Josephine Cox - The Journey

The two visitors were sensibly dressed. Like himself, each wore a long coat and sturdy shoes, for the weather had been foul of late, and in places the ground underfoot was treacherous.

In the early hours of this January Sunday in 1952, ditches and paths had run high with the melting remnants of a heavy snowfall. By midday the wind had heightened and now, judging by the darkening skies, it seemed a new storm was gathering.

‘Here, Chuck. Here, boy!’ he said in a harsh whisper, and tugged on the leash, quickly bringing the dog to heel. In a burst of affection, the animal jumped up and licked him, nearly sending him flying. Recovering, he patted the dog, then set off for the lych-gate and home.

He was only a few strides away from Barney Davidson’s tomb when the women left it and began walking on, merely an arm’s reach in front of him. Slowing his step, he continued to follow, the dog plodding obediently at his side.

They were almost at the gate when the older woman’s stick slipped in the mud and she fell heavily, seeming to twist her leg as she did so.

When her young companion cried out and immediately began struggling to bring her upright, he ran forward. ‘Please … let me help?’ Sliding his two hands under the older one’s arms, he gently hoisted her up. When she seemed steady, he let go, recovered her walking stick and handed it to her. ‘No real harm done, I hope?’ he said politely.

‘Thank you.’ Her dark eyes appraised him. ‘As you can see, I’m not as agile as I once was.’

A softer voice interrupted. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr … ?’ The young woman frowned. ‘How can we thank you properly, when we don’t know your name?’

His warm gaze enveloped her pretty face. ‘The name’s Ben,’ he revealed. ‘Benjamin Morris.’ Holding out his hand in greeting, he was pleasantly surprised and thrilled when she put her small hand in his. Surprised, because he found her grip firm and strong, as though she worked with her hands in some way. Thrilled because she seemed to hold on just that moment longer than necessary.

Having witnessed his reaction, the older woman gave a pleasant laugh. ‘My daughter Mary has a strong grip for a little one, don’t you think?’

Mary tried to explain. ‘It comes from gardening,’ she said shyly. ‘A few years ago our old gardener retired, and rather than take on someone new, I persuaded Mother to let me have a go at the job.’ Her face flushed with pleasure. ‘It’s hard work, mind, but I love every minute of it.’

‘Mary is a worker, all right,’ her mother declared. ‘When she’s not up to her eyes in the garden, she works five days a week in her flower-shop in Leighton Buzzard, and whenever the chance arises, she’s out and about delivering the flowers herself, driving the shop-van.’ Tutting, she finished quietly, ‘I don’t know where she finds the energy!’

‘A busy lady then?’ Ben looked down into that bright lively face and wondered why she was not married. ‘And may I ask what you do in this garden of yours?’

It was the mother who answered. ‘She spends every spare minute she’s got in it, that’s what she does!’ From the reproachful glance she gave Mary, it was apparent that she thought her daughter should be enjoying her life and doing other things while she was still young. ‘She grows all our own produce,’ she said proudly, ‘and she’s completely redesigned the garden, made it into a little paradise with delightful walkways and colourful blossom round every corner, except,’ she glanced at the ominous skies, ‘of course, on days like this.’

‘Then it sounds like time well spent,’ Ben commented. He wondered why it was that Mary spent every spare minute in the garden. Did she never go out? Was she never approached by men who would like to enjoy her company? She was such a fetching little thing, he certainly wouldn’t mind the opportunity to get to know her better.

‘Oh, but the garden is so lovely!’ That was the mother talking again. ‘She’s even managed to carve out a number of little nooky holes – quiet places where you can escape the weather and enjoy your own company.’

The younger woman’s soft voice intervened. ‘I just thought it would be nice to have a quiet place where you could hide from the rest of the world.’ Blushing under her mother’s lavish praise, Mary made an effort to divert attention from herself. ‘Do you like gardening, Mr Morris?’

For a long moment he gazed down on her, his heart turning over like never before. ‘Why would you want to hide from the rest of the world?’ he asked, ignoring her question.

Mary had not expected him to answer with a question of his own. ‘Isn’t that what we all sometimes need?’ she asked cagily.

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Instead he went back to her original question. ‘I farm,’ he answered lamely. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t a great deal of leisurely time left for gardening, or much else.’

Her smile was appreciative. ‘In a way, farming could be called gardening, only on a larger scale … don’t you think?’

‘If you say so.’ When those lavender-blue eyes beamed as they did now, her whole face seemed to light up.

‘Well, I never!’ With a quick, mischievous smile on her face, the older woman reminded them, ‘There’s me badly injured, and you two exchanging pleasantries as if I wasn’t even here.’

The pair of them were mortified. ‘Whatever am I thinking of!’ Ben exclaimed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He had been so occupied with the daughter, he had neglected the mother, and he was ashamed.

‘I must get Mother home.’ With her eyes still on Ben, Mary shifted closer to the older lady. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here just now.’

She had seen this stranger before, striding down the streets of Salford with his faithful dog in tow as she drove past in her van. Discreetly taking stock of him now that he was here, close beside her, she liked what she saw. Handsome, of manly build, with dark, expressive eyes, he seemed to be taken with her, and it was strange, but she felt oddly drawn to him.

‘I’m glad to have been of help.’ He wondered how he could sound so calm with his heart thumping fifteen to the dozen.

He glanced at the older woman and caught the glint in her smiling eyes; he realised she was taking everything in. He gestured at her ankle. ‘From the look of it, I don’t think you’ve broken anything.’

She nodded. ‘It’s probably just a sprain. Once I get home and put my feet up, I’ll be right as rain.’

‘It’s best you don’t put too much weight on that foot.’ Pointing across the fields, to the rambling, white-washed house in the distance, he informed them, ‘Far Crest Farm, that’s where I live. I’ll help you up there, shall I, to take a look at the ankle and see what can be done.’

Sensing their reluctance, he quickly added, ‘Or, if you’d prefer, I could nip up and get my car and take you home. It’s only a few minutes to the farmhouse.’

The older woman thanked him. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful.’ She had a natural friendliness in her manner that warmed him to her. ‘But I’ll be well taken care of. Look there?’ Gesturing to the long dark car that waited by the kerbside outside the church, she revealed, ‘I have a car and driver waiting.’

Flustered, Ben apologised. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise …’

‘How could you?’ Her smile deepened. ‘I might be a frail old biddy walking with the aid of a stick, but as you see, I’m not short of a bob or two.’

Ben smiled. ‘You don’t strike me as a frail old biddy,’ he remarked, holding open the lych-gate for the two women to pass through it. ‘In fact, I imagine if anyone got on the wrong side of you, they might rue the day.’