MMIL15

You only know you're in a tunnel rather than a cave when you see the light, a tiny speck that grows bigger as you approach and quicker if you run!. MMIL can see the light and is frisky with excitement! She's back and too from the tip with, well, we don't know what; not even the threat of a chimney coming crashing down in the recent windy weather has checked her enthusiasm for the approaching finishing line. Mmm, we know better. Caution horses!
The signs ARE good: the bank's surveyor (A sensible one according to the agent!) is due to inspect in Tuesday, the purchaser indicates he wants to complete within a week, the selling agents are talking to the purchasing agents at this end smoothing the water and giving positive signals.
We continue to try to concentrating her mind on small important tasks, like clearing her filing cabinet of dead-weight documents.
MMIL announced yesterday that the filing cabinet was 'empty' - she's emptied it all into a box to take with her and sort at leisure in her new home! It's like telling a child Santa won't come unless you're asleep in bed! Lord Love Her!
Oh well, after weeks in the darkness, we can all see the light now!

Justice

(1753)

Two young Hindi boys ambled along the dusty path towards the river. Each one carried a galvanised steel bucket swinging with the rhythm of their stride. They chatted and laughed about a boy at school who was afraid of ghosts and rarely ventured outside after dark. As they approached the river, the path widened and they saw a man on horse-back leaning forward encouraging his horse to drink from the river. The boys knew the man, everyone knew the camp commander, known without affection as Captain Clive. They, and the villagers and workers at the camp, knew of his mistreatment of local people and his violence towards women. Instinctively they hung back, crouched down, speechless in the grass beside the path, hoping not to be discovered.

     The horse paused from drinking, turned its head and looked in the direction of the boys, its ears alert at the sound of their approach.  The Captain shifted in his saddle and followed the horse’s gaze. It was a big horse. It shook its head back and forth, jingling the bridle. The day was hotting up; the air was perfectly still, only the sound from the horse’s bridle and the chattering sparkle of the water in the river, disturbed the tableau.
      Just then the boys heard a crack, like a twig snapping, only much louder; a rifle shot. The Captain heard it too. As he swung round in the direction where the boys were hiding, he suddenly stopped, swung back the other way and tumbled out of the saddle. He didn’t fall off because the heel of his shiny black boot jammed in the stirrup, so he half hung, without falling to the ground. His peaked cap landed in the water and began to drift down stream. The horse made a whinnying sound and took a few steps sideways dragging the Captain with him, then stopped, turned and looked straight at the boys as if seeking for explanation or assistance. The boys could see the wound in the captain’s head, just above his ear; blood flowed freely and mingled with the water and sand, the sleeve of his khaki shirt turned black as it soaked up the river.
      The two boys were transfixed by the scene. They knew something terrible had happened but they had no idea what to do; they sat on their haunches, eyes wide open, staring at the scene ahead of them. They knew there would be trouble.
     ‘Should we see if he’s alive?’ asked one.
     ‘No, we should get away as fast as we can. People will be coming. We shouldn’t be seen here!’ replied the other. A dog barked somewhere close and broke the silence.
     ‘C’mon, let’s go, quick!’
The two boys upped and ran back the way they had come, arms flailing, legs pumping, their threadbare shirts flapping; the two empty buckets remained in the dry grass.

     At the parade ground, Captain Clive walked beside Champion, holding the bridle, occasionally looking up at Mary Ann. She looked down at him, at his polished bald head, at the new crowns in his epaulettes glistening in the warming sun and his shadow marching beside him. She was content to sit, holding the pommel, swaying from side to side with the slow gait of the horse. Mary Ann liked riding high up on Champion, she could see over the trees to the low hills in the distance. Above her, vultures patrolled the skies in the clear morning air. She could hear voices, the trundle of carts, the rattle of harness, the plaintive neighing of an ass and the barking of a dog. The smell of smoke was in the air from many wood fires. The soldiers would be gathered for breakfast at the tented barracks. Mary Ann began to think about school.

