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Had he made the right move? Railton weighed up the positives: the apartment only required minimal maintenance; he hadn’t amassed much in the way of domestic trappings; there was a utility room for his wood and stone carving; and it was close to the Chase. As for the negatives, only time would tell.
How would Felicity have reacted, though? She might have thought he’d copped out.
Parting with the motorhome had been a wrench, however. Railton and Fliss had combed Eastern Europe in that, all the way from the Baltics to the Balkans. When the Cold War cloud had lifted, it had revealed a long-forgotten world, where a car wasn’t a status symbol other than possessing one in the first place, fashion wasn’t so in-your-face, and gypsy bands played their gutsy music regardless of whether they got paid or not. Yuppies, eat your hearts out! So, Railton had often just sat in, unremunerated, with these outfits, adding his blues-inflected guitar to swirling violins and cimbalom.
The couple had got by on sales of their craftwork (Railton’s carvings and Fliss’s jewellery), but the main source of income had come from royalties. After the heady days of travelling in India, Nepal and Morocco, they’d come back down to earth, got EFL qualifications and taught on the Continent. Railton had written specially tailored adventure stories for foreigners, which had been far more lucrative than the teaching itself, and his long-suffering brother, the sensible one, had managed his finances for him.
Assisted by his burly neighbour, Railton, who wore his hair cropped these days (long hair and baldness weren’t compatible), had just finished moving into his retirement flat. Coming in from the cold like Hesse’s “Steppenwolf”.
Having heard about Aaron’s drink problem, Railton gave him a fancy box of chocolates for his help (hoping he wasn’t being too nanny state). And then he shut the door with an air of finality. Well, he’d done it. He would celebrate with a coffee now and something stronger later. And then, lighting up a Sumatran cigar (his favourite), melancholia struck.
For five years, Railton had kept up the house he and Fliss had bought (their first ever), done paperwork he abhorred and grappled with information technology. Only finding solace in the garden where, thanks to his largely “hands-off” approach, he’d attracted tits, blackbirds, dunnocks and more. Not to mention solitary bees, lacewings and ladybirds which he’d enticed into his own expertly constructed insect hotel. Fliss would have approved.
Unfortunately, Fliss had succumbed to breast cancer and Railton had lost the love of his life. For months, he’d been inconsolable. Fliss, an integral part of his very being, like a limb or an organ, had been prematurely removed. The pain of the rupture would, of course, never cease entirely and had chosen to flare up again now.
Some months prior to Railton’s move, there’d been a severe storm, and the Chase had been strewn with tree casualties. Keen to give them a good sending off, he’d taken on the role of arboreal undertaker. In place of burial clothes, he’d bedecked them with carvings of woodland creatures – owls, bats, squirrels… working his magic on them in situ. Under the radar, so that only observant walkers would spot them. And, in the hope of promoting mutual eye contact, he’d given them shiny eyeballs that he’d bought commercially. Adding to the air of mystery, he’d gone out, Banksy-style, at the crack of dawn to carry out his plan.
One morning, walking along a corridor in his block of flats, Railton became aware of fiddle playing. He stopped to listen. It was good, professional sounding, a touch of Dave Swarbrick in there.
The violinist suddenly appeared in the doorway and said: ‘Sorry about that. Forgot to close the door. Can’t be inflicting my scraping on the rest of the world.’
‘I’d hardly call it that. Sounds like you might have been in a folk-rock band back in the day.’
‘Got it in one. My God, how astute.’
‘Well, I used to be in a blues rock band – not a million miles apart.’
‘Well, I never. Like the hat, by the way.’ (The hair might have gone but Railton still boasted some fancy headgear.) ‘I suppose you were into Mayal, Cooder, the Fabulous Thunderbirds et al.’
‘Yeah. And East European gypsy bands like Kalman Balogh and Night Losers in more recent years.’
‘Not an area I’m familiar with, I’m afraid.’
‘You should be – as a folkie.’
‘Enlighten me then.’
‘Well, when the wall came down, suddenly there was this treasure trove of suppressed music, ranging from rambunctious gypsy brass bands to more scholarly stuff. Balogh embodies both – a peacock in his younger days, he now looks like an eminent musicologist. He‘s put the cimbalom on the map and also worked with jazz musicians.’
‘Look, we’ll have to get together some time. I take it you’ve got CDs of these people?’
‘Definitely.’
‘I’m Ed, by the way.’
‘Railton.’
