‘For some reason I found this old fellow interesting. He was quite well spoken and obviously looked after himself; he was dressed well enough, in an old fashioned sort of way, but seemed a bit ‘worn at the edges’ so to speak’
There is a hint of frost in the air, as you would expect in early December. It is 9.20 am and I am stood waiting for the bus to town; not a journey I usually make at this time of day but I have to collect my car from the garage, so it has to be done. I am no lover of public transport, therefore I made my way rather unwillingly if truth be known to the bus stop.
Sat on a wooden bench in the draughty wooden structure,surrounded by the posters and public information leaflets stuck to the bus-stop wall, there is the hunched figure of a man, shivering. He is not young; he sits alone, staring downwards into space. He is wearing an old waxed jacket, a scarf around his neck and an old cap on his head. I cannot see his face. Woollen-gloved hands clutch a furled umbrella,maybe he is expecting rain? I stand outside. This bus stop is quite traditional, I suppose, and not out of keeping with the rest of the village but it does very little to protect one from the elements.
The bus arrives and I get aboard, pay my fare and, as I sit down, I see the old man get up from his throne in the bus shelter at the last moment. He waves the brolly at the bus driver before the bus sets off. He steps aboard, just avoiding the closing door. I watch him stand speaking with the driver; there is a bit of an altercation and finally the old man pays his fare and stomps off up the bus, sitting down in front of me.
I lean forward and say, “Bit of a problem there?“ The old chap does not turn but says, “Seems I am a twirly. They make me cross these drivers. All for the sake of a couple of minutes.” Puzzled, I ask, “Sorry. I don’t understand. What’s a ‘twirly?’ The old chap turns and says, “My bus pass starts at 9.30 am. This bus leaves that stop at 9.26. Every day it is the same. Some drivers just allow me on but others say, “Sorry mate but you are too early. ‘Twirly,’ see?” It seems that everybody has to have a title these days; nobody seems to use Mr or Mrs, or whatever, any more.
Well, I think to myself, I have to reply as I had instigated this conversation. “That’s a bit of a shame. It’s the least they could do, to let you use your pass. Just for the sake of a couple of minutes. Do you live locally; I have not seen you around the village?”
“That’s maybe because sometimes I get the bus later. It’s easier than arguing with these jobsworths. I have lived in this village for the last forty years so it’s probably you who is the stranger. I bet you live in one of those new houses on that abomination of an estate that has been thrown up.”
We sat in silence as the bus rattled its way along the roads to the town. The old chap looked out of the window at the streets, muttering something under his breath, I could not catch what he was saying, as we left the relative peace and cold tranquillity of the countryside and entered the outskirts of the town. The old chap turned around and pointed to a litter bin on the footpath as the bus rumbled past. The bin was full to overflowing, the contents strewn about the pavement. “That would never have happened in my day. People just do not care anymore; no self respect or decency. Is it any wonder that the world is going to the dogs?“ I replied, “I agree, but the bins are the council’s responsibility so maybe it’s not people but organisations that don’t fulfil their obligations.” The old chap mumbled something to himself and sat back in his seat, his head buried in his scarf. I smiled to myself and thought…’this old fella is the archetypal grumpy old man.’
As the terminus approached, I stood up and as I passed the old chap I said, “I may see you again some time. Best of luck with your bus drivers.” The old chap looked up at me and, far from being miserable, he had a smile upon his face. “You have cheered up” he said. He looked out of the window, then back at me, and said, “I don’t see many people from the village;most people just ignore me. Perhaps I am my own worst enemy; I can be a grumpy old so and so, and I forget that others may like a word sometimes.“ I smiled back at him and said, “This is the terminus. Unless you are just going back home, you will have to get off.” “I know,” he replied, “I am just going to sit here until the driver asks me. He was miserable with me when I got on, so I may as well be miserable with him now.” The old chap smiled again and sat back in his seat. I sensed an element of rebellion in the old fellow. I suspected he was not so much grumpy as frustrated at the world in which we all live, and I fully expect myself to be the same one day.
I got off the bus and went into town, did a bit if shopping and decided to have a coffee before collecting the car. As I was making my way to a cafe I saw the old chap coming out of the market.
“Hello again. Have you finished your shopping? Maybe you would like to join me for a cup of tea. I am just about ready for one myself.” I said. The old chap looked at me, and seemed surprised at the invitation, “Well, er, yes; that would be nice. I am not actually doing anything important; in fact, I never do anything important these days. Thankyou.“ We walked along in silence and as we reached the cafe we entered and sat down at a table. I said, “Would you like something to nibble; maybe a biscuit or a bun, perhaps? The old chap smiled again but said, “No, thank you. Tea will be fine for me.” I ordered two cups of tea and sat back in the seat.
