R
Robert Harrison
Guest
THE ROCK PILE
The old man bent over the stile catching his breath, which came in disturbing wheezes from his heaving chest.
“Yer daft old ‘apeth” he said to himself “Why did you have to come back here of all places?” He tried to straighten himself, but the pain in his chest kept him bent over for a few more moments before he attempted it again. When he tried again the pain was less and he was able to stand without having to lean on the stile. His breath was still laboured but he dismissed that as the result of having climbed the hill, but he knew that his lungs had had their day from having worked in the mines for nigh on twenty years. He coughed and spat out black phlegm.
“Yer ‘ad to cum though didn’t yer, anyone would think yer wus a kid again traipsin’ all over the bloomin’ countryside. An’ fer what, jus so yer can relive a few old daft memories. Yer want yer ‘ed lookin’ at that yer do”.
Harry Bedford was seventy-eight years of age, and against his will, was living with his daughter at Solihull in a great cold and draughty place which she and her husband had named Vista Villa. “What the ‘eck was there to see but other ‘ouses. I allas thought that Vista was summat ter do with wot yer’d see in Spain or on the Mediterranean, it was when I wus in Egypt anyways”.
Harry was not happy living with his daughter and her far to busy husband Cyril, a door-to-door salesman. He was away for most of the week, which left Harry with his over worrying daughter.
As Harry leaned once again on the style, he thought of his daughter Mary. “Er wus not a bad wench I suppose, but I wished er would stop er fussin’ over me. I know that I aint got long ter live, but I wished er wouldn’t fuss over me all the time, it aint as if I’m a goin’ ter go just yet, least ways I ope’s not”.
Harry had taken a bus trip back to Cannock Chase, for some reason this place was a favorite of his. “Maybe it is me father who keeps bringing me back ‘ere” He said out loud. “Dad loved ter cum up ‘ere and do a bit of rabbitin” on ‘is weekends off, a great one fer ‘is rabbits was me dad. Never used Ferrets, ‘ad no use for “em, smelly things ee would say ter me. Allas med me own smoke bombs outa sulphur and saltpetre, that ad ‘em cumin out of their ‘oles, block up tuther ends with a net and stake em tight, catched em easy, catched em good an’ proper like”.
His breathing was just about back to normal as he climbed over the stile. “Not far ter go now” he thought. Harry was making for a pile of stones near the highest point of the Chase. It had been many years that he and his father had collected the stone from all over the Chase, “Just ter leave our mark our kid”. He had said “Ar, just ter leave our mark”.
He walked steadily on but his breathing became more laboured and again he had to rest. He placed his hands upon his knees to give his some support, but he was looking at the grey pile of stones not fifty yards away. “Them aint as tall as I remember them” He said. “Vandals I bet”. After a while he managed to reach the stones, sure enough some had been scattered about “Why cant the buggers leave things alone, then weren’t ‘urtin anyone”. He gave a sigh and began to cough again, this time it went on for some moments making him again bend over, but no phlegm came away this time, but the coughing brought tears to his grey blue eyes, and he mopped them away with his red and white spotted handkerchief and then wiped his nose. Before putting it into his pocket he looked at it “Old Tom Boswell, me gypsy mate give me that, nice fella ee wus, dealt in scrap metal, been dead some years now”.
Harry looked at the scattered stones. “Not much good me a tryin’ ter put em back again, them as moved em will only shift em again”. He managed to ease himself down upon the cool grass and leaned his back against the pile of stone but shifted until none stuck in his back. “Not much meat on the old bones now, not like years ago when I wus a young fella”. He smiled to himself, “Used ter be a nice looking fella in them days. ‘Ad plenty young gals a chasin’ me, ah and plenty ter choose from”. He gave a chuckle. “My old dad would ‘av ‘ad a fit if ee ‘ad known who I ‘ad leanin’ up against ‘is pile of stones”. His face took on a thoughtful look. “That was all before I met my Glad. but er’s gone now, God rest er soul, er wus a good un ter me”.
He looked about him at the Staffordshire countryside. Green as green can be it was, an English green if there were such a color. “That’s Shropshire over that way” he said as if there were someone with him, he even was as far as pointing in the direction he was looking. “Shropshire over there and Penkridge and Longdon in front of me, about ten miles between em. Rugeley was out that way as well”
Harry tried to picture all of the towns and villages he and his dad and Glad had visited. “By golly we ad some good times in them days in me dad’s old Austin, took us for miles did that old car”. He looked at his boots for a while thinking that a bit of repair work was needed. “I’ll do it when I gets back “ome”. He shivered even thought the sun was well up and hot. He was content to sit and look and remember while he took the cool green grass between his fingers and slowly let the blades slide through them. Time and time again he did this, unconscious of what he was doing for his mind was once again with his Glad in the back seat of his dads old Austin.
“Arry, where the dickens are you my old son? It was Phil the bus driver. “Ow the eck did yer make yer way all the way up ‘ere Arry? Come on me old, son time ter be off “ome.
Together they walked down the hill to where the bus was waiting. “Phil was a good lad “. Thought Harry as he was helped into the front seat of the bus.
Phil took off his drivers cap out of respect as the ambulance took Harry away. At Harry’s funeral, he was buried with the small piece of rock, which was found clutched in his hand.
The scattered rocks were all gathered together and cemented in place, and as far as Phil knows, it still stands today.