‘OK, Railton, you might also like to drop in on the folk club I run at the Polish centre. It takes place every other Sunday afternoon, as befits geriatrics like us.’
‘Oh, Joan,’ Jean said. ‘Guess what I saw on the Chase.’
‘No idea,’ Joan half-mumbled.
‘Sculptures.’
‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Yeah. Of woodland creatures: owls, stoats, foxes and stuff. Tucked away discreetly.’
‘Right.’
‘With marbles or something for eyes. A bit spooky, Germanic.’
‘Germanic? Not sure what you mean.’
‘OK. A bit Gothic.’
‘And this floats your boat, does it?’
‘You bet. And, what’s more, I think I know who’s responsible. Aaron said that new guy, Railton, has lots of carvings in his flat.’
Jean came to a halt. Joan clearly wasn’t listening anymore. Poring, instead, over the Telegraph cryptic crossword.
‘By the way,’ Jean interrupted her with a hint of mischief in her voice, ‘I’ve come up with some names for crossword setters, should you want to try your hand.’
‘Really.’
‘Yeah, how about “Brian”?’
‘What? A bit banal, isn’t it?’
‘Why? You’ve got “Paul” in the Guardian.’
‘Yeah, but I mean…’
‘It’s an anagram, Joan. Think about it!’
‘Oh, right. Gotcha.’
‘Or there’s always “Bastardus”?’
‘Oh, honestly, Jean!’
Several flat owners had been watching David Attenborough on television in the common room. When the programme had finished, Railton turned to his neighbour, Jean, who was tall and remarkably slim still, and said: ‘He’s my hero, you know. In his nineties and still making documentaries and campaigning on the environment.’
‘I know,’ Jean said. ‘He could well make it to the big 1-0-0.’
‘I’d put money on it.’
‘Reckon you’ll get to be a centenarian?’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘So, what’s your advice?’
‘Well, keep your body in trim for starters. Walk everywhere, avoid lifts and escalators…’
‘And the mind?’
‘Ditto. Learn a language, take up a musical instrument…’
‘Anything else?’
Yeah. Don’t become a gentleman of leisure.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, if life’s just one big holiday, in time, you’re going to struggle to fill your day. I mean, you can’t be forever going on cruises and visiting National Trust properties.’
‘With you.’
‘And if you weren’t careful, the blank times could drive you to drink.’
‘So, what about the other extreme: people wanting to cram everything into their day?’
‘Well, that smacks of desperation to me. You’ve got to pause sometimes and take stock, haven’t you?’
‘Absolutely. (Pause.) And have fun.’
‘Agreed.’
‘And I reckon you had a lot of fun with those sculptures.’
‘What sculptures?’
‘You know, the ones on the Chase. The animals skulking in the undergrowth and trees. All very clandestine, done with a twinkle in your eye.’
‘Well, that’s blown my cover!’
‘So, it was you. Look, I think they’re great.’
‘Ah, I’ve found you at last – the new boy,’ Daniel said.
‘Right, take it you’re an old boy then,’ Railton answered.
‘Well, I’ve been here a while. Look, I just wanted to know whether you were a Scrabbler.’
‘I have been known to dabble.’
‘Oh, very droll. Dabble in Scrabble. So, do you fancy joining the Scrabble group?’
‘I don’t know. What does it entail?’
‘Simply turning up and playing, contributing a pound for refreshments and, if you want to continue coming, joining the U3A.’
‘What’s that then?’
‘The University of the Third Age.’
‘Sounds rather forbidding.’
‘Not really. All that’s required is a university degree.’
‘Right.’
‘Think it over. But be warned: there are some top-level practitioners there, who know all the two- and three-letter words by heart!’
‘Well, there’s a challenge.’
‘Right. Must dash. Apart from recruiting people for this, I’m organizing a canal boat trip.’
Railton and Jean were ensconced on a blanket spread out over a bed of ferns. It was nine in the evening, an hour or so before the witching hour. In the receding light, they packed away the remnants of their supper, which had comprised a baguette, salami and cheese, and finished the Beaujolais.
The pair were in the middle of the Chase, far from prying eyes. There’d been owls hooting already and Railton had pointed out some roding woodcocks. But the main draw was the nightjars, which would soon be emerging from the ferns in pursuit of moths.
Jean had never even heard of nightjars. Related to the cuckoo, according to Railton but, like owls, nocturnal birds. As a preamble to their mechanical churring, Railton had quoted Wordsworth: according to the bard, it emanated from the “spirit of a toil-worn slave…not quiet in the grave.” Creepy, Jean thought.