For some reason I found this old fellow interesting. He was quite well spoken and obviously looked after himself; he was dressed well enough, in an old fashioned sort of way, but seemed a bit ‘worn at the edges’ so to speak. I went on to ask him whereabouts in the village he lived, described where I lived and waited for an answer. He was looking out of the window again, lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly he looked at me and apologised, saying that his mind had drifted for a few seconds.
The old chap stared at his cup of tea and said, “Apart from one other person, you are the only person that has spoken to me voluntarily with a proper conversation; that is, except to refuse my bus pass for a long time. Why is that?” It was now my turn to be speechless; in fact I did not know why, myself. Thinking quickly, I said, “I am just passing the time of day and it seems that you are as well, so why not do it together,seeing as we are from the same part of town? We do not know each other, so we have a blank canvas to start painting. I will start; my name is Michael and I live by myself on Elm Tree Avenue, one of the houses on the abomination of a new estate.” I smiled as I said it…
I went on to briefly describe myself, what I did for a living,etc. In fact, it must have been pretty boring really but the old chap seemed quite interested. Suddenly he said, “Now it’s my turn. My name Is Jacob but all my life I have been called Jack by those who used to speak to me, at least. I worked in an Ironmonger’s shop until it closed down. I was married but my wife passed away many years ago. My daughter left home to go to University before her mother died. After she graduated it seemed that I was not good enough stock for her to be bothered with and we drifted apart. I know she lives somewhere quite locally though. I have been alone since then.”
“So you come into town to do your shopping, then?” I asked.Jack replied, “Well, I do buy a few bits but really I like to browse in the book shops. I collect old books, mainly about field sports, shooting, fishing etc. I did not find anything today. I used to fish, many years ago but my rods, reels and nets are long gone. I just have the memories of those days but when I do find an interesting book it takes me back to happier times.”The old chap stared into his teacup. “I manage well enough. In fact, once upon a time I was quite well known, in a small way, but as the years passed I was sort of forgotten about. Now I am just dust and memories to a few, I suppose.” I was becoming confused. Why did that happen to Jack, I wondered.
I explained that I had to pick up my car from the garage and would have to leave soon, but Jack was welcome to come with me and then I could drop him off at his home.
Suddenly a girl’s voice said, “Hello, Grandad!” Jack turned and, looking up, I saw a young lady with multicoloured hair which would compete with the aurora borealis. She had piercings in her nose, tattoos on her wrists and hands and was smiling. She sat down next to Jack, who was obviously delighted to see her and gave her a beaming smile. He said, “I was looking forward to seeing you tomorrow but today is even better. What are you doing here?” The girl explained she was meeting friends in this very cafe soon, so it was just a coincidence that she was here at the same time as us.
Jack introduced his grand-daughter to me: “This is Lucy. She is the best grand-daughter anybody could have.” Jack was animated and the conversation flowed from him like a bubbling stream. He spoke about Lucy, her college, what she had done for him and what she had plans for in the future. Lucy, for her part, obviously adored Jack. These two were as different as chalk and cheese but somehow they managed to make the differences work.
I was happy for the old chap but wondered how the two had met. After all, she lived a world away from Jack’s age group and, because of his split with her mother, it would seem there was not much chance of them meeting at all. That was a question for the future; for the time being, Jack was unstoppable; a big difference from a couple of hours ago. Icould see the pair were happy to sit and enjoy each other’s company. Jack was a bit of a mystery but that also could wait for another day. I did not want to intrude, so made my apologies and stood up to leave.
I asked again if Jack wanted a lift and he smiled at me, thanked me, but said, “Actually I am not a ‘twirly’ now that it has passed 9.30, so I can catch the bus without paying. Plus, I can have a bit of time with Lucy before her friends arrive. I said, “Fine…” but I had to be off, so said my goodbyes and made my way to the door.
I had only gone a few paces outside onto the street when I heard a voice call out: “You have left your shopping.” I turned and saw Lucy following me with my bag in her hand. I thanked her and as I was about to walk off, Lucy said, “It’s nice to see Grandad with a friend; he does get lonely I think.”I explained that I had only met Jack a couple of hours ago so was not really a friend but I did live nearby in the same village. I asked where Jack lived and Lucy gave me his address. In return I gave her my address and telephone number. I told her I would call in on him in a few days. She smiled, thanked me and turned away, returning to the cafe.
I collected my car and, driving home, mused to myself ‘what was I doing befriending a grumpy old chap with whom I had nothing in common?’ Then I realised that sometimes, just maybe, things happen for the best.
