[guide.chat] chapter sixteen in mysterious ways
- From: vanessa <qwerty1234567a@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: "GUIDE CHAT" <guide.chat@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2013 00:05:42 -0000
IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS
Chapter 16
At last we were on the train. Our suitcases had been sent on to Vienna, but we
had enough clothes in our travel bags to manage for a week or a little longer,
should we decide to stay on a few days.
It would be good to have a short break before going home, particularly for me.
Ilse had no worries at home. Loving parents expected her; she would be
cosseted and spoiled, and, with plenty of savings, she had no need to find a
job quickly.
For me it was different. I had to find work fast, needing most of my savings
to pay the loan for my flat. I had sent Veronika a key, and some money to pay
any urgent bills. But I still worried. My flat had stood empty for six
months; I just hoped everything was alright.
But the worst for me was - unlike Ilse - I wouldn't come back to a family who
cosseted and nurtured me, but to my mother and brother. I had to face them.
There was no point in avoiding it any longer. But I was glad to postpone this
reunion a little and get myself together again after the stress of the last few
days, before facing new challenges.
When I got back to Vienna, it would not be easy at all.
But with the ability of youth to push away any problems if they were not too
urgent, I hadn't worried - I could face everything when I had to.
Unfortunately, the time had come, and it would be soon. Yes, it was just as
well to take a holiday first.
Saying goodbye to Elisabeth had been heart wrenching. Pretending to be
cheerful, we had told her she would be fine, with Mary and Dorothy taking good
care of her. Of course we would miss her and think of her every day.
We had left a small present, which Mary would give her after we'd gone, to take
her mind off us. Ilse and I had done all we were able to. We couldn't even
promise to write, because it was very unlikely Jane would give her a postcard
from us.
The last few days had been the hardest. Mrs Ashworth treated us as servants,
her contempt barely hidden anymore. Though this had already begun much
earlier, perhaps after we told her we were leaving - or had it started with the
incidence in her car? Everything seemed so entwined with everything else; we
couldn't be sure what the cause was, and what the effect. But the change in
our employer was only too obvious. She was still polite, but it was an icy
politeness mixed with sarcasm, which got worse once she realised that Ilse and
I stayed together at all times, inventing excuses when she asked one of us to
come out with her. Then, finally, any pretence of friendliness had
disappeared. She just gave her orders, and the atmosphere in the house could
have been cut with a knife.
But no more spooky things happened, and the bolt on the door stayed shut.
Apart from Elisabeth, the worst had been saying goodbye to Sheba. In my mind,
I had said goodbye to her many times, trying to prepare myself for the
inevitable. And the dog knew it. She followed me around as usual, but there
was no joy in her anymore. And when she pushed her big head at me, her eyes
looked sad and reproachful. On the day of our departure she stayed in her
basket and wouldn't come out. I sat down on the floor with her for a while,
and told her how I felt and how much I'd miss her. She gave me a last lick,
and laid her head in my lap. I gave her a big marrowbone I had saved, but she
ignored it. I felt so terrible leaving her.
Yes, it would be good to visit Martin after all the sadness of leaving, and
before facing whatever had to be faced when I got home.
Then, finally, the time had come. A taxi took us to the station, and we
boarded the train.
Now - halfway to Newport - we stood on the platform, waiting to change trains.
With almost an hour to wait, we decided to treat ourselves to a snack in the
cafe. Our breakfast had been rather hurried; we just wanted to leave, dreading
the last final bit. And it had been awful, with Elisabeth crying, as Mrs
Ashworth said an icy goodbye.
No good dwelling on the goodbyes, we had a welcome to look forward to. Martin
had convinced us of it.
Sitting in the cafe, we decided to splash out on fish and chips. It was our
favourite and we'd miss it, as we would miss England, and so many things we had
come to like and appreciate here.
But it was no good thinking back - or too far ahead either and becoming morbid,
maybe. We were on holiday; it was time to enjoy ourselves. And we did look
forward to meeting Martin again, and Ken too, and to explore Newport South
Wales.
