Papa Georgio

by Annie Murray

  ‘Bronzes,’ Grandpa declared, running a loving finger down one of their spines. ‘Fine work. Marvellous, aren’t they?’

  ‘Er, very nice.’ Brenda eyed them, doubtfully. I think she thought they were a bit too realistic.

  I stared at them wondering why statues are allowed to go naked but no one else.

  ‘I need to lay the table,’ Brenda said frostily. ‘And should you be displaying those in front of Janey?’

  Grandpa rolled the bronzes back in their felt and stored them at the bottom of the cupboard.

  Now he’d gone off again. Brenda was in her apron, washing up.

  ‘There’s no telling where he’s gone or what he’s up to,’ she sighed. After a moment she turned to me. Trying to console one or the other of us but I wasn’t sure which, she said,

  ‘Tell you what. We’ll go and fetch the water, and then start on that patchwork, shall we?’

  Oh dismal, oh I knew it! I wanted my friends! I wanted Charlotte to be here and us running about having adventures, not stuck in, sewing! But she wasn’t here and what else was I going to do? It wasn’t Brenda’s fault. Trying not to sound sulky I said, ‘OK then.’

  It was a warm afternoon and we left the door open so that the smell of pine trees drifted in. Brenda sat me down on the back seat, with a big pile of material between us, which made me feel gloomier still. What were we supposed to do when so much of the material consisted of some old curtains which were the sludgy green of old pondweed?

  Rifling through the rest I found a pale pink piece with tiny roses on it.

  ‘Shall we start with that?’ Brenda looked eagerly at me.

  She showed me how to tack the material on to hexagons of card and then, placing the two front sides together, stitch them together along one edge. Every stitch Brenda made with her clever fingers with their red polished nails, was perfect. Mine were all baggy and the cotton kept getting knotted. Mostly I felt like screaming and throwing it across the caravan but didn’t want to hurt Brenda’s feelings.

  ‘There!’ she said as the first two hexagons were at last joined by one edge. ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’

  And it did look lovely. Patchwork might be a bit soothing after all.

  Suddenly, without looking at me, Brenda said, ‘Are you all right dear? Here with us, I mean? We do so want to look after you properly.’

  I nodded, not knowing what to say. They were looking after me perfectly well but I didn’t know how to tell her that.

  ‘Let’s do another one!’ Brenda said brightly.

  We worked away for a bit and I was just pinning a fourth hexagon – pale blue this time - on to the others, to be stitched when we heard a Bang and Thump!

  ‘Right-ho Janey – come along. I’m going to need your help!’

  Grandpa erupted through the caravan door, his blue and white striped shirt billowing outside the faded old trousers, his eyes alight with excitement.

  ‘I’m going to unhitch the car and you and I have got a little job to do. And I’ll need the feather bed – bring it out will you please?

  ‘George?’ Brenda followed us to the car as I dragged the feather bed across. She still had her sewing in her hand. ‘What are you up to?’ She sounded a bit annoyed, but mostly hurt that he kept doing things without telling her.

  Grandpa had already unhitched the car from the tow-pin on the front of the caravan.

  ‘Just a little something I’ve found. Janey can give me a hand – jump in girl! We’ll be back soon!’

  I hung on to the door as the Landrover lurched over thick tussocks of grass to the road.

  ‘Thing about this part of the country,’ Grandpa yelled over the rattle and roar. ‘They do a lot of stone carving – splendid stuff!’

  Quite soon we reached a big yard with a ramshackle wooden fence round it. The yard was full, as far as you could see, with stone shapes the colour of pumice: figures of boys and girls, cherubs and angels, vases, pots and obelisks and lots and lots of animals.

  A man with a dark stubbly face, who Grandpa called Ernesto, led us through the yard.

  ‘Here we are!’ Grandpa pointed with a flourish. ‘These are our little fellows. Marvellous, aren’t they?’

  Side by side sat two stone dogs, ears pricked up, their noses almost touching. Each was carved so that they sat on a square base. They were big enough to reach up to my waist and they were elegant. Setters or gun dogs, Grandpa said. They had intelligent, friendly faces, each one with its face cocked a little to one side. I rubbed a hand over their rough, cold heads, then looked at Grandpa, puzzled.