A week passed… I was busy with work so the days flew. Then, suddenly, the encounter with Jack came back to me. I thought maybe he had withdrawn into himself again or, more than likely, had upset another bus driver, so I decided to call in to see him that afternoon. The weather was turning colder still so no surprises there. I dressed up warmly and made my way to the address that Lucy had given me. It was only about a ten minute walk so really we were almost neighbours. Arriving at the gate, I walked up the weathered stone slabs to a green door with the paint flaking off. The house, an inner terrace, was tidy enough on the outside but a bit like its owner, looking a bit ‘worn at the edges.’
I knocked at the door and could hear another door opening inside. The outer door opened and there was Jack; his face lit up when he saw me, welcomed me and ushered me inside. Closing the door behind me, he invited me into his ‘front room.’ Walking in, I saw that the room was simply furnished with a couple of cosy but almost threadbare armchairs, an open fire which had coals crackling away, giving off enough heat to ward off any chill. The radio was playing classical music which to my senses seemed to fit in with the decor of the room and its owner. ‘Dated’ was the word I would have used.
There were photographs on the wall and also on a sideboard; photos of family, I assumed, and also a couple of photos of Jack in his younger days. These were in black and white and a bit faded but clear enough to see Jack holding some type of fish up for the photographer to capture the moment. I am no angler so could not say what type of fish they were but Jack looked pleased with himself in the photos.
Looking around, I saw that there were lots of books in a bookcase along one wall. I remembered Jack had told me he collected books, so this must be his collection. “You must have tea”, said Jack. He stood up and said, “Do you take sugar and milk?” “That would be nice but just milk, please“ I replied. Jack left the room and I stood up and went to the bookcase.
There were certainly quite a few older books there in various states of use, some with worn covers, some hardbacks with no dustcovers at all. They were all about shooting and fishing, just as he had mentioned his interests at our earlier meeting. On another shelf there were some books about World War Two and a couple of titles relating to local government. I wondered if he had bought them after our conversation on the bus. I did not recognise any of the authors but why should I? I was anything but a sportsman, in any shape or form, unless you classed watching TV cricket as such. I had no interest in Local Government and there were enough programmes on the TV about wars ancient and modern to fill a bookcase anyway.
Jack returned with tea and cake for two. We sat down and Jack started to say how much he had been looking forward to my visit. Lucy had mentioned that I would call in and he had bought the cake in specially for the event. We passed the time in conversation quickly and suddenly I remembered that his daughter had sort of just abandoned him. I asked how he and Lucy had come to meet in the circumstances. Jack explained that Lucy had had genealogy as a subject at college and had researched her family. She had eventually found him and contacted him in the “old fashioned, proper way” from college by writing him a letter! At first Jack had been suspicious of an unsolicited letter but had replied to the college address she had given, asking her for a bit more proof of her being his grand-daughter. Lucy had replied, again by letter, giving quite a bit of family detail that she had gleaned from her mother. Jack had been satisfied and asked Lucy to meet him and it had progressed from there.
It sounded as though Lucy had been a bit of a ray of sunshine for Jack. Lucy’s mother had never discussed Jack or her mother at all, despite Lucy asking about her grandparents many times. Lucy had herself been very happy at finally meeting him. This had been some months ago now and the pair saw each other weekly, usually meeting in town, although sometimes she would travel to his home. There, he shared memories and old photographs of himself, his wife, Lucy’s mother and happier times before Lucy’s mother had left for University and effectively abandoned her father.
Jack asked me about my life and what I was doing living by myself at my age, saying I should be looking for a wife. I laughed and said that if it happened then it would happen and not before.
The conversation ebbed and flowed. I mentioned Jack’s collection of books and he said that Lucy had helped him by looking in charity shops and second-hand bookshops. There were always a few titles that evaded him though, one especially so. I asked him what books they were and he mentioned an author known as ‘BB,’ and also another couple of names which I promptly forgot. Jack said if I ever found any books by these authors, then please would I purchase them for him and he would willingly cover the cost.Eventually I saw that I had been there for over two hours. I gave Jack my own address and telephone number, just in case Lucy had not passed them on, and said I would come and visit again but had to be leaving now.
Walking down the path, Jack shouted farewell till our next meeting. It was now getting dark and I turned the collar of my coat up against the chill. As I reached the gate I turned and waved. Jack waved back, then closed the door. I walked off thinking that just maybe I had brightened up the old chap’s afternoon, although he still had his grand-daughter’s visits,and between us we may lighten his days a little.