So we relaxed and enjoyed our food, and reflected on our experiences in
England, which inevitably led to the customs and quirks of the British class
system - or rather what we had experienced at Mrs Ashworth's. Talking in
German, we didn't watch our words until we became aware of a man at the next
table. He kept smiling, as if he understood every word, and when his eyes met
mine, he raised himself from the chair and said in perfect German: "You will
have to excuse me, ladies; I could not help but overhear what you said."
Embarrassed, Ilse and I said we were sorry. But he waved our apologies away.
"You are quite right in some ways," he said. "But not all of us think as your
Mrs Ashworth."
As we got talking, it turned out, this man also belonged to the 'privileged
classes' as he put it. He didn't say upper or better classes like Jane. And
he thought quite differently about the class system. He said, as everyone
worked these days, in this sense, everyone was working class. He did not agree
with the old class distinctions, but stressed the importance of what a man - or
a woman for that matter - was in herself, and what one achieved through one's
own efforts. And by achievement he did not mean a title or money, he assured
us.
Though he did have a title, as we found out later when he gave us his card. He
even invited us to his place - he'd like to show us his gardens, where he
worked with his own hands, so he told us with pride.
Now the things people were proud of in this country - there was no explaining
it! Mrs Ashworth was proud of her coat of arms and her social standing - which
seemed to consist mainly of surrounding herself with scroungers who wanted free
drinks. And she'd never consider working, especially with her hands. Yet this
man, who had a title, and must therefore be superior as far as pure blood and
breeding was concerned, was proud to be working in the garden with his hands.
By now, our new friend had joined us at our table. He was very interested in
our experiences and what we thought of it all. But in the middle of the
conversation he burst out laughing, and suggested that Mrs Ashworth had failed
to educate us about the middle classes, perhaps the most important force in the
structure of British society. He insisted we had gained a completely wrong
picture. Without knowing about the middle classes, we couldn't even begin to
understand how the country and its people really functioned.
So we asked him about this new subject, which turned out to be extremely
complex. And though he tried, there was not enough time to explain it all -
but he would, when we visited him. He teased us about our feeble attempts to
understand the place of the middle classes in the complexities of the British
class system, and all within a few minutes before boarding a train. We all
laughed, especially when he tried to explain this subject further, beginning
with the lower middle classes - implying there were various strands. And then
he told us, most people had aspirations to climb higher up the ladder.
Ilse and I started to laugh and we couldn't stop - it was all just too
ludicrous. I visualised all these people being caught in one class or another
- like it or not - and either proud of it, or resenting it - but in any case
wanting to climb higher up on a ladder.
And then this picture appeared in my mind, where I saw all these ladders, some
short and some long, connected in various mysterious ways all the way up to the
queen at the top. And people were climbing these ladders, and some fell down -
like in the game snakes and ladders. I wondered briefly, if this was where the
game came from - when suddenly in my mind I saw Mrs Ashworth halfway up her
ladder, desperately trying to hold on - and desperately holding on to her manor
house and her traditions - otherwise she would slip off her ladder, together
with the Manor, an all of it would go down a snake, like in a landslide. And I
understood her a little better all of a sudden.
"What a waste of good time and energy," Ilse said. "Does it all matter? Or
indeed any of it? People are people."
Though our new friend agreed in principle, he suggested it was not quite as
simple, but one had to look at history, to understand. And one's roots were
important. And then he began to talk about responsibility and duty.
But our train was arriving, and though all this was fascinating, in another
week we would be back in Vienna and probably forget this whole complex subject.
But it had been a very interesting talk, and made us think. Our new friend
saw us on to the train, and looking back through the window I saw him wave, and
waved back.
How peculiar it all was. It was quite obvious this man had pure blood and
breeding. And from his voice and the way he spoke it was apparent he must have
gone to private upper class schools like Mrs Ashworth. He and Jane were about
the same age, and would have been brought up in similar ways. In spite of
this, he thought quite differently about class and one's station in life -
Jane's expression - not his. He didn't even agree that one had a station in
life - but he did say one had responsibilities. It really made us think.
