DECEMBER 24 2013:
A Christmas Story
David Deanshaw
David Deanshaw
SHADOW
A Cup of Wine
Dan Briggs heaved a
sigh of relief as he reached up to release the heavy metal hooks which held
open the large double doors of The Swan. Closing time at last!
The
customers, in fact the whole world, seemed to be convinced that the Christmas
trade made publicans laugh all the way to the bank. If only they knew! Tonight, Christmas Eve had been hectic. True,
takings were high and that should be good for him, his business and his family.
Family. That word echoed round in his mind until his
head was spinning.
Outwardly he enjoyed
his role as the local publican, being at the centre of the village life along
with the church. Inwardly his heart was aching. Still he had a public to serve
and a position in the community to maintain. He had spent some of his profits
to ensure that there was a room for families when necessary. He was also the
sponsor of the village darts team. There
were a number of small rooms scattered round the old pub, often used by village
organisations for their committee meetings; they all added to the takings. Everything
one would require in a small village pub. Most of his regulars were local
farmers but some were commuters who enjoyed the peace and quiet of the
countryside and being away from their busy city lives. His North Country
candour meant that he spoke his mind at all times and they appreciated him all
the more for that.
He
had delighted in the style that he had brought to the pub. There was a long bar
of polished walnut. The brass beer pumps stood proud and highly polished, each
with the name of the sponsoring brewery. Behind the bar there was a high mirror
which enabled all the immaculately clean glasses and shorts bottles to shine
brightly. Alongside the bar there were a few high stools made of beech. These
too were polished and maintained regularly. After all, some of his farmer
customers were broad in the beam!
As
he stood in the doorway, the light from the porch cut a giant wedge in the
snow. With his arms akimbo and feet
planted wide apart, his eyes followed his shadow as it stretched out across the
snow and rose up the little hill in front of the pub. The sky was a speckled
deep blue carpet and the cold night air caused him to breathe deeply. As he
exhaled, his breath became a white mist. The security light behind him
producing a searchlight effect.
Family!
The ache in his
heart weighed heavily as he recollected how life had changed for him
over the last twelve months.
Christmas
seemed to engender the notion that families should be together.
This
year was going to be different. For the first time since the children had been
born, he would be on his own. He honestly believed in the wisdom, perhaps
nobility, by which he had gone without to ensure that their future could be
more certain.
There
the family had two rooms upstairs and two down with an additional scullery at
the rear. It was in this room that he used to see his mother working away at
not only the family’s washing, but piles of clothes from others in order to
make ends meet. There too he had seen his father digging not only his own
allotment, but tilling others so he could add to the subsistence life style in
rural Yorkshire.
There
he had been brought up to accept the old fashioned values of loyalty, respect
and the sanctity of the family unit. He and his wife had had such great dreams
as they started their family. Then tragedy struck them with his wife’s illness
and her desperate fight for life through terrible pain. Eventually the cancer
had won and relieved her of all her agony. She had died, leaving him to bring
up two children in their early teenage years. He had grieved in private to
shelter his children, but the pain was always just under the surface. Especially
now, when he felt he had nothing.
Indeed,
life had been tough ever since. He had scrimped to provide his children with
the best education that he could afford. Most parents expected their teenage
children to get part-time jobs, but not Dan.
“I
will provide. Just use the time to study, gain real skills and create a better
life for yourselves than your mother and I have had!”
That
message was hammered home for years as they grew up.
When
both Sarah and Peter went to university, Dan was fit to burst with pride. He
should have been looking forward to them coming home for Christmas, but he had
sent them into an exile he now desperately regretted. He was not a religious
man in the normally accepted sense, he was not “spiritually certain” or
anything like that but he had been brought up to believe that forgiveness was
only possible with repentance.
His
mind wandered back to that first blow.
Dan’s
first inkling that trouble was brewing was when Sarah came home unexpectedly
from the social services job she had started only a few months earlier. Whilst
he missed his daughter being away from him, he knew she had a life of her own
to live, so her sudden arrival meant that she was missing him or that she a
real problem.
University
had been a tough process for a girl leaving home for the first time, especially
one whose mother had died when she was very young. But she had survived three
years of study and her year out had been spent looking at how local councils
provided support and care for people in need. With her degree in hand, she had
applied to work in a town some distance away. She stayed in touch with her dad
but had grown the wings of independence since she had left home. The director
had set her some tough tasks and she was relishing the challenge. These tasks
took her to situations she had never experienced before, including locations
off the beaten track – gipsy encampments, transport cafes – children in those
situations were often neglected or allowed to run wild.
“Oh,
Dad, you would not believe some of the jobs I have to do. Some people don’t
deserve to have children. Some of the places I’ve visited would make you
shudder.” The poverty and deprivation she had seen reminded her of the stories her
dad used to tell them about his own childhood. Her boss had thought she might
be a bit posh due to the way she spoke, especially bearing in mind the kind of
poor and sometime feckless families with whom she would be dealing. However he soon
discovered that he was delighted with the insights she brought to her
understanding of the problems and, more importantly, the solutions she
proposed.