  ‘Are they yours?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Signed and sealed. We just need to get them into the car.’

  ‘But …What? You mean they’re coming with us?’ If he filled up the back of the car with dogs, where on earth was I going to go?

  ‘Plenty of room, ‘Grandpa said with his usual breezy optimism. ‘We’ll manage.’

  With the help of stubbly Ernesto, we fitted the dogs in through the back of the Landrover and they snuggled up, head to tail. Grandpa was in luck, because they just fitted into the base of the car, with space for his mysterious box wedged beside them. One was sticking up a bit more than the other though.

  ‘Now, we just need to pop the feather bed on top and you won’t notice they’re there,’ Grandpa said. ‘There – you hop in and try it out.’

  I climbed on to the grey covered feather bed and the bodies of stone dogs. The bed moulded itself around the bumps and gaps and after wriggling about a bit I found I could get comfortable.

  ‘All right?’ Grandpa beamed at me.

  I grinned back. ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s a girl.’

  ‘DOGS?’ Brenda peered suspiciously into the back of the Landrover. ‘Where?’

  I lifted a corner of the feather bed and Brenda stared, blinking, at the sight of a dog’s bottom and tail.

  ‘You mean….’ Her voice was quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before a big explosion. ‘That you’re expecting us to take them with us? All the way through Italy and back? George – have you gone mad?’

  From the look in Brenda’s eyes behind her glasses, I could see she was really upset. Grandpa and I stood like children being told off by the head teacher. But I felt sorry for Brenda. Grandpa never thought to ask her opinion about things like this. She started to move away, tears in her voice.

  ‘It’s bad enough having to travel like this…. Like gypsies, instead of going to a nice little hotel, something civilized and decent… But I thought we could at least do it with a little bit of decorum. Honestly…’ She pulled a hanky from the pocket of her apron. ‘Feather beds… Naked men… Dogs…I feel as if I’ve joined a travelling circus.’

  She stumped off to the caravan, her hanky pressed against her nose.

  ‘Oh dear oh dear,’ Grandpa sighed.

  After a moment he went in after her and shut the door. I stayed outside. There are some things grown ups just have to be alone for.

  IV.

  LOG BOOK

  Venice - Venezia

  On the map Venice’s big canal looks like a snake, with the water winding through the city it as if it should have a hissing head at the end.

  Grandpa says Venice is something you Have To See. I haven’t seen anything yet though and it’s dark outside now. There are crickets round us scraping and scraping. I love it. I’m sure I heard an owl a moment ago as well. I am sitting in bed and Auntie Brenda and Grandpa are getting ready for bed, lumpity-lump as usual! I can only just see and they don’t know that I am writing behind here.

  We are parked up at a place called Mestre outside Venice. You can’t take cars into Venice anyway – there are no cars, no roads, only water and boats! Next to the caravan there is a tree which Grandpa has named the Prolific Vegetable. It’s got enormous brown leathery pods hanging from it which he calls ‘locust beans.’ They are really Carob, but locust beans sounds better.

  When we arrived there was a tiny, scrawny tabby kitten hanging round the
caravan. I’m sure it was starving, it looked so hungry. I asked Brenda if we could give it some milk and the poor little thing drank it all up at one go and then the man from the caravan next door came out and shooed it away. It was so scared and it ran off under the other vans. Just as I was making friends with it! He was a BIG FAT BULLY and I keep giving him DIRTY LOOKS every time I see him. I’ll see if the little cat is there in the morning. Grandpa said, ‘Oh he’ll be back. He knows where the grub is.’

  Sometimes I wish there was someone to hang around with who speaks English.

  Tomorrow we go to Venice, to see towers and gondolas. I’ll buy post-cards to stick in here. And best of all, we can go to the Poste Restante and see if there are any letters from Mum or Charlotte. I can’t wait ‘til tomorrow!

  **

  Janey Old Fruit,

  I hope you like this card. I got it when Dad took us to a safari park. The lions were amazing! Katy came as well. Next week we’re going to Birmingham for the next round of the dance competition and I bet she’ll win - she’s always better than me. Sulk. :-( Only three weeks left ‘til the end of term - bye-bye Valley Primary and bye-bye smoosh-face Marshall! Hope you’re having an exciting time. Love Charlotte. Xx PS. Don’t go getting more of a tan than me!