Perhaps Jane's opinions were those of a minority - a minority that was dying
out. Perhaps we had not met the real Britain yet, and its people. But we'd
soon find out more - at least we would see a different side of life here in
Newport.
About one thing Ilse and I were in total agreement: whether he had a title or
not and whatever class he belonged to, we had met a lovely, outstanding man.
Perhaps we could visit him - he had asked us to. But then our thoughts drifted
to meeting Martin, and days later, by the time we thought about him again, I'd
lost his card. And we couldn't even remember his name anymore. But he had
made a big impression on us. Ilse said she would have liked to have seen him
again, and I agreed.
But this was yet to happen. Now we were still on the train, looking forward to
visiting Martin. He had told us he lived in a house, so I imagined a big house
with a garden - on the edge of town probably, close to the countryside.
Living like this would have been in tune with the image I had of him. Walking
in the rain, Martin had talked about growing up in Africa, though his family
came from South Wales, and eventually returned here. Now, when he was at home,
he lived with his mother. He had brothers and sisters in Newport too, all
older and married, with their own homes.
It had sounded so adventurous the way Martin had described it, that somehow I
had gained the impression his family were well off, though that might not have
been intentional on his part. Probably I had just assumed it, because he
invited us to his house. In Austria - especially in Vienna - people lived in
flats, unless they were well off. And the houses were usually big and with
gardens, back home.
So after we had walked through the town, I expected something quite different,
when we finally turned into Marion Street, where Martin lived.
Ahead of us stretched a narrow street lined with small houses, much the same as
the streets and the houses we had just passed. Though small, they were houses
alright. But we had never seen rows of houses like these before coming to
Newport. They were so tightly huddled together. And the street was so narrow.
There were no gardens, not even small yards; these houses were built flash on
to the narrow pavement, joining one another. At first we could only tell them
apart by small things, such as differently painted window frames and doors.
Looking around, we walked down the street. It was a nice sunny spring day, and
many of the doors were wide open. Here and there a chair stood on the pavement
next to an open door. Mostly women sat on these chairs. Some were talking to
one another over the gaps between their houses, one asked her neighbour if she
would like a cuppa, and the answer came back, that she might as well. Then the
first one got up to go in - but she waited until we had gone past, to have a
good look at us first.
Everyone watched as we walked by, and their talking ceased for a moment or two.
But other passer-byes were not ignored either, and someone would say how is it
going, or hiya, or at least nod and grunt. They all seemed to know one
another. Several groups of children swarmed around, playing all sorts of
games. Occasionally one of the women would tell a child off, especially if it
run into the road. There was virtually no traffic - but the odd vehicle stood
in front of a house here and there, evidence, a car could come round the corner
at any time.
Eventually we reached the right door. It was painted black, with a
well-polished brass doorknocker and the number thirty-eight in thick shining
brass. Before we had time to knock, the door opened. An old woman in a
pinafore dress stood before us, with a cigarette in the corner of her mouth.
Behind her stood Martin.
"I am glad you made it," he said, a smile lighting his face. "This is Pat,"
indicating the woman. "She doesn't hear well." Increasing the volume of his
voice, he introduced us: "This is Ilse, and Trudi, Mam."
After a greeting we were invited in. Pat and Martin went back into the house
and we followed them through a short narrow passage. Walking past a door on
our left, Pat took us to the next room, which was the back room, as we soon
learnt.
"I'll put the kettle on," she told us, making her way to the tiny kitchen which
I could see straight ahead.
"Make yourselves comfortable," invited us Martin, pointing to the two easy
chairs each side of the fire.
Glad to sit down after our walk, I looked around. The room was small, our two
easy chairs and the foldaway table by the wall, almost filled it. Perhaps cosy
was the right word, with the fire burning brightly, giving out warmth and a
welcoming glow. In front of the fire on a nice rug lay a small white dog with
a brown patch over one eye - a Jack Russell. It rose leisurely, stretched
briefly, and came over to Ilse and me to greet us in turn, wagging its stump of
a tail. Her name was Judy, Martin informed us, as she went on to him as well,
for a scratch behind the ear and a pat, before settling in front of the fire
again.
