SPURBURY HILL
 
Growing up in a small village, in the West Midlands, left lasting memories of a little lad named Walter Marshall.
Regrettably, at the tender age of three both his parents died. A maiden Aunt - his late mother’s sister was now his only relative. Having never married, Aunty Bella, was none too keen to look after a toddler. Eventually, Walter was placed in a children’s home. When the trauma of losing his parents lessened, he quickly settled in with the other children.
 
Then some four years later, much to his annoyance, he was returned to his Aunt’s home to live until he would be old enough to take a job. When a grant was made for his upbringing his Aunt accepted the responsibility of his childhood.
 
Attending the village school, was where he met Lily Harris. In the years that followed, they became the best of friends. North of the village, stood a grand house with impressive Tudor chimneys, beyond its high gates, the drive led down an avenue of coniferous trees, until it reached the front lawns. It was here Lily lived with her mother. Lily’s father also died when she was quite small.
 
Whenever Lily spoke of Mr Harris, there was one thing that stood out in her mind. How he sat alone every day in a room sewing clothes. Upon the door a brass sign read ‘Private Workroom’. Too young to understand why her father died sitting in his chair, his tailors thimble was Lily’s most treasured possession.
 
Ray, a teenage lad, looked after the dogs, and ‘Sandy’ the pony. Walter dearly wanted to see Lily’s pony, but this was now allowed. Sometimes, after school, he would wait outside the gates, but Lily never put in an appearance. He loved to watch the peacock, but ‘Bib and Tucker’, the pair of geese he disliked intensely. Their cackle gave the game away every time he stood there.
 
Reaching the age of thirteen, Walter left school, and went to work on an isolated farm in North Devon. About the same time, Lily was sent to work in a prestigious house, many miles from her home. As the years passed, they lost touch with each other, that is until Walter came back to the village to visit his elderly Aunt.
 
It was late in the day when Walter’s train pulled into Leamington Spa station, due to freezing conditions many of the trains were running late. Quite a few had been cancelled altogether. The only gas lamps that remained alight on the platform, flickered in the wind. What a time to come home, freezing weather, deep snow and no-one to meet him. With hardly any light, finding ones way around was quite difficult. Daylight was fading fast. Making his way across familiar fields Walter found it slow going n the soft snow. Against the night sky, the village church was just visible. The row of old church cottages looked deserted. A solitary light shone in the window of number five. It was here that Aunt Bella still lived.
 
Knocking gently on the door, Walter’s heart beat fast, he needn’t have worried he received a warm welcome. After such a long absence with so much news to tell, they chatted into the early hours, before Lily’s name was mentioned. Aunt Bella shook her head, dismissing the subject altogether. A cursory glance at the fireplace, showed the log fire had gone out. Only a heap of ashes remained. Walter’s journey had been tiring, he slept for most of the next day. It was early evening before he ventured downstairs. Aunt Bella mentioned the dance that was being held that night in the local village hall.
 
Away in the distance, loud music was playing. As funds were low, joining them was out of the question. But there was nothing to stop him taking a look. Standing in the shadows Walter watched happy couples arrive, walking arm in arm, they went into the hall. Smoke from the coal fire, curled high in the still night air, Walter felt lonely. The night was getting colder. Having no overcoat or gloves for warmth, he was just about to go home, when a young lady walked past leading a Pekinese dog. Walter’s heart missed a beat, he was sure it was Lily. Hesitantly he called out her name, quite by chance, they had found one another.
 
It was definitely not a night to hang about in the cold. Hand in hand, they walked to the Blacksmith’s forge, luckily the furnace was still alight. Against the wall, where it was warmer, they sat down on the old wooden bench. It was a favourite place for sweethearts. They hadn’t been there very long, before Denzil and Bobbie Murgaton, the village troublemakers, came round the corner, with their ‘girlie’ gang. Recognising the couple, they chorused, ‘Look whose here, let’s join ‘em’. The couple cringed in horror, for they both knew, with the lads around, there would be no more peace.
 
Walking towards Spurbury Hill, the gang tagged along, teasing. Just for the fun of it, all agreed to climb the hill as far as the coppice. The slope was very slippery. Because Lily’s dog had such short legs, it had to be carried. They were about half way up, with Denzil, a lad of eighteen, spoke ‘What we could do with is a sledge’. Everyone thought it a good idea, but where could a sledge be found at this time of night. Disappointed, everyone trooped back down the hill, into Carpenters Lane, besides the church. In the night frosty air, the moon remained very bright. It wasn’t long before one of the girls found an old door under a hedge. ‘This’ll do fine’ Denzil announced. So, with everyone lending a hand, the old door was carried up the hill, almost to the top. The plan was for taking it in turns. But the door refused to budge. ‘Whose idea was this in the first place?’ No-one answered. ‘We’ll have to find something else’ Denzil moaned. Suddenly, Walter had an idea. At the end of Carpenters Lane, some church land was rented out as allotments. It was here Amos Emerson and his wife Flo, kept a pig and some poultry. Two derelict sheds were shelter for the fowls. A few wooden orange boxes filled with straw, served as nesting boxes. Every morning Flo fed the fowls and collected the eggs. Everyone knew about the hole in the hedge. The roof of the nearest shed, was but a sheet of corrugated tin, only held in place by bricks. Quietly the tin roof was taken off. Inside, the fowls remained asleep on their perches, or so everyone thought. Everything seemed to be going fine. With a little imagination, the tin roof, bent up at one end, was ‘just the job’. It slid down the icy slope beautifully.
 
Ignoring the coldness of the night for the next hour or so the tobogganing game continued. The church clock struck midnight. The music from the hall finally stopped, the dance had ended. All at once, such a commotion came from the lane below. Halting their game, they stood motionless, and stared at each other. No-one had given it a thought, that the hens had been disturbed, those stupid birds were now flapping madly about, not only in the lane, but also in the churchyard.
 
Descending the hill, the teenagers crept close, but decided it was best to stay hidden. Watching Amos and his wife, trying in vain to catch the fowls, was hilarious. By this time, Sam Symington, the elderly vicar, had joined in the chase. Waving his arms, his efforts were useless. ‘Oh no, goodness me, oh dearie me’ he muttered as he rushed up and down the allotments, doing nothing in particular. Someone giggled, it was difficult to remain silent with all this going on. Seconds later, a drawn out ssssssssh was heard. Sam, dressed in a long black frock-coat, was soon out of puff. It was well past one o’clock before things had quietened down. Watchful, they then replaced the tin roof best they could. In the darkness, the hens in the churchyard remained free.
 
Splitting up, everyone scampered home. Knowing full well if they were caught, it would be the ‘cop’ shop in the morning for all. After that incident, the pair kept well away from the village lads. Just in case someone gave the game away. They also avoided Carpenters Lane and the allotments. Only they knew, that a good time was had by all, and it never cost a penny.
 
SEQUEL
 
Four years later, in the little village church, Walter and Lily were married. When a row of Carstone Cottage were built at the foot of Spurbury Hill, the childhood sweethearts moved into number two. After Aunt Bella died, the couple went to live in Worcester.
 
From the towpath of the River Severn, along with their little daughter, feeding swans was their recreation. As the older swans took flight in the morning sunshine, skimming the water, the beating of their wings seemed to add to the throb of the Cathedral Bells, which resounded across the water to the lush meadows beyond, and way to the distant snow-capped Malvern Hills.
 
It was a moment, never to be forgotten.
 
Barbara Kerrison ?