“Darling,
please look after yourself. I worry about you. Yet, at the same time, I am so
proud of you.”
On that quiet afternoon, almost three months
after Sarah had left home full of hopes and self-confidence, Dan was shocked to
see her walk through his front door.
“Dad,
I have something very important to tell you. I’ve met a nice chap named Fred,
who wants to marry me. I met him at a transport cafe on one of my assignments.”
“So
soon? Please at least develop your skills and get some experience under your
belt.” Dan was aghast.
“Dad,
I am sorry but I’m pregnant.”
Dan
had a sharp intake of breath and could feel a lump the size of a cricket ball
in his throat. He was close to tears, the slap of his hand on his forehead
echoed round the small living area over the bar.
“So
all that scrimping was for nothing! How could you?”
“Dad,
I am really, really sorry, but I do love him!” Sarah too knew that tears were
coming and soon.
“Dad,
it is my life.” She was spluttering now.
Dan
looked at her, shaking. He lifted his right hand to his face, his thumb in his
right eye and his index finger in his left, to wipe the tears. Suddenly, he
could find nothing to say. The maelstrom
of emotions was tearing him apart inside. There was disappointment – bitter,
bitter disappointment, as well as shame. Sarah had been popular in the village,
now what would be people say – the shame of it!
“Dad,
I do love you, but it’s my life.”
“Alright,
alright, you’ve already made that clear!”
“We
are just having a quiet ceremony, no fuss.”
She
left in tears. As she looked back, her father’s face was set like granite. She
pondered whether perhaps this was the beginning of a new life for both of them.
The events which
followed took both of them by surprise, bringing unhappiness as well as
bitterness.
Less
than two years after the modest registry office ceremony in front of just two witnesses
from the transport cafe, Fred had found another woman and Sarah, destitute, had
returned to her dad.
He
turned her away.
Then
he called her back.
"If
you come back, you'll have to work. This place is too big for me as it is. That
child will have to go – let that no-good father bring it up."
“Dad,
do you know just how brutal that sounds? You know that I’d be grateful for a
roof over my head. Look, soon it’ll be Christmas. When you see your grandson
playing with his toys near the Christmas tree, I am sure you’ll think
differently. I just hope you can forgive me. Especially at this time of year. Besides,
Peter will be coming home for Christmas and that will help. Peter's presence
always makes you happy.”
But Dan was adamant and Sarah again left in tears. Dan
too wanted to understand why he had been so harsh on his own flesh and blood. But
Sarah had not considered his feelings in the matter, so why should he spare a
thought for hers?
Some
months later an unexpected letter arrived.
Dear Dad,
I am really sorry that you have
decided that you want nothing to do with your grandson Daniel. He is lovely boy with a cheerful manner and
he is starting to talk and walk. He has a round face just like yours.
I am living in a social services hostel
and being looked after and supported by the very team with which I worked. The
Team Leader is very supportive and in some ways they see me and my situation as
a good test case to see how well or otherwise the “system” is working.
Daniel seems to get on with the
other babies in the nursery. I spend lots of time with him even though I am
working part-time with the team. I have access to a laptop so when he is asleep
I am able to earn something for my keep and ensure that Daniel has a safe base.
I really had thought that seeing
Daniel crawling around the Christmas tree would have appealed to you.
Lots of love,
Sarah xx
***
Dan’s son Peter was in
his final year at agricultural college. Every time he came home he would tell
his dad how much he wanted to put all his new theories into practice. During
his time at college, he had been sponsored to travel and work in various
countries, some in Europe as well as Africa.
Dan's
Christmas present for his son that year was a formidable one.
Alex
Hughes, one of Dan's regular customers, owned the farm next door to the pub. Alex was now well over seventy and had
decided to retire. Having no children of his own to leave the farm to, he had
offered it to Dan for Peter at a very favourable price. Alex only wanted his
beer and his pipe now. He would of course be able to help and provide advice
whenever it was needed.
Dan was
still slowly coming to terms with the news from Sarah when another unexpected
letter arrived.
Dear Dad,
I’m really looking fwd to seeing you
at Christmas.
I’ve so much to tell you about
Africa. I really have learned a great deal in these last four months. I’ve got
all sorts of ideas to make things better for these wretched people.
They have suffered from droughts for
years but the new desalination plant and the channels – just like our fens – have made all the difference in the
coastal regions.
I never thought I would learn the
various dialects of Swahili out here but it seems that I can make myself
understood with most people. Occasionally, I make a mistake. I told a story
recently about seeing some ndovu swinging from branch to branch and they all
burst out laughing. Later I learned that I should have used the word nyani for
monkeys because ndovu are elephants!
