The Price of Experience
“Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?”
“No, miss, you just sit yourself down, glad to have a bit o' company. It must all be a bit tiring for you?”
“It’s so exciting, it’s almost overwhelming. I doubt if I’ve got a cheer or a wave left
in me.”
“Don’t worry, miss, there’ll be plenty more days like this.”
“Oh, I know. But this one’s been a bit special.”
“A bit special, miss?”
“My young man’s been in this one.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Says when he gets back we’ll be wed.”
“Double congratulations, miss.”
“Thank you. I do hope it’s not too long, though. The whole thing does seem to be dragging on a bit
a lately?”
“Don’t you worry, miss. He’ll be back before you know it. Why, it doesn’t seem two minutes
since I marched meself?”
“You were a soldier?”
“I was that, miss. When I sit here listening to these young uns as they march by, it brings the memories
flooding back. Brings a tear to me eye, so it does. Course, it was just the same in our day.”
“Just the same?”
“Oh yes, miss. Big crowds lining the street, all cheering and waving just like today. Young men being waved
off by their sweethearts, like you’ve just done. Us young uns all excited and being so impatient to get there and get
the job done. Times don’t change that much, miss.”
“I suppose not. I never really thought of it like that?”
“You think you’ve invented it all, miss. Just the same in our day, just the same as we did. Poor
chaps, how could they know what it’s like? How could we have known?”
“They know what it’s like, surely? They’ve been trained.”
“That they have, miss, that they have. What a fine parade you’ve just seen. They sounded like a fine
bunch o' lads?”
“Indeed they are! They’re a sight for sore eyes with my handsome, newly commissioned beau marching
at their head. Oh, I’m so sorry, that was very insensitive of me, you must miss not being able to see it all?”
“No need to apologise, miss, don’t you let these coal-black glasses and these two white sticks fool
you. When I hear those sounds I can see it all. I can see me old battalion as it marched down that road, with meself in the
front rank, proudly marching to fife and drum, and me sweetheart standing on the corner waving and cheering me on. Don’t
you go worrying yourself, miss; I can see everything there is to see of days like today, see everything.”
“Did you marry her when you came back?”
“'Fraid not, miss. 'Fraid she found someone else.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, miss. It was probably for the best. You know, probably for the best, miss?”
“I'll never do that. I’ll never find anyone else.”
“I’m sure you won’t, miss. I’m sure God’ll be kind to you, miss.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, miss.”
“Do they carry you down to this bench from that big house?”
“Oh no, miss. I do it all by meself.”
“By yourself? But surely they shouldn’t allow that?”
“There you go again, miss, worrying about me when there’s no need. Despite both me eyes being gone,
and this bloody useless twisted leg o' mine, I can just about manage it.”
“But it seems an awfully long way?”
“It’s only a hundred yards, miss, and the path’s pretty straight and even, it only took a bit
o' practice. Sometimes I topple over, miss, but they always come from the home for me if I’m not back in an hour or
so.”
“Seems a very nice place. Do you come here every day?”
“Not every day, miss. Depends on the weather and me chest. You see, me lungs ain’t what they used
to be either, miss.”
“Would you like me to walk you back up to the home?”
“That would certainly make all me mates jealous - a young lady on me arm. But no thanks, miss, thanks for
the offer but you’ve done enough for me already.”
“But I haven’t done anything?”
“Oh yes you have, miss. You’re the first one that’s stopped for a chat these past six months
that I’ve been coming to this old perch o' mine.”
“Oh that’s nothing, I’ve enjoyed our little talk, really I have. Now I’ll help you back
to the home, it’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks, miss, but I prefer to do it meself. If it’s all the same to you?”
“I’m happy to do whatever you like.”
“Don’t say that, miss, you’re making me blush.”
“What, an old war-horse like you, I doubt it if anything could make you blush? When do you think you’ll
be here again, tomorrow perhaps?”
“They’re giving me a special treat tomorrow, miss. They’re taking me up to Bratenbury Park
in the pony trap. Taking me to the bandstand to listen to me old regimental band playing. That’ll bring the old memories
flooding back. I’ll be able to see lots o' things tomorrow, miss. Some things that no man should ever see again, things
that I see every night in me bed. But I hope some happy sights as well, miss, just like today. Sights that I hope will make
the trip worthwhile – sights for these old sore eyes o' mine.”
“I saw that you were happy today – what with your hand slapping your thigh and your foot stomping
in time to the drums and all. But a special treat, that’ll be nice. What’s the occasion?”
“It’s a very special birthday. A milestone in me life, miss.”
“It’s your birthday? How lovely.”
“Yes, miss. I’ll be twenty-one. Just think, tomorrow is the twenty-eighth of April nineteen-sixteen
and I’ll be twenty one years of age – I’ll be able to vote, and do whatever I want to then, miss.”
ŠJohn Sales 2003.