It was lovely, relaxing by the fire. Though already April, it was still chilly
out of the sun. Opposite me was a window, and looking into a yard I could see
a washing line with white sheets and pillowcases blowing in the wind. Above,
was a bit of blue sky. At the end of the yard were shrubs, a small tree, and
around it pretty spring flowers. It looked very different to Highmoor Manor
and not as I had expected, but it had a simple charm all of its own. The
atmosphere was nice, and I liked what I saw. I also liked Pat, who was just
coming back holding a tray with a teapot and cups, milk and sugar, and a packet
of rich tea biscuits. She put it all on the small table by the wall, and
started pouring the tea. The teapot had a jacket on, something I had not seen
before. I looked at Ilse - she had noticed it too. Becoming aware of our
curiosity, Martin explained it was a tea cosy, and would keep the tea warm.
Pat and Martin settled at the small table, turning their chairs, so we all sat
round the fire, drinking tea and eating biscuits. We talked - or rather Ilse
and I talked with Martin - with Pat trying to understand what we said. Often
she didn't, and we had to speak more slowly, and louder. Sometimes she could
understand then, but more often Martin had to repeat our words louder again,
until she finally understood and answered back. In spite of these initial
difficulties, she soon began asking us questions, wanting to know where we came
from and how we liked it here. Then she disappeared to the kitchen again, to
come back with small cakes and sandwiches. These were proper sandwiches with
their crusts still on, and not paper-thin either, with butter and thick slices
of ham. And we each had a packet of crisps.
After we finished eating, Pat said she had to go 'over to our Susan.' This was
Martin's sister, she only lived a few doors away and we would meet her soon.
It was nice being with Martin again, and although everything was very different
here, at least Martin was exactly the same as he had been at Highmoor Manor.
He was so easy to talk to; it was as if I had always known him. I began to
relax, but then, noticing how small the house was, I began to wonder if there
was enough room for Ilse and me to sleep.
When I asked about it, Martin said I could have his bedroom, he would sleep
downstairs. Ilse could share with me if she wanted to, but she might prefer to
the spare bedroom his friend had offered - he only lived a few doors away with
his parents. Ilse would be more comfortable there, as Martin only had a single
bed.
I was annoyed at first, and a little put out. Looking at Ilse, I knew she
shared my feelings. Martin had wanted us to come but didn't have the right
facilities, and so he probably thought once we were here, it would work out
somehow.
But it was too late to turn back; we just had to make the best of it, at least
for tonight. So we followed Martin upstairs to look at his bedroom. It was
indeed small, with just a single bed. To make up for the lack of size, the
room had a pretty open fireplace. A small chest stood next to the bed, and a
wardrobe was placed against the wall by the door. There was no space for
anything else. Martin excused himself and left, probably so we could talk.
"What do you think?" I asked Ilse.
"The bed is not big enough for both of us," she said practically, and I agreed.
It was different sharing a small bed with a lover - but with each other? So
Ilse decided to give the other option a try. If Martin's friend really lived
just a few doors away, we could still be together most of the time. Ilse would
only need to sleep there. And if she didn't like it or there were other
problems, she could always come back. We'd manage the one night in a single
bed, and tomorrow, if we couldn't find a better solution, we'd leave.
But we needn't have worried. Martin's friend Tom lived indeed only three doors
away, and the family greeted us with real warmth. Their house had been done up
quite recently, and a bedroom built on. It was a small but pretty bedroom, and
Ilse was sure she would be fine.
In spite of our initial doubt it couldn't have worked out better, because Ilse
liked Tom, and it soon became apparent he was interested in her too. He was a
handsome man, slighter in build than Martin, but taller - with fair straight
hair and a merry twinkle in his blue eyes - a charmer like Martin, but in a
different way.
It was nice seeing my friend together with a man she really liked and was
attracted to. I had felt a little guilty about Ilse being on her own all these
months, and sharing all my troubles. But now she was enjoying herself, and
slowly falling in love.
from
Vanessa The Google Girl.
my skype name is rainbowstar123
Other related posts:
- » [guide.chat] chapter sixteen in mysterious ways - vanessa
