Leading Question
by Ian Curtress
It’s a
nice bungalow, middle one of five. Built about
fifteen years ago in the grounds of an old Manor
House empty and crumbling it appears.
I moved in about three months ago having
downsized from a largish four bedroomed house no
longer needed now I’m on my own.
I am delighted with the reduction in chores in
both the bungalow and garden from those to which
I was committed in my previous home.
After fifteen years, all the gardens and
surroundings have matured and this pleasant
situation is quite picturesque.
All are occupied by the original owners and mine
was the first to change hands, the reason being
the sole occupant had passed away.
Being only five properties all neighbours were
more or less friends and the loss of Harry, the
owner of my bungalow, was almost like losing a
family member.
He was a real favourite.
It appears he was a great leg puller with a very
happy personality.
One of those individuals who had the knack of
bringing a smile to your face whenever you met
him.
One of my immediate neighbours was very close to
him and ran a few errands when he became less
mobile.
She told me stories about his escapades which
continued even when his health was failing.
Used to say “I’ll never leave my
bungalow, after all, who will make you all laugh
if I’m not here”
She was the kind neighbour who helped me settle
in and find my way around in the first few weeks.
Now I had more time on my hands being retired I
decided to take up my painting again.
They said I had some talent when at college and
over the years had from time to time done some
very acceptable canvases.
My easel had not seen the light of day for a long
time due to family commitments and subsequent
life changing events and now I found it both
comforting and relaxing.
Having spare rooms I made one into a studio. It
was bright and ideal and I was eager to put brush
to canvas, so to speak.
I had enjoyed painting portraits, many of the
family of course but particularly the challenge
of any rugged character filled face. It sounds
foolish but as I progressed on such paintings I
felt I really knew the person.
My first effort here was such, an imagined face
as no “sitter” was on hand.
I found myself smiling with each brushstroke and
well pleased with the end result.
One morning Joan, the neighbour I mentioned
called to ask if I wanted anything from the shops
and was surprised to see me in a paint stained
apron.
I invited her in to explain my attire and she was
naturally inquisitive as to what sort of painting
I did.
I said my favourite subject was portraiture and
had just completed my first for a very long time.
She asked if I would let her see it so I opened
the studio door and on my easel was the portrait.
I can’t really explain her reaction. It was
a little disconcerting, a sort of intake of
breath and she put her hand on my forearm as if
for support as she haltingly said.
So you knew Harry!
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