Lewi's Legacy Read online

  During the war, circumstances forced people to do heroic things. In Henry’s case it was to get a new job which came as a vacancy at Scattergood’s, the town’s gents outfitters. There he had been, ever since. Old Mr Scattergood had encouraged him to train as a tailor and he soon grew to be the ‘old man’s’ right-hand man.

  2 A Rare Sighting

  The white stag

  A year had passed since Edmund moved into his isolated cottage deep in the New Forest. It was 2001, and this year was a good time for him to realise a new self discovery. Yes of course there had been times when it was difficult to adjust to a totally uncluttered life, but the benefits were now starting to appear. He had had quite an eventful life, not all of it happy. Many times he reflected how disastrous it had been, and the painful memories still remained when he considered the situation of his partner Eloise.

  Over ten years before, his new wife had visited Africa, and after suffering an insect bite, had been flown back to England. However, it was too late to save her from a debilitating virus that attacked her, causing a massive brain injury. Since then she had been in intensive care in a private hospital in Edinburgh; stable, but unaware of her surroundings.

  He had arranged for all of the expenses in such a way that he knew she was well cared for, thanks to his friend Brian in Southbourne who managed all that for him. He also had a top lawyer in Edinburgh who would keep him posted in the unlikely event of change in Eloise’s condition. Although he had not visited Edinburgh in the past year, he rested in the knowledge that all expenses were covered in respect of Eloise’s treatment and this allowed him to continue with his life.

  The cottage was isolated in the truest sense of the word. No power connected and no running water. This could be a major problem for most people, especially now, at the turn of the millennium. Yes, it took special skills even to do the smallest things, but a resourceful Edmund still, he felt, in his prime in his early fifties enjoyed the challenge. The small difficulties paled into insignificance when compared to the benefits of living a detached sort of life. The cottage was so deep in the forest that all sights and sounds were magnified all around him, and it seemed that the wildlife had accepted his presence.

  Often he would open the door quietly and slowly, and in doing so, soon got used to seeing a small herd of deer just lift their heads for a moment and then carry on grazing. All sorts of animals and birds shared his accommodation, especially in the thatched roof. After the first alarming night in the upstairs bedroom, he realised that all his ‘neighbours’ were quite harmless. In fact, without their scratching and chirpings he probably would not now sleep.

  One sunny morning he felt the impulse to fire up the little Morgan and head eastward toward Burley, a village he had heard of, but up to then had never been to. It felt good to come out of his well hidden lane and drive towards Sway, a typical New Forest village, down the steep hill, bypass Brockenhurst and follow the signpost towards his goal, Burley. Most of the forest in this area was open land with small sections of yellow heather and stands of short trees, very often used by the ponies for shade in the hottest times or shelter in the downpours.

  At one point, he sped along a small tree line road, unusually straight and flat. This was quite refreshing from the narrow hilly winding lanes that were the norm. As he reached the end of the straight, he realised what he had driven on. There was a building at the end that was still signposted as the Burley Station, now replaced as a café. It gave him the clue that it was in fact the old railway line and had been converted into a road. As he went past the building he then drove onto Station Road that led to the Burley village centre. Station Road reverted back to a forest lane, twisting in blind corners, dipping and rising severely. At one point the road was so narrow; he had to drive almost at walking pace for safety. At the top of the next hill he could see a small spire but before he accelerated on the final leg he looked to the left on a grassy knoll and saw a wonderful sight.

  A full-grown red deer stag was standing looking at him right on the brow of the hill. He had to stop and pull over on the grass verge for a moment as this stag was the largest he had seen and was also pure white!

  Amazingly it was no more than fifty yards from the Morgan and even though they were only looking at each other for a few seconds, it had seemed an age to Edmund. Suddenly the spell was broken as an old horsebox van came clattering towards them. The white stag took a long last look, and then it seemed in no hurry at all as it turned, lifted its head and sauntered off in the opposite direction, out of sight.

