent you my feelings in a letter

But you were gambling for support.

This time tomorrow I'll know you better

When my memory is not so short.

Jane noticed the change too. She stared at Betty who stood open-mouthed and pointing down at the bed. Slowly she stood and dared to hope without knowing why. Tears welled in her eyes and blurred her vision as Hilary took her hand and led her into the cubicle following Dr.Anderson.
The world revolved. A door opened and a parallel place existed for that single moment and seemed to last forever. A moment of ecstasy – wordless and beyond understanding enveiled all of those people gathered. They stood and stared at Daevids finger gently tapping to the beat of the music.

This time I'm asking for freedom,

Freedom from a world which you deny.

And you'll give it to me now, I'll take it anyhow

When the night comes falling from the sky.

In the silence as the song ended and his finger lay still, and they all held their breath - one further movement occurred - Daevid opened his eyes.

No Imagination - Enigma

Some time ago I wrote No Imagination. Sandra was a character in that tale and here she writes about the central figure of Daevid.

No Imagination was important to me inasmuch that it has many autobigraphical attributes.

Shamefully I left Daevid unconcious in a hospital bed and have yet to return to him.

Time changes things. Therefore, be warned Daevid will be back ...

<>

Sandras tale

I am paid to write. I do occasional articles for many publications, sometimes at a moments notice. The topics can vary - the last was a PR piece on the usage of organic and synthetic materials in farming in the country of Chad.
All of which is relevant only because it shows how versatile the English language has to be. One minute it has to be matter of fact and scientific and then it has to cope with emotion.
Emotion. Easy word to write. Easy to spell. Phonetic… e - mo - shun.
How many different emotions fill his room when people visit him?
Jane? She sits with him constantly and exudes love. She so desperately wants to hold her lover in her arms again and cannot bear the pain of being so distant.
Frank? He loves too but in a different way. He loves him as a fellow traveller on this journey through life and offers the hand of friendship. He wants Daevid to know the joy that comes from having God as a Saviour!
Squirrel, Chip and Prof? They love him as they would a brother. A member of that close-knit community of bikers. The fellowship of like-minded people. You find it in music too.
Me? I lusted for him…
I first met Daevid at the Manse. I was immediately struck by his modesty. He is an attractive man and I have to confess that my initial thoughts did include lust but I quelled this as soon as I could; mostly I have succeeded. During the short times we were together he always behaved impeccably and there is a certain amount of disappointment here. I would like to have known him better but I didn't know about Jane at that point so I'm glad that I didn't try anything and make a fool of myself.
He is a very assured young man. Not arrogant at all just.. nice; and it was impossible not to like him. I've read of his misdemeanours and I'm not impressed, I have met a few ruffians in other places and Daevid pales in comparison. That is not to say that he is in any way angelic! A loveable rogue? Yes, I like that.
Playing the guitar is a gift from God in my mind and I hate to see a gift unused. His gift is latent. It is there but unused except for the odd occasion. I loved playing duets with him because it is rare to find a kindred spirit that knows exactly how you are thinking. But play we did and the music flowed. I made him late for work once and he did not mind a bit.
When I see him now it is difficult to relate to that same person. I gaze at his hands that lay there so still and I recall how those elegant fingers can fly effortlessly up and down a fretboard producing the magic of music. Oh, how I have prayed for his suffering to end and that he should be back with us. I know God has his own timetable and I have no right to question His judgement but… when I see Jane sitting beside his bed, holding his hand and gazing with such love at his face, it breaks my heart.
Please God, take him or return him, we all love him so.
Every week Mr. Gunn mentions him in prayers and I know that many others at Hilltop also ask for intervention in their own meditations. My faith remains steadfast but I still question. Forgive me Lord.
And there you have a range of emotion. Something for everyone. So is it any wonder that people doubt on occasion?

Or is it that we care so much but are helpless and must fall to You in supplication and cry 'Hear me Lord for I have sinned.' Or do we think to ourselves that there but for Your grace go I?
The answer will be revealed to us one day. My prayers ask that it is sooner not later.