The university is really pleased
with progress and the sponsoring company have asked if I can return in the New
Year and stay for at least three years! This is great news Dad so I hope you
will be pleased for me.
Lots of love
Peter
Dan was sure that Peter
would change his mind when he came home and heard what he had provided for him.
His
chest had filled with pride as he explained with great pleasure his fantastic
present to his son. He did not often stock champagne but Dan was convinced that
the time was ripe for a celebration. He carefully opened the bottle and
arranged the glasses on the coffee table in the small lounge upstairs from the
bar. The horror on Peter’s face telegraphed more bad news for Dan.
“Dad,
I didn’t ask you to do this for me,” Peter pleaded.
“I
was so sure that you would be pleased.”
“Look,
Dad, I’m sorry but I just can’t do this yet. I really hope you can forgive me
and try to understand my point of view.”
“Peter,
after all that has happened with your sister, the least I expected was some
stability and common sense from you.”
“Look,
Dad, please … I am begging you because I love you and I appreciate all you have
done for me. But I have seen and done nothing outside my work. Before I settle
down and have kids, I want to travel. For the last ten years my studies had to
come first, just as you wanted. In this last year, I have visited several
farms, some in Eastern Europe and recently in East Africa as you saw from my
letter. I have realised how little I have travelled. And what is more how much
help I could give them now I have this qualification. Besides, lots of
graduates have a gap year, some even have two.”
“Oh
Peter, how ungrateful can you be? You self-centred, inconsiderate, selfish boy! Do you realise what you are throwing way? Don't
you care what I want?”
Peter,
obviously saddened by his father’s reaction, maintained a dignified but
disappointed silence.
“Get out and stay out! How can you expect me
to forgive you? After all I've done for you.” Dan's anger boiled and boiled and
had finally overflowed. He clenched his fists, fixing in his memory the end of
his dreams for his son. He lashed out with his foot, spreading the champagne
all over the floor. How could he forgive him? The peace of mind he was hoping
for had been smashed by the two people he cared for most in the entire world. Yet
he had sent them into an exile that had created deep distress for all of them.
The night air was
making his eyes water. His breath turning to a white mist as his hot breath met
the frosty air.
"Excuse
me; do you have a room, please? Forgive
me for calling so late."
So
intent had he been on reflecting on the events of the past year and on his own
sense of emptiness that Dan had not noticed the stranger approaching.
The
man stood in Dan's shadow, making his features difficult to see clearly. But he
had hair on his face, not a long beard but enough to hide his chin. His eyes
seemed to be dark pools and deep set, giving him a mildly Eastern look.
“Certainly
not! What business can you have at this time of night? Shove off! Most decent
folk are at home with their families!"
That
word fizzed round in his mind again.
"Please
forgive me for calling so late. You are not the first person to refuse me
tonight! But I wish you peace."
The
stranger turned and trudged away slowly through the snow towards the hill
leading away from the pub.
Peace
indeed! As he reflected on what he had
just said to the stranger the realisation hit him that he had treated his own
children in that same brusque and indifferent way. Answering ‘no’ to every question showed a
failure in human sensibility, sensitivity and, above all, respect for another’s
point of view. The way he had treated his children had not been the actions of
a loving father. Was the road to redemption through forgiveness? Had they both
been sorry and sought his forgiveness? Yes, they had! It was for him now to
acknowledge that their apologies should be recognised. That old platitude about
erring being human and forgiveness being divine and his failure to perform an
act of goodwill at the season of goodwill, it all troubled him. They had both
sought his forgiveness but he was still resisting.
In
his eyes they had fallen from grace, but perhaps the greater fall could have
been his own. He could no longer claim to be a loving father.
The church bell struck
midnight. It was Christmas, the season of goodwill – and perhaps forgiveness? Dan
pondered. Had he been too harsh because they had not done his will? He thrust
his head into his hands, a large lump grew in his throat and he felt the tears
dribbling through his fingers. What he had shown to his children had been pride?
Stupid, stupid pride.
Should
he forgive?
How
could he find that peace of which the stranger had spoken?
Dan's
eyes followed his own shadow across the snow towards the hill. In the distance
he could see the stranger, quite clearly now, in the glare of the lights from
the porch.
But
His figure threw no shadow.
Happy
Christmas Everyone! Be kind to one another!
About the Author
David Deanshaw has had a varied business career, firstly
in banking, then as a management consultant and more recently involved in the
regeneration of run down town centres. In addition he had a life in local
politics, including dealings with Government Ministers. He has had several
letters published in The Times, Sunday Times and Birmingham Post of a political and business nature.
He has been involved with every community in which he has
lived for over sixty years.
When asked why he joined a writers
group some years ago, he said “I have been writing business fiction for ages,
so I thought I would try real fiction.”
He intends to use his experience in writing a mixture of
short stories, whilst planning a couple of novels based on situations he saw in
the of finance and politics.
