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If the Christmas tree, had remained undecorated, it could be said, that it was hardly, given his mood. surprising. With a few wrapped presents to one side of it, including of course the one from Nina. Thus he felt little incentive to carry out the task, also it would also bring back memories, of Nina and his mother, decorating it.
Ah yes, how ‘they’ would escape to the shed, as his father words echoed on his ears, “That son, is the order of the day, leave them to decorate the tree.”
A malt whisky with father, talking about cars of course, on this ocassion interrupted by mother wanting to know where he had stashed decorations, the Christmas angel and and..! He grinned remembering his Dad cussing.
"Simple enough job boy and look at them!” “Get out to the shed, you two.” she says, “ Out of our way.” she says! “Spent more time I swear in the last hour here in the shed than we have.”
It is when you get back to the house and the tree is decorated. The lights shimmering in amongst the green, the gold, the silver that you remember just how truly it’s a memorable magical moment.
Last year? “I see you're still working on that old Bentley!” “Almost finished! I was thinking of taking everyone out for a spin in it Boxing Day? We could drive over to Fernlea. Take a circuit around the reservoir.“
The weather that year, had made that impossible. He had the urge, to go and take a look at the Bentley. Decided not to. Once again too much to take in, re the memories.
No He would instead, providing the path was traversible, take a walk up Foresters hill that led to a place, where most of the valley could be overlooked.
From the top of it; a spectacular view.
You could say it was a panoramic vista of pure delight, especially with the layer of snow and the ghost like skeleton apparitions of the trees.
The gate to the path, could not be opened. The stile to the right of it was just about useable. Carefully picking his way over it, steadying himself to ensure his foot did not slip on the semi iced wood slab that made up one of the steps, he dropped down to step the other side, once again being careful NOT to slide on any ice.
Onto a track, mostly covered over with the thinly deposited snow. Continuing along it and up towards the top. Past the bushes of Holly, the green prickly leaves, red berries. The sprinkling of snow in amongst the spiked leaves, gave the bushes that Christmas card moment.
In the past, some of the Holly would have been cut and tacked to various shelves in the main room and the fire surround. This year it would be left as was.
Fir trees lining a path, almost making for an avenue of evergreen trees.
Painstakingly planted some forty years ago and now had grown to several feet in height. Acting as a windbreak? Behind them, several, semi shiny silver bark birch trees rocked eerily in the wind.
Reaching the top, he found the old wooden bench, that mother had insisted was built, so that they could sit. Enjoy the views, especially during the summer months. Picnics! An experience they all enjoyed.
Scraping the snow off the seat, he took the plastic bag from inside his jacket, it was filled with some newspaper, he laid it onto the seat and sat down. The first time they had been up here during the winter when father had given them plastic bags with newspaper, they had ended up laughing?
"Aye you can laugh but seat will be cold this time of year, newspaper acts as an insulator, keeps your rear warm boy! Last thing any of us wants is piles."
More laughter. But he was right. Silly simple things he taught, that were effective, cost next to nothing.
Here now. The waft of cold air, the snow falling. thin flakes onto the snow that had already built up across the ground. The fields, the hedgerows. As for the views? Always impressive and Nina would have loved this.
There was a slight chill from the light breeze. He drew the scarf around his neck tighter, adjusted the woolen hat, his mother had knitted for him. Thoughts; a kaleidoscope of visual meanderings and way too many of them.
The first Christmas he could ever remember when he had been on his own; alone for Christmas. A kind of reality that hit home with a vengeance as a tear forms, slips past the eyelid to run down his cheek. A sadness, thoughts interrupted by a sudden noise?
He stood up and glanced around, to see at some distance across the field close to the hedgerows a figure of a child? Arms waving. Shouting? Now aware, it had his attention. He waved back. He knew where, the child was.
On the track, that led past the turning into the driveway for the house.
The yellow of the car roof, he could see, beyond the hedgerow, no other figure. Just the child? Meaning whoever was with them, was conspicuously absent and that worried him. He quickened his pace, sensing something was not, right.
D 7 please click here.
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