I am Not Roald Dahl! Page 10
“Morning,” Jack replied. “I’ll see you, later, Mr. Fryer, I’m looking forward to a nice piece of your Rock Salmon, for lunch today.”
“Ok, Jack, bye.” Mr. Fryer said as he turned down the lane disappearing from sight.
Passing the old rectory Jack always took the time to admire the Vicar’s wonderful garden. And today, as always, it looked a treat – picture perfect. Spying a particularly large clump of Sweet Williams, just coming into their own, Jack stopped, and leaning on the old rickety picket fence he enjoyed their wonderful perfume.
“Hmm, that’s heavenly,” said Jack as his mind drifted to days long ago when he grew them in a little patch of garden assigned to him by his father.
“I’m glad you approve,” said Vicar Fernbach as he strolled up to the fence.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there, vicar. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”
Glorious,” the old man replied as he lit his timeworn pipe, enjoying the aromatic perfume of the softly igniting tobacco.
“You know, you shouldn’t be doing that,” said Jack, scanning the garden.
“It’s all right, Jack, my wife has gone shopping,” the old man replied, sucking the pipe. “She took the 237 bus to Hounslow - won’t be back till sometime late this afternoon,” the vicar added.
“That doesn’t mean you should be smoking, you know how it plays havoc with your health,” said Jack sternly eying the vicar.
“I know, but let’s keep it as a secret,” said the vicar, winking. “How about a nice bunch of flowers, to brighten up your shop? It might take your mind away from all this smoke.” Vicar Fernbach waved his arms in a mock effort to disperse the smoke haze surrounding him.
“As long as they’re from that clump of Sweet Williams,” said Jack, chuckling, “You know, I have no idea how you ever managed to ever become a vicar, I have no idea at all.”
Knee deep amongst the wonderful assorted blooms, the old man trod carefully until he arrived at the clump of Sweet Williams. Bending down, he cut the wonderful blooms until he had a huge armful, “How’s that, Jack? he asked, proudly displaying the fruits of his labour.
“God! That’s far too many,” said Jack, though taking them anyhow.
“You’re welcome, Jack,” said vicar Fernbach. “But remember, not a word to the missus?”
“Don’t worry,” Jack replied laughing, “Discretion is my middle name.”
After bidding the vicar goodbye, Jack once again headed off down the road. Looking at his watch, he said, “Just enough time to pop into Bennett’s, for my newspaper.”
Entering the small and decidedly musty old shop Jack never failed to be amazed at the variety of sweets on display. Behind the timeworn glass counter, the array of sweets on display was mind-boggling. And the patience that Mr and Mrs Bennett displayed, to the mesmerised children it attracted, was truly amazing
“The paper, Jack?” said Mr Bennett leaving two small children almost hypnotised at the counter.
“Please,” Jack replied. “Exact money today, no change needed.”
“Thanks, see you this evening?”
“You sure will, I can’t go home without a Lucky Bag for my niece, Ally.”
After serving three giggling girls, Mrs Bennett looked up and saw Jack and his huge bunch of flowers. “Why, what lovely flowers, Jack. Where on earth did you get them?” she asked.
“The vicar, gave me them. Here, take some,” said Jack, dividing the large bunch in half.”
“Thank you, thank you,” said Mrs Bennett, surprised at the kind gesture.
Looking at his watch, Jack said, “I had better get my skates on, don’t want the old boss to be at my throat.” Laughing, Jack disappeared through the open doorway.
“Bye,” the happy couple replied.
Placing the folded newspaper under his arm Jack began the last leg of his morning journey…
Standing at the kerb, in his white coat and with lollypop in hand, the familiar figure of old Mr Swan drew Jack on.
“Morning Jack,” said Mr swan as he scanned left and right along the busy road.
“Hello, Mr Swan. It’s a great day, isn’t it?”
“Lovely, I hope it keeps fine for my holidays,” the old man answered.
“Going anywhere nice?”
“Jill and I are going up to the Lake District, went there once, years ago, thought it about time we tried it again.”
“When are you going?”
“In three weeks.”
“I hope you both have a great time, Mr Swan,” Jack replied, with sincerity.
Spotting a gap in the traffic, Mr Swan walked into the centre of the road holding the metal sign high above him.