  **

  Golden Yak Lodge,

  Kathmandu,

  Nepal.

  June 28th 1972.

  My dearest Janey,

  Well, if you and Grandpa are running to time you will have picked this up in Venice. I’m so glad to think of you seeing the place with him. Your Dad and I went once and I remember it as little alleys with coloured houses, crumbling bridges and green water. I‘m sure you are loving it.

  By the time you receive this I should be well on my way out into the hills. For now, we are resting up in Kathmandu making sure we have a good team to help us. I’m so glad my friend Roy is with us. He has been trekking and climbing in Nepal lots of times and he seems to know just what to do about everything. I have bought a big woolly jumper here which smells terribly badly of sheep if it gets the least bit damp! I’ll get you something nice too. We have found a Sherpa called Kalsang. He is Tibetan and he says his name means ‘good fortune,’ so I hope he will bring us luck for a safe journey. He will come up with us to Base Camp on Kanchenjunga. We are anxious to begin the journey as soon as possible, to be sure of getting back before the monsoon rains really set in.

  Kathmandu is so different from anywhere you can imagine. One day, my love, we shall have to travel here together. It is like being at the top of the world, a city in the clouds, with narrow, smoky streets, tiny temples and roofs shaped like yaks’ horns. On the streets there are men selling thick wool jackets and jumpers, and bowls of beaten silver. If things were different I should like to stay here, but we need to move on, to be closer to your Dad, to my lovely Peter. To say goodbye for him from us.

  Do you remember Dad telling you the story of ‘his’ mountain, of Kanchenjunga being the ‘Five Treasure Houses in the Snow?’ I’m sure you do. I shall go and see if I can see the gold and silver peaks and take photographs to show you. How Peter loved this mountain and always wanted to climb it. At least he got some of his wish.

  Dear Janey, I do hope you are all right, my strong, brave girl. I miss you very much and long to give you a big cuddle. In a few weeks I shall be able to do just that. In the meantime, Grandpa is so happy to have time to get to know you, even if he is too bashful to say so!

  Don’t worry about me. I’m not climbing, remember, only trekking and no further than base camp.

  Take care of yourself darling. Love to pops and Brenda and of course allmy love to you, poppet, from my little lodging room in Nepal.

  Mum xxxx

  Someone was crying. I could hear a funny sound in the dark, a mewling, and I imagined it was the little tabby cat before I woke properly and realized it was me. My face was wet and everything seemed to hurt, feelings from dreams I could now remember which left me washed full of sadness.

  There were movements in the caravan, someone pulling back the grey curtain.

  ‘What is it my little dear?’

  Grandpa’s voice was all gentleness but I couldn’t speak, only snuffle and cry as I felt him sit on the edge of the bed, making the covers pull tight, and scoop me up in his arms where it was all warm and my cheek was pressed against his soft old pyjama jacket. He smelt warm and comforting and he rocked me back and forth. I couldn’t stop crying – as if it was being squeezed out of me.

  ‘I know,’ he murmured, very softly, into my hair. ‘I know my dear. It’s terrible losing someone you love. It’s the worst thing that can happen to you. When I lost my first little wife I was in a dreadful state. And now my poor Elizabeth’s lost her husband – your Dad….’

  I felt his body lift and fall as he breathed in and then let the breath out in a long sigh. Then he kissed the top of my head and rocked me some more as the squeezing in my body stopped and I was quieter.

  ‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘We must all look after each other, mustn’t we?’

  I nodded against him. I felt sleepy again, and almost as if I was dreaming. Grandpa didn’t let go, not yet. He settled me on the bed and stayed close. I felt his hand gently patting my back and heard his rumbly voice singing very quietly.

  ‘I’ll sing you a song of the fish in the sea…’ And even before he reached the line, ‘… and we’re bound for the Rio Grande,’ I was a blink away from sleep.

  Fizz Again

  I.