The old man bent over the stile catching his breath, which came in disturbing wheezes from his heaving chest.
“Yer daft old ‘apeth” he said to himself “Why did you have to come back here of all places?” He tried to straighten himself, but the pain in his chest kept him bent over for a few more moments before he attempted it again. When he tried again the pain was less and he was able to stand without having to lean on the stile. His breath was still laboured but he dismissed that as the result of having climbed the hill, but he knew that his lungs had had their day from having worked in the mines for nigh on twenty years. He coughed and spat out black phlegm.
“Yer ‘ad to cum though didn’t yer, anyone would think yer wus a kid again traipsin’ all over the bloomin’ countryside. An’ fer what, jus so yer can relive a few old daft memories. Yer want yer ‘ed lookin’ at that yer do”.
Harry Bedford was seventy-eight years of age, and against his will, was living with his daughter at Solihull in a great cold and draughty place which she and her husband had named Vista Villa. “What the ‘eck was there to see but other ‘ouses. I allas thought that Vista was summat ter do with wot yer’d see in Spain or on the Mediterranean, it was when I wus in Egypt anyways”.
Harry was not happy living with his daughter and her far to busy husband Cyril, a door-to-door salesman. He was away for most of the week, which left Harry with his over worrying daughter.
As Harry leaned once again on the style, he thought of his daughter Mary. “Er wus not a bad wench I suppose, but I wished er would stop er fussin’ over me. I know that I aint got long ter live, but I wished er wouldn’t fuss over me all the time, it aint as if I’m a goin’ ter go just yet, least ways I ope’s not”.
Harry had taken a bus trip back to Cannock Chase, for some reason this place was a favorite of his. “Maybe it is me father who keeps bringing me back ‘ere” He said out loud. “Dad loved ter cum up ‘ere and do a bit of rabbitin” on ‘is weekends off, a great one fer ‘is rabbits was me dad. Never used Ferrets, ‘ad no use for “em, smelly things ee would say ter me. Allas med me own smoke bombs outa sulphur and saltpetre, that ad ‘em cumin out of their ‘oles, block up tuther ends with a net and stake em tight, catched em easy, catched em good an’ proper like”.
His breathing was just about back to normal as he climbed over the stile. “Not far ter go now” he thought. Harry was making for a pile of stones near the highest point of the Chase. It had been many years that he and his father had collected the stone from all over the Chase, “Just ter leave our mark our kid”. He had said “Ar, just ter leave our mark”.
He walked steadily on but his breathing became more laboured and again he had to rest. He placed his hands upon his knees to give his some support, but he was looking at the grey pile of stones not fifty yards away. “Them aint as tall as I remember them” He said. “Vandals I bet”. After a while he managed to reach the stones, sure enough some had been scattered about “Why cant the buggers leave things alone, then weren’t ‘urtin anyone”. He gave a sigh and began to cough again, this time it went on for some moments making him again bend over, but no phlegm came away this time, but the coughing brought tears to his grey blue eyes, and he mopped them away with his red and white spotted handkerchief and then wiped his nose. Before putting it into his pocket he looked at it “Old Tom Boswell, me gypsy mate give me that, nice fella ee wus, dealt in scrap metal, been dead some years now”.
Harry looked at the scattered stones. “Not much good me a tryin’ ter put em back again, them as moved em will only shift em again”. He managed to ease himself down upon the cool grass and leaned his back against the pile of stone but shifted until none stuck in his back. “Not much meat on the old bones now, not like years ago when I wus a young fella”. He smiled to himself, “Used ter be a nice looking fella in them days. ‘Ad plenty young gals a chasin’ me, ah and plenty ter choose from”. He gave a chuckle. “My old dad would ‘av ‘ad a fit if ee ‘ad known who I ‘ad leanin’ up against ‘is pile of stones”. His face took on a thoughtful look. “That was all before I met my Glad. but er’s gone now, God rest er soul, er wus a good un ter me”.
He looked about him at the Staffordshire countryside. Green as green can be it was, an English green if there were such a color. “That’s Shropshire over that way” he said as if there were someone with him, he even was as far as pointing in the direction he was looking. “Shropshire over there and Penkridge and Longdon in front of me, about ten miles between em. Rugeley was out that way as well”
Harry tried to picture all of the towns and villages he and his dad and Glad had visited. “By golly we ad some good times in them days in me dad’s old Austin, took us for miles did that old car”. He looked at his boots for a while thinking that a bit of repair work was needed. “I’ll do it when I gets back “ome”. He shivered even thought the sun was well up and hot. He was content to sit and look and remember while he took the cool green grass between his fingers and slowly let the blades slide through them. Time and time again he did this, unconscious of what he was doing for his mind was once again with his Glad in the back seat of his dads old Austin.
“Arry, where the dickens are you my old son? It was Phil the bus driver. “Ow the eck did yer make yer way all the way up ‘ere Arry? Come on me old, son time ter be off “ome.
Together they walked down the hill to where the bus was waiting. “Phil was a good lad “. Thought Harry as he was helped into the front seat of the bus.
Phil took off his drivers cap out of respect as the ambulance took Harry away. At Harry’s funeral, he was buried with the small piece of rock, which was found clutched in his hand.
The scattered rocks were all gathered together and cemented in place, and as far as Phil knows, it still stands today.
