Past Caring
by Ian Curtress
It must have
been beautiful in its day, vast views to the
hills from the front and a sun dappled wood
protecting it from the rear.
But now the cottage was almost a ruin awaiting to
be swallowed by time.
It was by chance I found it, my walks are far
side of the woods and on that day I was in good
spirits and ventured much further than usual.
I stood for quite a while trying to visualise its
past.
Garden full of colour, someone leaning on the
gate. Their little heaven.
I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind
and in due course tried to discover its history.
Shire Hall and planning were helpful when they
could see I was genuinely concerned and said they
would let me know when information became
available.
A month past when I was asked to call into
planning when I had time.
It appears as far as records could tell, it was
last occupied over ninety years ago when a very
elderly man was discovered dead by a vagrant. He
was asking for any work on a local farm and told
of the dead man.
By the time the body was recovered it was
impossible in those days to confirm cause of
death and an open verdict was given. No
identification or records were ever found.
However, it appears the estate was owned by a
Capt.Andrews and his Wife. He was killed in the
Boar war and having no heirs or family she sold
the estate but kept enough to build a cottage. No
record of her after that time.
I could not get him or the cottage out of my mind
and being retired had time to pursue the
situation further and in due course I went back
the the cottage.
Stepping over rubble and broken timbers I gained
entry.
There were no recognisable signs of furniture,
things had been taken over the years.
Access to upstairs was impossible as stairs had
collapsed.
I stood in this shambles of what must have been a
lovely sitting room with the suns rays casting
shadows on crumbling walls trying to visualise
what might have been.
Incongruous. Some logs were by the large open
fireplace.
I read too many mystery novels! Like a fool I
went to the fireplace and started feeling all
around the chimney, they always find something in
their stories.
Well truth is stranger than fiction. I could just
touch a tin but not grip it.
Looking around for a suitable stick I was able to
dislodge it and there in my hand a dirty, sooty
but undamaged tin.
With fumbling hands I managed to open it.
There, in good condition was a Queens South
Africa Medal. Pvt.J.Granger.
Together with a lovely lock of curly golden hair.
Was the body that of Pvt.J.Granger. Was he Batman
to Capt.Andrews ? Did the golden curls belong to
Mrs.Andrew’s ?
If so, are you thinking what I’m thinking ?
I’d like to think so.
I carefully replaced everything as it was.
It was only right they should stay together…..
The Medal, the Golden curls and the Cottage.
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