    ‘Had enough now have you?’ Captain Clive asked as he turned the horse towards the stable and increased the pace a little. ‘I expect you’ll be wanting to get school.’
    ‘Yes. I think so, thank you’ Mary Ann replied. ‘I want to go to school now.’
    ‘Very well, I’ll see you again tomorrow morning.’ The horse came to a standstill. Captain Clive secured the bridle to a post and reached up to Mary Ann allowing his hand to brush her thigh where her skirt had folded back. He clasped both his hands around Mary Ann’s waist.   
     ‘Ready now, one, two, three!’ Mary Ann was lifted clear of the saddle, swung through the air in a wide arc and lowered to the hard dusty ground. Captain Clive bent and straightened the hem of her skirt, brushed dust from her black patent leather shoes. He rose, a little breathless, placed both hands on her shoulders. He could feel her collar bone, then the heat from her body through the thin cotton of her white blouse.
    ‘We like our morning walks don’t we, you me and Champion?’ He removed his hands from her shoulders and stroked her hair. ‘Did you enjoy your ride, your Royal Highness?’ he jested
    ‘Yes thank you. One day I’ll have my own horse’ she replied.
    He smiled. ‘I’m certain you will, maybe sooner than you think! Don’t forget your satchel.’ He thought how pretty she looked. ‘Off you go then, see you tomorrow, same time?’ He stood and watched her go.
    ‘Bye and thank you’ she called back, already skipping, swinging her satchel as she went, her black hair bobbing up and down. Small puffs of dust splashed with the tread of her shoes on the parched dusty parade ground.
     Captain Clive continued to watch until she’d disappeared from sight. He stood for a moment remembering her bright face, her freckled cheeks, her clear blue eyes and the warmth of her body through her blouse when he held her. His thoughts lingered before he turned his attention to his horse, adjusting the stirrups, feeling for the habitual point on the straps, worn and light-coloured from habit. Each buckle slotted effortlessly into its natural place. He gave his horse a pat on its rump.
    ‘There’s a fine fellow. I expect you’d like a drink from the river, heh?’ The horse turned and looked at him as he reached for his cap, blew off the thin dust and dropped in on his head. He took the peak in his right hand and adjusted the fit, centred it and tapped the brim. The new bright crowns on his shoulders reminded him of his recent promotion. He walked Champion to the mounting block, mounted, settled his arse in the saddle and rode off at a light canter in the direction of the river, leaving behind the deserted parade ground. He heard the chime of the school bell. He smiled a smile of someone pleased that pieces of a secret plan were falling into place. He stroked his moustaches with the back of his gloved free hand and continued his ride down to the river.
    Captain Clive, a seasoned India-wallah, commanded the battalion of horse artillery at Shimla and had been promoted recently to Major. He’d always been called ‘Captain Clive’ and among his soldiers he was happy for it to remain so; it showed a side of his nature that contrasted with his dedication to discipline and order. He was first and always a soldier, proud to serve his country.
    Mary Ann’s father, Sergeant-Major Collins had been with the battalion for many years having served throughout North West India. He was a fine soldier, but to his commanding officer, he was a man without ambition. The Captain considered himself to be a friend of the family. Mary Ann walked Champion every morning before school with the implicit consent of her father. She’s fond of the huge horse and enjoyed riding each morning before school. Mary Ann will be fourteen soon and for her birthday, and the Captain had a big surprise for her.
    
    Sergeant-Major Collins leaned on the gatepost of the picket fence watching his daughter skip off to school.
    ‘Be a good girl’ he called after her.
She turned and waved.  The gesture was received with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Her father knew she was going to the parade ground as she did every morning before school. He knew she would ride that horse. His heart was full of anger and loathing for his superior officer and the hold he had on his daughter, and on him. He felt powerless; no matter which way he thought to intervene, he was unable find a satisfactory solution. Grinding his teeth was the outward manifestation of the dark rage that festered inside him; he turned from the gate wrestling within him to suppress the demons.
     Alone in the empty house he prepared to go to work.  He heard the school bell chime and knew his daughter would be released. Minutes later, as he stepped out of the house, he heard the crack of a rifle shot, close by, perhaps from the vicinity of the river; a single shot. Silence dropped like a lead weighted curtain; the vultures continued to soar high above the river. He stood for a moment, enveloped by the eerie hush, attempting to place the sound of the shot in a logical place in his mind. He went back into the house, to the wardrobe in the bedroom and saw that his rifle was safely locked away. He decided it must have been some accidental firing; the reason would emerge sometime during the day.

 The investigations that followed the death of Captain Clive proved inconclusive and were declared ‘misadventure’.
   
There were people with motives. Sergeant Major Collins was found not guilty; his rifle had not been fired that morning. Mohan Singh, whose wife had been seduced by the Captain against her will, had a water-tight alibi. Two Sowars who had made separate complaint against the captain had already left the district and had not been seen since. Soldiers, both British and Indian Army, whose names had been placed on charge sheets by Captain Clive, were interviewed and found to be innocent. It is thought likely that the police authorities had done what they could in the circumstances. No-one was charged with the murder.
     It transpired that Captain Clive had left money in his will to Mary Ann who would inherit the sum, held in trust until she was twenty-one years old. Her father however, refused to allow her to receive the money. Instead, legal arrangements were made to donate the money, when released, to a local charity caring for orphaned children.