  ‘What a great start to the day’ he thought to himself.

  Station Road ended at a junction with Chapel lane to the right, and Pound Lane to the left. Opposite the road junction stood the celebrated pub, ‘The Queen’s Head’.

  Its fame as a great New Forest pub was well deserved as it received the ‘pub of the year’ award in the Festival of Britain. A plaque to that day was proudly displayed on its wall. Edmund turned the car left, skirted the War Memorial and headed slowly down the lane, weaving slowly through a herd of ponies and donkeys that walked in the middle of the road and seemed to be oblivious of the car. Just a few hundred yards down the lane he saw a welcome sight, a sign for Burley tea rooms.

  He sat at a vacant table after ordering a granary bread sandwich with local ham and salad and of course a pot of tea. The wonderful vista of the white stag was still clearly in his mind as he looked around at the other customers. A young mother and her daughter were discussing a very fine framed tapestry which looked quite old it was very clear what it depicted: a white stag on a green hill. The daughter was describing it to her mother who looked at it intently. As she looked around at Edmund she noticed that he too was looking at the tapestry.

  ‘So sorry to be rude, but I couldn’t help looking at your fine tapestry. Would you believe it, just outside the village there was a real white stag exactly like that one pictured, it was beautiful. I had never seen one before’

  ‘Have you been to the craft fare today?’ the mother asked. ‘We picked this up there, and there are some lovely paintings there too’

  ‘Is that the one just across the road?’ Edmund asked. They nodded in agreement as he rose from his table, settled his bill and made his way out.

  The small community hall was just a short walk from the tea rooms so he left the little Morgan where it was parked, and walked toward the sign ‘Craft Fair today 12 till 2’ His watch said just five to two so he hurried to the door hoping to catch a little before they closed. An old man sat at the table inside the entrance, took his twenty pence fee and followed him into the small wooden hall. As he expected, the room was empty except for the exhibitors and volunteers who were dismantling their tables and packing away. Three of the walls however were still hung with paintings, and as he neared them he noticed a similarity between them enough to guess that they were possibly from the same artist. Most of them depicted fine houses, and as he looked more closely, the detail of the properties was outstanding. Every tile on the roof, every brick on the wall was absolutely clear, even to the weathering on the front doors. Quite simply they were the best depiction of rural houses that he had ever seen.

  ‘Do you like them young man?’ a voice sounded behind.

  Edmund turned around to see a small and quite elderly man standing quite close, the same man that had taken his entrance fee. ‘How do you get such detail on the houses?’ Edmund asked him.

  ‘I don’t know young sir, I just look at the house, and I paint it as I see it.’

  ‘Surely the owners of this house would pay a great deal for a picture such as this one’ said Edmund pointing at a picture of a large manor house in sumptuous grounds.

  ‘That’s the Burley Manor Hotel, I did ask permission to paint this one but I never thought it was good enough to offer it to them.’

  Edmund was speechless after that remark and he continued around the room admiring the other work. Each work bore the name of the artist ‘Harry Norman’ and the date on it
. The old man followed Edmund around as he scrutinised them.

  ‘You are Harry Norman?’ Edmund asked. The old man nodded and smiled at him. Finally they reached the last painting, this was not of a house, and it depicted a foggy heath land. The mist was low lying and in the foreground a dark figure could be made out with a dog by his side. In the distance a line of dark hills were merging into the cloud filled sky. It was full of atmosphere and it carried an aura and depth that kept Edmund standing in front of it, riveted to the floor. Slowly and softly an arm threaded through his and to his side appeared an elderly lady.

  ‘This is a very special painting for Harry and me, and it’s not for sale. We thought that we would just put it on show and then take it back home again.’ She said quietly.

