by Pam Rhodes
“I’ve heard that before about people with dementia,” said Clifford. “It seems music can break through to them in a way nothing else can.”
“I wonder whether, instead of just watching, she’d like to be included in the choir,” said Pam. “I’ll have a chat with Julia about it when I next see her, but we could put Ida’s chair at the side, next to where Arthur’s sitting. At ninety-one, I’m not surprised he can’t stand for long, but he knows all the words better than anyone.”
“Raymond’s the one I notice most,” said Clifford, “but then I’m used to him singing really loudly at St Stephen’s. Usually in a completely different key to everyone else.”
Pam laughed. “Well, he certainly catches the eye when he does the movements. When it comes to enthusiasm, Raymond takes first place!”
“Do you fancy an early dinner, Clifford?” interrupted Andrew, who’d been playing the electronic keyboard for the rehearsal. “Sharon, Michael and I have to eat soon because of getting ready for the show this evening. My mum and dad are coming too. They’d all love to see you.”
“That’ll be nice. What about you and Richard, Pam? Are you hungry yet?”
“Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again after this cruise,” she sighed.
“Anyway,” said Richard, coming up to join them, “we’ve been invited to join Bishop Paul’s table in the dining room tonight, along with Neil and his family.”
“Ahh, you’ll have to mind your Ps and Qs with Iris,” smiled Clifford.
“We’ll try and behave,” laughed Richard as he helped Pam scoop up all the words sheets to take back to their cabin.
“We’re meeting up in the buffet restaurant in fifteen minutes,” said Andrew. “Is that enough time for you, Cliff?”
“Should be. I’ll see you there.”
“So tell me about yourself, Sharon.”
Maureen had made sure she was sitting next to the beautiful young dancer who seemed to be her son’s constant companion. After so many years of waiting for Andrew to bring home a girlfriend, this vision of loveliness who obviously enjoyed his company was a wonderful surprise. But would this girl, whose skills as a dancer enabled her to travel the world, ever want to settle down? Would she make a good wife? Or mother?
“Well,” began Sharon, “this is the second six-month contract I’ve had on a cruise ship. The last one was much bigger than this, but I like what I’m doing here better. Most of all, I like the choreographer. We’ve known each other for ages, so when he approached me to ask if I wanted to be lead dancer on The Pilgrim, I snapped up the chance. It’s a step up for me, being head girl – that means that as far as the dancers are concerned, I represent him on board. He choreographed and produced the shows back in London, before we all started this contract, and now we’re left to get on with it. So it’s my job to make sure the standard of dancing stays high, and if there are problems, like one of the dancers being ill or injured, for example, I sort things out.”
“Michael does the same for the singers, Mum,” said Andrew, joining their conversation. “He’s got an amazing voice, but then he did operatic training before he came on this cruise.”
“A bit of dancing and movement too,” added Michael, who was sitting beside him. “And stagecraft – you know, how to make the best use of the performance space so you engage properly with the audience?”
“It sounds like a real science,” said Bill. “I didn’t know there was so much to putting on a bit of a show.”
“More than a bit of a show, Dad,” retorted Andrew. “So much goes into it. All the musical parts have to be written and the musicians engaged. And the costumes are spectacular. Just wait till you see the fantastic masks they use in tomorrow night’s performance. And the sets – they’re different for each production. The stage crew are putting up and taking down sets every day, so you can watch a completely new show every night. And then there’s the lighting and the sound. It’s a real team effort, putting on highly professional shows like these.”
“And it all looks wonderful, dear,” said Maureen, patting Andrew’s hand. “Especially the dancing. You’re very talented, Sharon. Your mother must be proud of you. Where do your family live?”
“Brighton, and my mum runs the biggest dancing school in the town,” said Sharon with pride in her voice. “I teach there too, when I’m home. I expect I’ll take the school over some time in the future when Mum wants to hang up her tap shoes.”
“Oh,” said Maureen, apparently concentrating on spearing a bit of roast beef with her fork as she spoke. “No plans to settle down and have a family of your own, then?”
Sharon laughed. “Not yet. Some time, maybe, but definitely not for ages. Besides, no one would have me.”
Maureen had to bite her tongue to stop herself saying that Andrew would.
“She’s too much of a workaholic,” grinned Michael. “But that’s as it should be, because she’s very talented. But then so is your son, Mrs Bragnall. I love to listen to him play.”
“Oh, me too,” Maureen gushed, happy to talk about her wonderful son for as long as anyone was prepared to listen. Frustratingly, she wasn’t allowed to, as her husband quickly changed the subject to talk about the cruise itinerary and the places they’d visited in their travels. Maureen chose not to join in that conversation. She was too busy watching Andrew and Sharon together, thinking what a handsome couple they made.
“Now, will you be all right, Harry?” asked Iris. “I do hope so, because Bishop Paul’s asked me to sit beside him at dinner this evening.”
Harry chuckled. “How lovely for you – and the bishop too, of course!”