Only a couple of days later there was a knock at my door and there was Lucy. She had just popped by on her way home from her grandfather’s, in order to thank me for my visit. Itseemed to her that Jack was a lot more cheerful in himself and not as grumpy as he had sometimes appeared to be. Jack had given Lucy my address and Lucy asked if I would be visiting again before Christmas. I said, “Yes. In fact, what would Jack be doing at Christmas?” Lucy said that she had been thinking about this and although she had to be home with her family on Christmas day, would I consider having a pub meal with her and Jack as a Christmas celebration, sometime in the days before the 25th. I said, “No problem, but it would not be easy to find anywhere that was not booked up.” Lucy said it would not be a problem as she worked part time in a pub and could fit us in somehow. Lucy said she would ring me in a day or two but I should not tell Jack as it was to be her surprise for him. I agreed as I had no appointments booked, so anytime would be OK with me.
Twenty-four hours later Lucy rang me with a time and date for the Christmas meal and I noted it in my diary.
Visiting Jack a few days later, it was all I could do to keep the dinner secret. However, I did tell him that I would be visiting him soon (it was the day of the meal and my visit was in order to make sure he would be there and available). We sat once again in his front room with more tea and cake, and conversation. Jack explained that his book collection had slowed somewhat in the last few months; the very few books he was looking for were nowhere to be found and he was now concentrating on World War Two diaries. He found them very poignant; in some cases disturbing but always interesting. He was, however, keeping a few spaces on his shelves clear should any of the field sports books he liked so much suddenly become available.
I realised that Jack was a chap who was still living in the past for much of the time. He had a phone, which was a landline, but there was no computer and no technology at all to be seen in the house except for an ageing television and radio. Jack did all his ‘collecting’ by walking around bookshops and charity shops, just browsing the shelves…in the ‘old fashioned way.’
This gave me an idea; I remembered that Jack had mentioned an author named ‘BB’ so I would search around the internet and see what I could find for him. Soon it was time to leave so I made my excuses and marched off home with my idea. In fact it was not so difficult at all, I soon found a book called The Countryman’s Bedside Book by Denys Watkins Pitchford,who I discovered wrote as ‘BB’ I ordered it and when it arrived I wrapped it up and addressed it ‘To my Friend Jack’. The book was not the best example I admit but, having seen his collection, I think he was more bothered about the content than appearance.
I phoned up Lucy, told her of my discovery and she was very pleased, saying she also had a book she had finally managed to locate for her Grandad. We would give both of them to him after the meal.
The big day arrived and I appeared at Jack’s house. Lucy was already there and she had told Jack of the surprise lunch,which had really delighted him. He had dressed in his best jacket and trousers, polished his shoes and Lucy had adjusted his tie for him; we were ready for the off. Lucy was dressed in warm winter coat, hat and boots, complete with multicoloured hair and tattoos! Lucy told Jack to put on his overcoat. He took his weathered wax jacket from the hook behind the doorand, all set, we left the house and climbed into my car.
The short journey to the pub took only about ten minutes. I parked the car, we entered the pub and sat down in a corner table. The pub was quite crowded but we were comfortable enough; Lucy had made sure of that. Lucy had already ordered the meal and it was not long before we were tucking into a Christmas lunch fit for a king. Jack was sat, looking speechless and a little bewildered! Jack told us that it was the first time he had been out to a pub for many year, and this would be the first Christmas meal since his wife had died, which was again many years ago. In fact, Jack became quite emotional as we talked over the meal. I wondered how his daughter could have just ‘abandoned’ her father. For her part, Lucy was, I think, going to sort out that little matter in due course. I explained that I would myself be visiting my own parents over Christmas but would be back soon and maybe would celebrate New Year with Jack, if possible.
The meal progressed and soon we had finished the dessert. We had coffee to round off the day and then I produced the gift for Jack. He asked if it should be opened on Christmas Day but I said, “No, whenever you wish.” Jack said, “Now is a good time!“ He read the gift tag, smiled and removed the wrapping; his face lit up as he saw the title of the book. He thanked me time and time again, then Lucy produced another book, wrapped in colourful wrapping paper, saying, “You have been searching for this book ever since we first met. I have looked everywhere, and finally came across it. It’s not in as good a condition as the one Michael has found for you but I think this one may be exactly the one you need.”
Jack opened the wrapping paper carefully, looked at the contents and tears appeared in his eyes. He said, “Thankyou both so much, and especially thankyou, Lucy.” Jack put the book onto the table. I looked across the table at the book; it was unremarkable, a small hardback book with a faded yellow cover and with what looked like a picture of a person stood holding a fish. Hang on, had I not seen that picture before somewhere?
The title obviously meant so much to Jack. I could just about make out this title and suddenly things became clearer to me. It occurred to me with a jolt that I had never asked Lucy, or indeed Jack, what his surname was. No wonder Jack had been seeking the book; memories from many years ago must have been skipping through his mind, like leaves blowing in the wind.
The title was: “Fly Fishing” by J.R.Hartley
Writing & Images – David Craine – Lincolnshire, Winter 2024
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