  Edmund noticed that Harry had tears in his eyes and Edmund compulsively put his arm around the old man’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Seeing an empty chair nearby he guided him to it and looked around to his wife who was struggling to take down the paintings from the walls. He insisted that he take them all down for her and placed them in the empty boxes that she indicated. When all the pictures were down she told him that they only lived in the cottage two doors away, so it was no effort for Edmund to carry them home for them. They indicated that the pictures were stored in the studio upstairs and Edmund gladly carried the boxes upstairs to a converted back bedroom. For a moment he looked through the bedroom window at the heath and hills beyond. There was no mist on the heath, and no mistaking the exact scene portrayed in the atmospheric painting that, sadly, was not for sale.

  ‘Are you all right up there?’ Mrs Norman asked.

  ‘Oh yes thanks I was just enjoying the view of the heath.’ He answered, and started to descend the narrow staircase.

  ‘We were talking whilst you were in the studio, and wondered if you would join us for tea as a thank you for helping?’ Mrs Norman asked.

  Edmund nodded. ‘I’ll just bring the car over from the tea shop; can I park it outside your house? What about the hall? Would you like me to lock up for you?’ Harry nodded and passed the heavy keys to Edmund.

  ‘Leave the books on the table and I will sort them out tomorrow. Most of them are so old I think that they are only fit for the rubbish collection. Before you lock up though, if you see anything you like please take it with my blessing.’

  The old wooden Community Hall seemed quite large when all the craft items were out, empty except for a small trestle table with a dozen or so books on it. Edmund took a cursory look at the books; casually he moved a few of them and inadvertently dropped one on the floor, a very small book with thick leather binding. Its gold edged leaves were still in good condition, and as he picked it up he noticed, embossed on the front cover the title ‘Ghosts and myths from the Steppes’.

  He showed Harry the book he had chosen and Harry nodded approval. The book had a 50p sticker on it so he gave Harry a £1 coin and tossed the leather bound book onto the Morgan passenger seat. In this short time, Mrs Norman had prepared a sumptuous tea for the three of them, and Edmund, not used to this sort of treat tucked in voraciously!

  ‘I do apologise Mrs Norman, but living on my own, this sort of tea is a rare and wonderful event for me.’

  ‘Please Edmund dear, my name is Phaedra, but will you call me Fay?’ she smiled as he could only nod with a mouth full of smoked salmon. ‘After tea, I will explain about Harry’s special painting and its significance to us.’

  Away from the tea table he balanced his third cup of china tea in one of Fay’s best cups while she told the story that the painting portrayed their son Victor and his dog Sally on an early morning walk seen from the studio window. The most painful part was that, that particular morning was the last time they ever saw their son. Victor had returned home after losing his job in Paris. He had changed from a happy outgoing personality, to an introverted and non-communicative state, and nothing they did could get their son out of it.

  Edmund was going to ask what Victor had done in Paris, but it didn’t seem right to probe too deeply. ‘You mean he went out on a walk with his dog one day and never returned?’

  Harry answered. ‘Yes that’s right, his clothes are still here in his room, even his wallet and passport are still here, it is as if he just vanished into thin air.’

  ‘What about the dog, did she disappear too?’ Edmund asked perplexed.

  ‘No, Sally was found wandering in the village, dragging her lead. The police were informed, but nothing has turned up since that day, several months ago now. We are both so shocked we have no idea what to do.’ Fay said as they both held hands and looked so sorrowfully at their visitor.

  Edmund realised how difficult the situation was for them. No wonder they couldn’t part with the painting, it was the only reminder of their disappeared son.

  ‘So Harry, where is Sally now?’ Edmund asked.

  Harry got up out his chair, opened the door, and lying across the doorstep in the sunshine was a beautiful Border collie. ‘Come,’ he said, and she ran to his side and sat close, looking up as if she was awaiting a command. ‘Where do you live Edmund?’

  ‘I have a little cottage on the edge of Hordle, it’s a bit remote, but that’s how I like it’ Edmund answered.

  ‘Are you on your own?’ Fay asked.

  Edmund smiled, sensing the ‘soft’ interrogation that he was under. ‘Yes I’m on my own, I’m semi-retired and my wife is in twenty four hour care in a private home in Edinburgh.’