“It will be nice to have such sophisticated company,” agreed Iris, oblivious to the irony in Harry’s reply. She drew closer and lowered her voice before continuing. “And he could be very helpful to Neil in furthering his career…”
“How kind you are, Iris, but don’t worry about me for a moment. Arthur and I have already decided to sit together and reminisce a bit. We’ve not had the chance for a proper chat yet. I must say, Neil seems to have taken on a lovely congregation up at St Jude’s.”
“Well, don’t go overdoing it,” snapped Iris. “You’ve been looking a bit peaky for the last couple of days. That coach trip round Dublin today sounded relaxing, but it really wasn’t, when we were getting off, then back on the coach every ten minutes. You need to rest.”
“Well, a pleasant meander down memory lane with a veteran like Arthur will set me up for a peaceful night. Memories are good, Iris. I’m very fond of mine.”
“Of course you are,” agreed Iris with a delicate sniff. “But don’t forget – no butter or cream, and stay off the red wine. It never agrees with you.”
Arriving at the table with Neil, Claire overheard the end of their conversation and came over to lay her hand on Harry’s arm as Iris left him to greet the bishop.
“You are all right, aren’t you, Uncle Harry? We’re all finding the cruise timetable a bit relentless. That heart operation of yours wasn’t that long ago, and you’re definitely not allowed to put us through all that worry again.”
“Thanks for your concern, Claire dear, but I do know my limits. And I’m enjoying every moment of this trip, even if today was a bit tiring. An early night is definitely my plan, because tomorrow’s the day I’m looking forward to most of all.”
“Tresco Gardens,” smiled Claire. “It’ll be heaven for a pair of gardeners like us. We can wander round together and quote Latin names to each other.”
“That’s exactly what I have in mind,” agreed Harry.
“With plenty of stops along the way to sit and watch the flowers grow and let the world go by,” finished Claire, just as Neil called her over to take her place beside him.
Harry stood beside his seat while Pete manoeuvred his dad’s wheelchair into position so Arthur could climb out to take his place at the table. Pete sat down on the other side of Arthur, with Callum sitting next to Harry.
“Two old
boys together,” quipped Harry.
“You’re a young whippersnapper compared to me,” grinned Arthur. “I clocked up my ninety-first birthday last month.”
“So I’m ten years younger than you. Actually, I shall call it a decade. That sounds a lot longer.”
“Do you feel your age?” asked Arthur, suddenly serious.
“Yes,” answered Harry, “but I try not to act it. I suppose being eighty means I’m finally a grown-up.”
“Do you keep well?”
“Had a bit of a drama with my heart a couple of years back, but not bad since then. You?”
“My legs seem to have gone. I reckon it was all that dancing Beryl and I used to do, right up till we were both pensioners. We were senior dance champions in Derbyshire thirty years ago. It was the samba that got me. That was my dance. Everyone said I was a lovely mover. The ladies were queuing up to dance with me. Beryl used to get quite ratty about it. Mind you, I’m paying for it now. It’s not natural for a man to wiggle his hips like that.”
“Gardening, that’s my thing, but it gets harder. All the bending and digging takes its toll on your back. Sometimes, when I bend over, it takes me ages to straighten myself out again.”
“No fun getting old, is it?”
“Not much. I wouldn’t have missed a moment, though.”
“A married man, are you?”
Harry nodded with a smile. “My Rose was the very best. We nearly made our fiftieth anniversary. She died five years ago. Cancer. She was in a lot of pain. It was dreadful to see.”
“Beryl got knocked over when she was just seventy. It was the strangest thing. She’d crossed that road every day for years, but that morning she stepped out in front of a car and that was it. Whatever was she thinking? I’ll never know, will I?”
“You still miss her?”
“Every moment,” replied Arthur. “Beryl was a girl in a million.”
“Do you find yourself thinking about things you wish you’d known or done or said when she was still with you?”
“Oh, all the time. Everything she did for me, all the things I didn’t get round to doing for her – I remember them all. I took her for granted. That’s what marriage is, I suppose. But I wish I could say thank you and sorry and ‘You were right, love’! All those little words I should have realized were important at the time.”
“I love you.” There was deep, painful regret in Harry’s eyes as he said those words. “I never told Rose I loved her. I thought she knew and it went without saying, but she told someone just before she died how much it would have meant to her. I never knew, so I never said it. I can’t get that out of my mind now.”
“Oh, well,” sighed Arthur, “we’ll be seeing them again soon. I expect Beryl will have a lot to say to me when we meet at the pearly gates.”
“So what made you decide to come on this cruise?”
“Just one day on the itinerary. Wednesday, the last port on our trip. We dock at Honfleur, and I’ve been near there before, but not for over seventy years. It’s just up the coast from where I landed on D-Day. That day changed my life, and yet I’ve never been back there. I couldn’t face it. Now, though, I find myself wondering how much more time I’m likely to have, and I know I’ve got to go back. I need to stand on that beach again as it is today. If I can see that our sacrifice brought peace and prosperity to the land my comrades gave their lives for, perhaps at last I’ll find some peace right here, in me.” He thumped his chest as he spoke, his eyes focused on some far-away memory.
“And your son and grandson have come along to make sure you’re OK?”
“That’s what they probably think, but I’ve got my own reasons for wanting both of them with me. There are things I should tell them. It’s time.”