While they sat there expectantly, Railton rolled a joint and turned to Jean: ‘Do you indulge?’
‘It’s been a while,’ Jean replied.
‘Have a toke of this then.’
As they smoked, Jean and Railton basked in the warmth of a July evening, listened to the soughing of the trees and took in the night sky. Biding their time, fully at ease. And then the spell was broken. A nightjar, just about visible at this hour, broke cover and began to sing, if that was the right word for the sound this strange bird made.
To Jean, it was reminiscent of a mechanical sewing machine – quite unbirdlike – and, under the influence of the weed, she summoned up a vision of ghostly weavers making strange clacking sounds as they pedalled away at their looms.
Surreal, Jean thought, and succumbed to an attack of the giggles.
Inspired by their recent exchange, Railton and Ed had got together, shared CDs and started to combine their talents. At Ed’s suggestion, they’d roped in a local banjo player, too, and arranged songs that played to their individual strengths – with surprising results. The creations from this unholy alliance had included elements of English folk, American country, blues and gypsy music. Ed wondered how their joint efforts, to be aired soon at the club, would go down with some of the “cup-eared” traditionalists there.
Then, out of the blue, Desperate Dan (aka as Daniel) came up trumps for Railton. By now, word had got around concerning his carving and somehow Daniel had wangled it (he had fingers in a lot of pies) that Railton was commissioned by the county council to produce some stone sculptures of coalminers to commemorate local disused pits in the area.
A commission like this was a tall order, Railton realized. A layman, he would have to investigate the kind of work that went on in a mine and talk to ex-miners.He’d seen a tribute elsewhere of four miners, looking as if they’d been made from outmoded model kits, stiffly occupying the four compass points of a roundabout. Far too static. Railton wanted to tell a story, introduce an element of drama and, casting around for inspiration, recalled the Stretcher Bearers at the National Memorial Arboretum in Staffordshire. These figures, arranged in a broken line brought together by the lofted stretcher, twisted around, gesticulated and bellowed instructions. That was the sort of thing he had in mind.
Of course, Railton had acknowledged his debt to Daniel and now held him in higher esteem. At least, he was a doer, not an eternal hobbyist.
The lure of the Chase was strong. On this occasion, Railton and Jean, whose long grey hair tumbled over her shoulders, were strolling in a more wooded part of the area, having just had a smoke. Coming into a clearing, they saw numerous flat-topped tree stumps, evidence of post-storm forestry work. Again, Jean’s imagination was triggered by the cannabis. Aware of the slatey soil, she thought the small, stratified pieces of stone made for tiny building blocks and started laying pieces atop each other on the stumps. Crude human forms resulted from her efforts. Seeing what she was up to, Railton joined in. Soon they’d created several stone family groups on the flat surfaces, including dogs. Jean felt another attack of the giggles coming on.
Later, Jean wondered what other Chase users would make of their work. Railton reckoned it would inspire copycat activity behind the scenes, forging an invisible brotherhood.
‘It reminds me of Henry the Hippy, a fellow traveller (biker in his case) me and Fliss met on our continental trips.’
‘Another free spirit?’
‘Yeah. Well, when Henry finally settled down in Winchester, he saw a giant teddy bear in the window of an antique shop and decided to write it a postcard. Then he got mates to do the same. And the dealer played along, displaying the cards to passers-by. Hilarious. And it mushroomed: all his mates around the world joined in!’
‘Wow!’ Jean said, just about stifling another fit.
‘You’re not off on the Chase again, are you, Jean?’ Joan asked.
‘Not right now. Why?’
‘Well, you seem to be spending a lot of time there these days.’
‘It’s liberating, Joan. You should try it some time.’
‘Oh, in my opinion, once you’ve seen it, it’s much of a muchness.’
‘That’s rather blinkered, if you don’t mind my saying.’
‘And what can you see there at night, for God’s sake?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’
‘Not really.’
And then there’s the astonishing things you can hear.’
‘Now you’re talking in riddles.’
Jean shrugged.
‘I was hoping you’d stick around a bit tonight and help me with the jigsaw.’