  He felt that he had said too much to them, but then again he wasn’t used to telling people about his circumstances. In this case however it seemed the right thing to do considering the couple’s current plight.

  Harry placed his hand on the soft head of Sally and started unconsciously to stroke her smooth fur. ‘Edmund, I know that we’ve only just met, but you seem the right person to ask this. I don’t mean to be pushy but would you be willing to take Sally here on a holiday in Hordle, just for a week. She’d be no trouble for you and I am sure you two would really get on, what do you say?’

  ‘Well..Er, I think.’ .Edmund stuttered and then smiled. ‘Sally come here girl!’ The collie ran over immediately wagging her tail furiously, sitting right up to his leg and responding well to the fussing. ‘What is she like in cars, Harry?’

  ‘She just loves cars, Victor had an open-top BMW and she wouldn’t let him go anywhere without her.’ Harry answered with a broad smile.

  Edmund was looking furiously for any reason why she shouldn’t come home with him, meanwhile he was unconsciously stroking the dog’s silken coat.

  ‘Look, I’m very tempted with your offer, what about her settling in a new home, do you think that will be ok?’ He asked.

  ‘Let me say this to prove that she will be ok, Edmund. Get out of your chair, go outside and get into your car, and then shout come! And let’s see what happens.’ Harry suggested. ‘If there is any problem, well, we aren’t going anywhere, just bring her back’

  Edmund did exactly as Harry suggested, and in a flash the collie was sitting up straight in the passenger seat of his Morgan, barking loudly and looking straight ahead. He looked back at Harry and Fay for a moment, started up the car, and drove down the lane. The couple were fading in the rear mirror waving as Sally barked all the way down the lane!

  3 Return of the favour

  Magda’s home

  Louis was knocking on his front door just before ten that night. It was quite dark with dimly lit street lights on. The local pubs were all on the ‘last orders’ before closing and the whole area was busy with weekend revellers. He waved to his best friend Danny, grateful that his bigger pal had taken the trouble to walk him home. Pushing through a drunken crowd intent on getting to the next pub for a last pint before closing time was bad enough, but being small and having a pronounced limp would at best cause attention or at worst, ridicule.

  As his father opened the front door for him, the strong smell of salt and vinegar met his nostrils and he smiled at his dad in ant
icipation. Friday night had been fish and chip night for as long as he could remember. All the events of the evening had filled his mind as he walked home, but right now they had little significance as he savoured the thought of his favourite hot supper. He pulled his coat off and threw it on the couch and he rushed to the table where the meal was hiding in the greaseproof paper, in the same state as when his father had purchased it from the local shop.

  Henry had learned not to pester the boy as he ate his supper, after twelve years of being both father and mother to him, with no one to share the load with his upbringing. And yet as the boy got older they were also becoming friends. He knew that Louis would tell him when he was ready. There was a sort of respect between them that they thrived on. In only a few minutes Louis was sitting in his pyjamas on the couch clutching his cocoa and he positively glowed. Henry kept a sharp eye on him as the boy fought to keep his eyes open. He could see that the mug was slipping out of his hands, so he gently relieved him of it, put it on the table, and guided him gently to his bed. Tomorrow was going to be busy enough for him, Henry thought.

  Henry was immensely proud of his son. Homework was done almost as soon as he returned from school. In the summertime this usually left his son time to see his friend Danny for an hour at the Tripe Shop on the high street. But on Saturdays, sometimes Henry just couldn’t believe how industrious Louis was, which made him prouder than ever. He did three paper rounds that day: at seven he was at Reynolds paper shop, two doors away from Scattergood’s. His bag was full of deliveries for his ‘round’, rain or shine. The second ‘round’ would be a repetition of the first one, doing the cash collecting, recording and then finally ‘tallying up’ back at the shop. Mr Reynolds knew Henry well and often remarked to him how clever the boy was. The best ‘tally-upper’ he had ever employed and he hardly ever got the money wrong.