  LOG BOOK

  Well, I s’pose I’ll have to be all nice and upbeat, won’t I? Even though I hate Charlotte for that card – just a mingy rotten postcard! She couldn’t even be bothered to write me a proper letter after all this time when I’ve been writing to her over and over again in my head! And even if her card is full of Katy Harris and how marvellous she is at dancing and how obviously marvellous at moving in on my best friend as well. Charlotte didn’t once say she was missing me or cared that I wasn‘t there. The cow! She didn’t tell me about sports day when we usually run the relay together. It was Katy this, Katy that… I bet Katy ran in my place instead. I felt like writing and telling her she’s mean and horrible and I never want to see her again...

  Except I can’t. Because a) that’s not true and b) I don’t want her to know how much she’s hurt my feelings. Oh pride! But the maddening thing about Charlotte is, she’d never do it on purpose. I can see her sitting there, her sickeningly pretty face laughing as if I’d just said the maddest thing and saying, ‘Oh Janey, don’t be so barmy. Of course you’re my best friend!’ She probably just wouldn’t get it. And, to tell the truth I don’t want to drive her away. I couldn’t send her a card like she sent me. Just couldn’t. …Could I?... I don’t hate her really.

  Oh dang! I’ve gone and written all this in the front of my Log so now it’s all muddled up together. Dang it!

  **

  Charlotte me old pal!

  I got your post card. THANKS :-) a bunch!

  Venice is GORGEOUS! You’d like it extremely much. Shame you’re not here! How’s school? What am I missing?

  Today we drove a long, long way. I’m not sure of my Grandpa’s sense of direction. We went all the way to the east and now we’re going all the way back to the west – but we had to see Venice!

  My aunt’s making me do sewing. You know how good I am at sewing. :-( We’re doing a patchwork. It’s driving me crazy! I’ll be dreaming about hexagons and beehives soon.

  We’re by the sea now – a place called Marina di Massa. We’re going to the leaning Tower of Pisa and the beach….

  Oh! And just as I looked up for a moment, there it was, rocking across the field, ponderous as a maroon and white elephant – the Ship of Dreams with all its orange and green symbols painted along the outside! I forgot Charlotte’s postcard immediately.

  ‘Fizz!’

  My impulse was to jump straight out through the caravan door, but I stopped myself, feeling really stupid. Why was I r
ushing off to see Fizz as if he was an old friend? I hardly knew him, did I? Wouldn’t he think I was a bit weird?

  Brenda looked out of the window and said over her shoulder,

  ‘Oh my goodness, that’s all we need! Now, Janey, we don’t have to have anything to do with them just because they’re English. Let’s hope they park over there, out of sight.’

  Whenever we went to a new campsite Grandpa checked round for English number plates on the cars and avoided them like the plague.

  ‘I haven’t come to Italy to see them,’ he’d say breezily. I wasn’t sure what he’d got against English people. Or people from Manchester for that matter. He’s just weird too when it comes to that.

  The campsite was long and thin, running alongside a pebbly beach. The caravans and tents and were pitched along each side of a track, with a tap provided every few vans and the toilets half way along. Behind our caravan, a scrubby area of wiry grass sloped down to the stony strand and then the sea. I watched, heart thumping with excitement as the Ship of Dreams lumbered past and pulled into a space not too far away on the other side of the track. And there was Archie Chubb clambering down from the driver’s seat and a moment later, out came Fizz, in his same scruffy green trousers, carrying baby Clarey round the front of the van.

  I had the oddest feeling. Fizz felt so familiar, as if I’d known him for years, forever. As he disappeared up the steps into the van I stood up, wondering what had got into me. This boy, Fizz – I didn’t even know what he was really called – I’d only seen once before, on the ferry. So why did I already feel that he’d somehow become part of my life – as if there was no one else I’d rather see - not even Charlotte?

  Something made me hold back though. Shyness maybe. I waited for an hour. The sun climbed higher and it was hot. Brenda kept saying, ‘Wouldn’t you like to go out dear, to the beach?’

  When I found the courage, I tapped, blushing, on the door of the Ship of Dreams, and Maggie appeared, in a floaty orange dress with thin shoulder straps. Across the orange, big red suns with long rays reaching right across the dress and Maggie’s thin body.