‘I’m going off them, I’m afraid, Joan. Correction: I was never really into them. If anything was much of a muchness, then it has to be acres and acres of blue sky and miles and miles – nautical, of course – of sea.’
hallo railton
how are you here in kecskemet it very hot kodaly art festival started now but there is also roma festival and we want you play is possible it start in 1 month will be very nice see you and fliss again
Istvan
Wow! That was a bolt out of the blue. Railton had fond memories of jamming with Istvan’s band in the jewel-like city of Kecskemet, birthplace of the composer Zoltan Kodaly. Like their Latin and jazz brethren, these musicians played with such panache. Railton had played with a few gypsy groups in Hungary but A Farkasok (The Wolves), was his favourite. They had a handful of CDs to their name, too, and Railton was on the credits for one of them.
Naturally, Railton would have to apprise Istvan about Fliss. That would hit his friend. But as for playing again? Was he up to this in his dotage? Playing afternoon sessions with Ed and Rod was very doable but joining Istvan’s crazy outfit in the gruelling heat of the Great Plain, with the apricot palinka flowing…?
But in the meantime, there was the monument to think about. To Railton’s delight, the council had approved his design, set him up in a studio and ordered the stone.
Railton foresaw heavy lifting and hoped Aaron would give him a hand again. If he wasn’t incapacitated, that was. The other night, pickled already before attending a military reunion, he’d had to get Railton to put his cufflinks on for him. Genuinely concerned, Railton was determined to give him regular jobs in future to lure him away from his demon, even if it was only for a few hours.
The deadline for the completion of his sculpture, however, was a long way off, so he could easily fit in a trip to Hungary…
The folk afternoon was a resounding success. Even the die-hards were impressed. Ed said it was possibly due to the relatively recent emergence of “world music” in the late nineties.
When Railton told Ed about the upcoming gypsy festival, Ed said: ‘Why are you hesitating? Can I come too?’ In the meantime, through Railton, he’d discovered the Romanian folk and Tango artist, Oana, Catalina Chitu and Marta Sebestyen of Muzsikas, an ardent promoter of Hungarian traditional music.
Like Ed, when Railton broached the subject of Hungary to Jean, she too sensed his misgivings. When she probed, he said:
‘I’m too old for this.’
‘Nonsense,’ Jean countered.
‘Do you know how hot it gets out there?’
‘I can imagine.’
‘I could die of sun stroke.’
‘Rubbish. If anyone can cope, it’s you. How long do you intend staying, anyway?’
‘A couple of weeks…’
Looking at Railton face to face now, Jean saw tears forming.
‘Hey, Ray! What’s this then?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘It’s Fliss, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. I’ve been humming and hawing over this for days and I just can’t reach a decision.’
‘Heat and old age, then, have nothing to do with it.’
‘No.’
‘So, what’s holding you back?’
‘If I go, I just think everything will remind me of her and overwhelm me.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘It was like we were joined at the hip, and I don’t know if I can hack it on my own.’
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, I know you can. You’re the most confident person I’ve ever met.’
‘Now, you’re embarrassing me.’
‘It’s true. Maybe you should go, just to prove it to yourself.’
‘Yeah, you’re right. And Fliss would want me to go.
‘What more can I say?’
Jean felt life with Joan was becoming unbearable. Their paths rarely crossed these days, but when they did there was an atmosphere. Recently, she and Railton had been to the cinema together and, afterwards, she’d felt a bit guilty about not inviting her life-long companion too. They’d also been to a couple of gigs which, admittedly, wouldn’t have appealed (Joan was a Classic FM fan), but both had taken place on precious jigsaw nights.
‘So, what does Joan think aboutme, then?’ Railton asked.
‘She sees you as an interloper,’ Jean replied.
‘What? That’s a bit OTT.’
‘I know. But you see, I owe her. Five years ago, when I was at a very low ebb, she took me in. Really, we’re chalk and cheese, but our association goes back a long way. Anyway, my ex, who was an alcoholic, left me for another woman. And – you know how devious addicts can be when it comes to feeding their habit – he fleeced me, leaving me near destitute.’
‘God! That’s evil.’
‘He saw it as self-preservation.’
‘Yeah, but…
‘I could have gone under, you know. Thankfully, however, I came into some money and could pay my way again.’
‘Well, that’s something.’ (Pause.) ‘OK. Obviously, the situation with Joan can’t be allowed to fester. Wait till we get back from Hungary. Then we can sort it all out.’
‘What’s with the “we”?
‘What I said. If I go to Hungary, Jean, you go too.’
Jean’s mouth opened, first in shock, then with elation.
‘I’ll get the bubbly,’ she said.
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