Harry waited quietly for Arthur to speak again. Eventually, the old man seemed to shrug himself back to the present.
“And you?” he asked. “What made you come?”
“Tomorrow. We’re at the Scilly Isles, and we’re taking the trip to the gardens on Tresco. Rose and I went there together once, years ago. I loved it then and I’ll enjoy it again now, probably talking to her all the way round, batty old man that I am.”
“You’re surely not going on your own?”
“No. My great-niece Claire’s going with me. She loves gardening as much as I do. The rest of the family are coming too, but tomorrow will be our day. We’ve worked out a long list of plants we want to see.”
“We’re both men with a mission, then,” said Arthur, his eyes twinkling.
“We are,” agreed Harry. “And here come our starters.”
CHAPTER 7
THE ISLES OF SCILLY
And on the eighth day, God made Tresco.
On the morning they arrived at Scilly, The Pilgrim moored offshore. That meant passengers heading for either the main island of St Mary’s or the second largest island, Tresco, had to make the trip to the jetties by local tender boats. Several boats were on hand to ferry them to and from the shore throughout the day.
It soon became clear that Iris was going to have a problem getting onto the tender boat. She simply couldn’t get to grips with the idea of stepping off a large and comfortable ship onto a relatively small craft that was bobbing up and down with the movement of the waves. As the rest of the group heading for Tresco queued up behind her on the ramped stairs down the side of the ship to the level of the tender, Iris panicked. No amount of reassurance or cajoling from Neil made any difference, and eventually he was politely moved to one side as the professionals took over.
The ship’s crew were well used to this. With a supporting arm on each side, and a helpful nudge from behind, she almost leapt into the arms of the good-looking crewman who was waiting to catch her. If she was embarrassed by the fuss she was causing, there was no evidence of it – instead she complained loudly to anyone who’d listen that it was ridiculous for passengers to be subjected to such danger when they’d paid a small fortune to come on the cruise. All the other passengers boarded the tender boat with enthusiasm and ease, except for Sister Maureen. She looked terrified, until the waiting crewman smiled into her eyes as he caught her, and she stayed mesmerised in his arms for several seconds before she allowed him to release her.
And then they were off, skimming across the waves towards the tiny island of Tresco, all seven hundred and fifty acres of it. For two hundred years, it had been the home of one family, who had deliberately held back the march of time – no cars, no crowds, no neon lights, crime or noise. Some would say true heaven on earth.
From the small jetty where they spilled out of the tender, a long pathway led off through banks of gorse dotted with late spring flowers towards the centre of the island, where a thousand years earlier a Benedictine monastery had once stood.
First up the path were Barbara and John Curtis, looking the business in their walking boots, sensible anoraks and backpacks. They set off from the boat at a marching pace, having announced that Barbara intended to photograph examples of every individual family of flowers they came across, as well as the exotic birds and butterflies that John had read up on in advance.
“We are most certainly not going to walk all that way,” wailed Iris as she saw the long path winding off into the distance.
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” smiled a friendly-faced man who was waiting on the shore to greet the party. “If you feel you can’t manage the walk, we do have a horse and cart service to transport you up to the Abbey Gardens.”
“Well, it’s not for me, you understand,” huffed Iris. “My friend Harry here has a bad heart. A walk like that could kill him.”
“Thank you, Iris,” commented Harry. “Actually, I think a stroll would do me good.”
“But don’t forget,” said Claire, “there’s a lot of walking to do within the gardens. Why don’t we all take the cart up, so we can save our energy for wandering around inside?”
“How sensible,” agreed Iris, striding off towards the waiting cart, followed by several
Catholic mothers and Sister Maureen, who was reading out snippets from the guidebook as she took her seat.
“Just twenty-eight miles from Land’s End, the toe of the county of Cornwall at the most south-westerly tip of England, lie the Scillies, a group of one hundred and fifty small islands, which are both buffeted by the Atlantic and warmed by the Gulf Stream. Only five of the Isles of Scilly are inhabited by a population which doesn’t total many more than two thousand people. That means that the peace and tranquillity of the islands, along with their sub-tropical climate, make them magical places of wild and exotic flowers, sparkling white sands and crumbling castles.”
The others were gazing around at the passing scenery as they listened.
“Back in the 1800s the Abbey Gardens here on Tresco were laid out in their present form to nurture and display the exotic seedlings brought back from all corners of the world by Scillonian mariners. From the start, the Abbey Gardens collection has been regarded by botanists as one of the most interesting and varied horticultural experiments in the world.”
Claire and Harry smiled at each other. They were both looking forward to seeing those plants.
A few minutes later they climbed down from the cart to make their way through the Abbey Gardens entrance.
“I need the loo!” declared Iris. “And Neil, I want a cup of milky coffee and a cake before I go a step further. Wait for me in the café.”
“Harry?” Claire linked her arm through his. “Would you like a coffee now?”
There was real excitement in Harry’s eyes as he turned to answer her. “Do you know, Claire, I’ve longed to be here for ages. It was our fortieth anniversary treat when Rose and I came all those years ago. I can have a coffee any old time, and now I’m here I’m raring to go.”