MMIL14

Glad that's over but we'll miss the walks along the awesome Dee Estuary shore and around the frenetic marine lake at West Kirby. We'll never forget the stunning play of light, sky and tides on the estuary.
    We 'celebrated' Christmas in a house that looked and felt like it had been selectively burgled: pictureless walls, bookshelves 70% empty and sinister groups of black bin-liners huddled conspiratorially. MMIL had her meals separate from us, the same ones she has everyday, at the same time, while we turned up like a mobile caterer bringing everything but the proverbial sink for three days of gluttony. (you need the walks along the beach!)
    The Elephant in the Room was THE MOVE! Unable to be precise about where the sale is up to and hoping it hasn't foundered, careful too not the offer fatalistic outcomes for fear MMIL would decide to stay put. To a constant background of BBC's everlasting news broadcast, we fiddled about with tape measures and floor plans to work out what would fit where all the time wondering whether the excise was academic on not; all the time worrying what Prince Phillip was up to. The the deeper we understood the consequences of the more, the more a 'stay put' began to look like a good idea!
    The serious sorting of personal files was too daunting, so we brought them with us in the car to sort down here rather than suffer the painful scrutiny applied by MMIL, not to mention the fastidious removal of name-and-address from each and every sheet of paper. I discovered MMIL has been keeping paper copies of every email received! (old people embracing new technology?)
    We didn't really achieve much......either by way of 'celebration' or progressing the move.
    We'll see what happens in the New Year....could be in for an interesting time.

If you've read this, thank you and Happy New Year to you and yours!

MMIL13

It's December 23 and there's a mad panic in the air as the world (most of it I suspect) prepares for an annual armageddon, frenzy of to-and-fro, a tsunami of spending, a gushing of intentional goodwill and the taking of time to let things slide happily into a black hole, to be picked in ten days or so, when 'normal' service will be resumed.
A call to MMIL's selling agent this morning asking the question, 'Where are things up to with the purchasors. as we head for Christmas?' and the answer 'We've no idea!' GREAT
A whole 3 weeks has passed and nothing has happened; now for 10 more days when nothing will happen. We suspect by the time 2012 arrives MMIL will be driving to the tip in an empty car and filling up with as much rubbish as she can find, to bring it all back, declaring, to the sound of bouncing marbles, that she's staying put!
Oh well, we're on our way up there tomorrow....expecting the worst! We might be gone sometime....

MMIL12

Of all the things you would want to be settled before the unsettling period of Christmas/New Year, it would be the contract pertaining to a house purchase. (Maybe the birth of an overdue child, or  a decree absolute would run it to a close second)
MMIL finds herself twiddling her thumbs.
Trips to tip have ceased to amuse her. She's rehearsed the move out and the move in so many times that she's afraid there'll be no surprises (good or bad!) She's sent her cards with the exciting news and now everyone wants to wish her well: to remain where she is?
The pictures and stuff have been taken off the walls. MMIL has begun pulling out the picture hooks, but has refrained since the new owners might want to keep the wallpaper that is holding the house together!

Remind me please what Estate Agents do for the hefty chunk of money they receive when a house is eventually sold? Forgive me for expecting them to be 'on the case' night and day, pushing and pulling the various elements into time and space, so as to be able to affect a conclusion. Instead there are echoing empty, event-less, information-less weeks that slide past like ghost ships in the night.

Well, it would be nice for MMIL to be in for Christmas!

MMIL11

MMIL was questioned by a Constable regarding the out-of-date disabled badge on her car. MMIL was recommended to 'get it seen too, sharpish'. So she returned home to recharged her 'mobility scooter' and whizzed round to the precinct. She got 3 years, after good behaviour was taken into consideration. I think 3 years is about all MMIL will be able to cope with, unless of course she prangs someone!
We found a local carpetman, we'll refer to him as Walter, Walter Wall Carpets. The estimate for carpeting the 2 bed bung. comes to about a quarter MMIL payed for the whole seven bedroomed house; if you haven't priced anything for 30 years, current prices (and the price of raisins and sultanas) can come as a bit of a shock. The search for a local blindman continues; it's bound to be someone with a surname with 2 'i's. Hey Ho!

MMIL10

The pressure's up and the wind's been blowing this week. Suddenly the serious side of MMIL's move starts to kick in. MMIL won't make it for christmas, 15 days away, but a signing is expecting 'early in the New Year'. So we'll be trundling up north for the last time (at chrimbo) mostly to affect a MASSIVE sort out - stuff to be chucked, in the garage, 6 beds, 3 wardrobes, comfy armchairs, extending table, countless occasional furnitures, (several sets of drums - oops), crocks and pots, tired white goods and on and on. Stuff to be saved and shifted south emblazoned with red stickers! (read A Moving Story in the blog).

Now here's a thing. Is it advisable to hire a mover from the point of departure, or the point of arrival? (answers on a post card please)
We're looking out for a blind person too!
January will be mental!