“There you are Jack, been doing that for a long time, haven’t I?” And in truth he had, for Jack had been crossing at the selfsame point since he was a young child. And now, even a mature adult, he would never even consider doing otherwise. Life can be strange at times, can’t it?
The Wooden Shop
On reaching the far side of the road, Jack stepped onto the path and walked the short distance down the driveway of his place of work – The Wooden Shop. You might think that a strange name for a shop, but it was made of wood - completely, so what better name might it have? The Metal Shop, maybe? Nah. That would be stupid. It was The Wooden Shop, and that was that.
Approaching the tired-looking doors, Jack took the key from his pocket and pushed it home, turning the lock mechanism anticlockwise. The door opened. As he entered the shop the smell of its stock wafted out, greeting his sensitive nostrils. Smell, perhaps, is a rather inappropriate word to describe the wonderful bouquet produced by the amazing variety of fruit and vegetables on offer. Aromatic aroma might better describe it, because the array of produce on sale was mind-boggling. There were apples from England, oranges from Spain, tangerines from Israel, peaches from the Canary Islands and leeks from Wales. There were plums from Cornwall, pears from France, potatoes from Scotland, strawberries from Wexford and cabbages from Lincolnshire. Moving further afield, there were pineapples from Ghana, bananas from Jamaica, melons from The Lebanon, kiwifruit from New Zealand and yams from Nigeria. It was a most remarkable shop, indeed. Entering it was like going on a safari and having a geography lesson all at the same time.
Standing in the doorway, Jack flipped the light switch. The fluorescent tubes spluttered into life. Jack always enjoyed this part of the day. He loved his work and would never, ever dream of doing anything else. Sure, why would he? He owned the shop, was the master of his own destiny – it was a perfect life, and he loved every moment of it.
After placing the bunch of flowers and his newspaper upon the shop counter Jack took off his heavy, checked coat and hung it on the hook on the wall. Then stepping into the small alcove to the rear of the counter, and plugging in the electric kettle, Jack made himself a nice cup of tea. He always said, “It tastes better in a cup, and leaves are far superior that those awful, new fangled tea-bags.”
Pulling himself onto the high stool, next to the till, Jack took a mouthful of tea, opened his newspaper and settled down to catch up with LL the latest news. It always intrigued him how so much happened somewhere else in the world.
“Nothing much happens around these parts,” he said contentedly. Moreover, he was right, Sunbury was indeed an oasis of tranquillity. However, the peace and tranquilly that Jack took for granted was soon going to be shook to its very foundations…
CONTD
I heard a sound by my bedside last night
I heard a sound by my bedside last night,
I heard a lone sound, how I got such a fright.
Something passed by me deep in the night,
I heard a faint sound; did it want my poor life?
I made no sound; I was still, in such fright,
As I lay in bed in the deep of the night,
I heard it close by me, how I longed for the light.
What was the dark thing evading my sight?
>
An evil black form, a shadowy sight,
Began to rise slowly in front of my eyes.
As I lay in bed on my left-hand side,
The dark, wicked thing slowly rose into sight.
I could not move a muscle; I was frozen in fright,
As the dark, frightful vision continued in height,
Till it’s malevolent eyes were almost in sight.
Only then did I close mine, despite the dark night.
I knew it was wicked, the devil personified,
That he wanted my sight, the light of my life.
If I kept my eyes closed, shut tight as the night.
I hope to be spared the Grim Reaper‘s cold scythe.
Finally, eventually, I opened my eyes,
Had he gone, departed, left my bedside?
NO, it was there (though lower again),
Starting, beginning, all over again.
How could I be free from such a terrible beast,
That wanted my soul, my heart and my peace?
Perhaps, I thought, if I kept my eyes closed,
It might forget about me and leave me alone.
So, with my eyes closed again, in such fright,
I prayed and I hoped that I’d last out the night.
I could feel its Dark Presence so close to my brow,
But kept my eyes shut, it wouldn’t bother me now.
The darkness and danger passed from me that night,
Vanishing, disappearing far from my sight.
I rolled over, so comfy, lulled back into nod,
Till the next time it happens, it’s just me and my God.
Alice in Wonderland Christmas
Into The Abyss
It was many years later when Alice had her next adventure, and whilst she was quite surprised to be having one at all, after the passing of